Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy

The Consolation of Philosophy, Boethius, transl. Richard Green, Macmillan, New York, 1962

The subject of the work is human happiness and the possibility of achieving it in the midst of the suffering and disappointment which play so large a part in every man’s experience. ix

Boethius was born about 480 into the distinguished Roman family of the Anicii. After the death of his father, who had been consul in 487, the boy was adopted by the even more distinguished Symmachus, and later married his guardian’s daughter Rusticiana. x

Early in his career Boethius learned Greek and undertook to translate and comment on all the works of Aristotle and Plato with the intention of demonstrating their essential agreement. xi

He became Consul in 510, when he was about thirty, and thereafter was closely indentified with the interests of the Senate. xii

The events which brought about the ruin of this extraordinary scholar and statesman are of special interest, since they are the immediate occasion of The Consolation. In 523, when Boethius was in his early forties and at the peak of his fortune and power, he suffered a sudden reversal of fortune which led to disgrace, exile, and finally to execution. xii

Augustine…The effects of the hundred years which separate these early Christian writers can be observed in their attitudes toward classical philosophy. For Augustine, the late Roman version of Platonism was still a powerful antagonist which drove him to polemical criticism of those aspects which he found incompatible with Biblical revelation, and to a rather cautious praise of those doctorines which he found appropriate and useful. He was primarily a theologian devoted to the formation of Christian doctrine, and moral philosophy was only a part of his enterprise. Historical circumstances made the success of his undertaking almost immediate, so that a hundred years later Boethius could write as a Christian philosopher and classical scholar without apology or polemic… xvi

Augustine observed that temporal prosperity and adversity are not signs of demonic intervention in the lives of men, nor of the favor or disfavor of the true God; they are simply decreed and permitted by the One whose wisdom is perfect, and who can will only good for men, but whose judgments cannot be fully comprehended and therefore should not be complained of. He scoffs at the pagan worship of a blind goddess dispensing adversity and prosperity at random… xvii

Poetry, which was once the glory of my happy and flourishing youth, is still my comfort in this misery of my old age. Book I, Poem 1

Death, happy to men when she does not intrude in the sweet years, but comes when often called in sorrow, turns a deaf ear to the wretched and cruelly refuses to close weeping eyes. Book I, Poem 1

Her clothing was made of the most delicate threads, and by the most exquisite workmanship; it had—as she afterwards told me—been woven by her own hands into an everlasting fabric. Her clothes had been darkened in color somewhat by neglect and the passage of time, as happens to pictures exposed to smoke…This robe had been torn, however, by the hands of violent men, who had ripped away what they could. Book I, Prose 1

When I looked at her closely, I saw that she was Philosophy, my nurse, in whose house I had lived from my youth. “Mistress of all virtues,” I said, “why have you come, leaving the arc of heaven, to this lonely desert of our exile? Are you a prisoner, too, charged as I am with false accusations?” / She answered, “How could I desert my child, and not share with you the burden of sorrow you carry, a burden caused by hatred of my name? Book I, Prose 3

…the inept schools of Epicureans, Stoics, and others, each seeking its own interests, tried to seal the inheritance of Socrates and to possess me (in spite of my protests and struggles), as though I were the spoils of their quarreling. They tore this robe which I had woven with my own hands and, having ripped off some little pieces of it, went away supposing that they possessed me wholly. Then, when traces of my garments were seen on some of them, they were rashly thought to be my friends… Book I, Prose 3

Compare this prison with my library at home which you chose as your own and in which you often discussed with me the knowledge of human and divine things. Did I look like this? Was I dressed this way when I studied nature’s mysteries with you… Book I, Prose 3

You govern all things, each according to its destined purpose. Human acts alone, O Ruler of All, You refuse to restrain within just bounds. Why should uncertain Fortune control our lives? Book I, Poem 5

You have not been driven out of your homeland; you have willfully wandered away…For if you can remember your true country you know that it is not, as Athens once was, ruled by many persons; rather ‘it has one ruler and one king,’ who rejoices in the presence of citizens, not in their expulsion. To be governed by his power and subject to his laws is the greatest liberty. Book I, Prose 5

But because you are so upset by sorrow and anger, and so blown about by the tumult of your feelings, you are not now in the right frame of mind to take strong medicine. For the time being, then, I shall use more gentle treatment… Book I, Prose 5

“How then,” she went on, “is it possible that you can know the origin of all things and still be ignorant of their purpose? But this is the usual result of anxiety; it can change a man, but it cannot break him and cannot destroy him. Book I, Prose 6

Because you are ignorant of the purpose of things, you think that stupid and evil men are powerful and happy. Book I, Prose 6

Fortune…If you will recall her nature and habits, you will be convinced that you had nothing of much value when she was with you and you have not lost anything now that she is gone. Book II, Prose 1

Really, the misfortunes which are now such a cause of grief ought to be reasons for tranquility. For now she ahs deserted you, and no man can ever be secure until he has been forsaken by Fortune. Book II, Prose 1

The double certainty of loss and consequent misery should prevent both the fear of her threats and the desire of her favors. Book II, Prose 1

You may argue your case against me before any judge; and if you can prove that riches and honors really belong to any mortal man, I will freely concede your ownership of the things you ask for. Book II, Prose 2

But the memory of it is what causes me most pain; for in the midst of adversity, the worst misfortune of all is to have once been happy.” Book II, Prose 4

Anxiety is the necessary condition of human happiness since happiness is never completely and never permanently kept. Book II, Prose 4

“Besides, those most blessed are often the most sensitive; unless everything works out perfectly, they are impatient at disappointment and shattered by quite trivial things. Book II, Prose 4

If you will consider carefully the following argument, you will have to admit that happiness cannot depend on things which are uncertain. If happiness is the highest good of rational natures, and if nothing which can be lost can be a supreme good (because it is obviously less good than that which cannot be lost), then clearly unstable Fortune cannot pretend to bring happiness…how can this present life make us happy when its end cannot make us unhappy? Book II, Prose 4

Riches, then, are miserable and troublesome: they cannot be fully possessed by many people, and they cannot be acquired by some without loss to others. Book II, Prose 5

If they are beautiful by nature, what is that to you? They would be pleasing to you even if they belonged to someone else. They are not precious because you have them; you desire to have them because they seem precious…What an upside-down state of affairs when a man who is divine by his gift of reason thinks his excellence depends on the possession of lifeless bric-a-brac! Book II, Prose 5

Thus, honor is not paid to virtuous men because of their rank; on the contrary, it is paid to rank because of the virtue of those holding it. Book II, Prose 6

Good fortune enslaves the mind of good men with the beauty of the specious goods which they enjoy; but bad fortune frees them by making them see the fragile nature of happiness. Book II, Prose 8

Others measure the good in terms of gaiety and enjoyment; they think that the greatest happiness is found in pleasure…Toward such false goods, and others like them, men direct their actions and desires…or they want a wife and children because they regard them as sources of pleasure…whatever anyone desires beyond all else, he regards as the highest good. And, since we have defined the highest good as happiness, everyone thinks that the condition which he wants more than anything else must constitute happiness. Book III, Prose 1

The whole race of men on this earth springs from one stock. There is one Father of all things; One alone provides for all. He gave Phoebus his rays, the moon its horns. To the earth He gave men, to the sky the stars. He clothed with bodies the souls He brought from heaven. / “Thus, all men come from noble origin. Why then boast of your ancestors? If you consider your beginning, and God your Maker, no one is base unless he deserts his birthright and makes himself a slave to vice. Book III, Poem 6

What pleasure there may be in these appetites I do not know, but they end in misery as anyone knows who is willing to recall his own lusts. Book III, Prose 7

And if, as Aristotle says, men had the eyes of Lynceus and could see through stone walls, would they not find the superficially beautiful body of Alcibiades to be most vile upon seeing his entrails? It is not your nature which makes you seem fair but the weak eyes of those who look at you. You may esteem your bodily qualities as highly as you like as long as you admit that these things you admire so much can be destroyed by the trifling heat of a three-day fever. Book III, Prose 8

“Alas, what ignorance drives miserable men along crooked path! You do not look for gold in the green trees, nor for jewels hanging on the vine; you do not set your nets nor, if you want to hunt deer, do you seek them along the Tyrenean seas. On the contrary, men are skilled in knowing the hidden caves in the sea, and in knowing where white pearls and scarlet dye are found; they know what beaches are rich in various kinds of fish. / “But, when it comes to the location of the good which they desire, they are blind and ignorant. They dig the earth in search of the good which soars above the star-filled heavens. Prose III, Poem 8

“Human depravity, then, has broken into fragments that which is by nature one and simple; men try to grasp part of a thing which has no parts and so get neither the part, which does not exist, nor the whole, which they do not seek.” Book III, Prose 9

“You bind the elements in harmony so that cold and heat, dry and wet are joined, and the purer fire does not fly up through the air, nor the earth sink beneath the weight of water. Book III, Poem 9

Now, no one can deny that something exists which is a kind of fountain of all goodness; for everything which is found to be imperfect shows its imperfection by the lack of some perfection. It follows that if something is found to be imperfect in its kind, there must necessarily be something of that same kind which is perfect. Book III, Prose 10

For all perfect things have been shown to come before less perfect ones…But we have already established that perfect good is true happiness; therefore it follows that true happiness has its dwelling in the most high God.”

“Nothing that the river Tagus with its golden shores can give, nor the Hermus with its jeweled banks, the Indus of the torrid zone, gleaming with green and white stones, none of these can clear man’s vision. Instead, they hide blind souls in their shadows. / “Whatever pleases and excites your mind here, Earth has prepared in her deep caves. The shining light which rules and animates the heavens avoids the darks ruins of the soul. Whoever can see this light will discount even the bright rays of Phoebus.” Book III, Poem 10

“I have already proved that the things which most people want are not the true and perfect good since they differ from one another; and, since one or the other is always missing, they cannot proide full and perfect good. Book III, Prose 11

…the very form of the good is the essence of God and of happiness; and you said further that unity is identical with the good which is sought by everything in nature. You also affirmed that God rules the universe by the exercise of His goodness, that all things willingly obey Him, and that there is no evil in nature. Book III, Prose 11

Orpheus looked back at Eurydice, lost her, and died. / “This fable applies to all of you who seek to raise your minds to sovereign day. For whoever is conquered and turns his eyes to the pit of hell, looking into the inferno, loses all the excellence he has gained.” Book III, Poem 12

…the good are always powerful and the evil always weak and futile, that vice never goes unpunished nor virtue unrewarded… Book IV, Prose 1

…every intention of the human will directed toward happiness, however various its inclination may be?” / “I remember that to have been proved.” / “And do you also recall that happiness is the good, so that everyone who seeks happiness also desires the good?”… “Therefore, all men, good and bad, have the same purpose in striving to obtain the good.” / “That follows,” I agreed. / “But it is also true that men become good by obtaining the good.” / “Yes.” / “So good men obtain what they desire.” / “That seems to be true.” / “But evil men would not be evil if they obtained the good they seek.” Book IV, Prose 2

Well, what greater weakness is there than the blindness of ignorance? Or do they know what they should seek, but are driven astray by lust? If so, they are made weak by intemperance and cannot overcome their vices. Or, do they knowingly and willfully desert the good and turn to vice? Anyone acting that way loses not only his strength but his very being, since to forsake the common goal of all existence is to forsake existence itself. / “Perhaps it may strike some as strange to say that evil men do not exist. Book IV, Prose 2

…the wicked are necessarily more unhappy when they have their way than they would be if they could not do what they wanted to do. If it is bad to desire evil, it is worse to be able to accomplish it…contains its own punishment. Book IV, Prose 4

“In this way, wise men could abolish hatred; for no one but a fool would hate good men, and hating evil men would make no sense. Viciousness is a kind of disease of the soul, like illness in the body. And if sickness of the body is not something we hate, but rather regard with sympathy… Book IV, Prose 4

“Why do you whip yourselves to frenzy, and ever seek your fate by self-destruction? If you look for death, she stands nearby of her own accord… Book IV, Poem 4

Since He often gives joy to the good and bitterness to the wicked, but on the other hand often reverses this dispensation, how can all this be distinguished from accidental chance unless we understand the cause of it?” / “It is no wonder,” Philosophy answered, “that a situation should seem random and confused when its principle of order is not understood. But, although you do not know why things are as they are, still you cannot doubt that in a world ruled by a good Governor all things do happen justly. Book IV, Prose 5

Just as the craftsman conceives in his mind the form of the thing he intends to make, and then sets about making it by producing in successive temporal acts that which was simply present in his mind, so God by his Providence simply and unchangeably disposes all things that are to be done, even though the things themselves are worked out by Fate in many ways and in the process of time. Book IV, Prose 6

Then man whom you think most just and honorable may seem quite otherwise to the Providence which knows all thigns…Therefore, when you see something happen here contrary to your ideas of what is right, it is your opinion and expectation which is confused, while the order in things themselves is right. Book IV, Prose 6

Therefore God in his wise dispensation spares the man who cannot stand suffering. Another man who is perfect in all virtues, holy, and dear to God, may be spared even bodily sickness because Providence judges it wrong for him to be touched by any adversity at all…To others, Providence gives a mixture of prosperity and adversity according to the disposition of their souls; she gives trouble to some whom too much luxury might spoil; others she tests with hardships in order to strengthen their virtues by the exercise of patience. Book IV, Prose 6

…the prosperity of the wicked is a powerful argument for the good, because they see how they ought to evaluate the kind of good fortune which the wicked so often enjoy. Still another good purpose may be served by the prosperity of the wicked man: if his nature is so reckless and violent that poverty might drive him to crime, Providence may cure this morbid tendency by making him wealthy. Book IV, Prose 6

“ ‘But it is hard for me to recount all this as if I were a God,’ [Homer, Iliad XII. 176] for it is not fitting for men to understand intellectually or to explain verbally all the dispositions of the divine work…since He carefully preserves everything which He made in his own likeness, He excludes by fatal necessity all evil from the bounds of his state. Book IV, Prose 6

That all fortune is good. Book IV, Prose 7

“Since all fortune, whether sweet or bitter, has as its purpose the reward or trial of good men or the correction and punishment of the wicked, it must be good because it is clearly either just or useful.” Book IV, Prose 7

Free will…Human souls, however, are more free while they are engaged in contemplation of the divine mind, and less free when they are joined to bodies, and still less free when they are bound by earthly fetters. They are in utter slavery when they lose possession of their reason and give themselves wholly to vice. For when they turn away their eyes from the light of supreme truth to mean and dark things, they are blinded by a cloud of ignorance and obsessed by vicious passions. Book V, Prose 1

…nothing whatever can be done or even desired without its being known beforehand by the infallible Providence of God. Book V, Prose 3

…let us suppose that there is no foreknowledge. Then would the things which are done by free will be bound by necessity in this respect?” / “Not at all.” / “Then, let us suppose that foreknowledge exists but imposes no necessity on things. The same independence and absolute freedom of will would remain. Book V, Prose 4

“How varied are the shapes of living things on earth! Some there are with bodies stretched out, crawling through the dust, spending their strength in an unbroken furrow; some soar in the air, beating the wind with light wings, floating in easy flight along tracks of air. Some walk along the ground through woods and across green fields. All these, you observe, differ in their varied forms, but their faces look down and cause their senses to grow sluggish. / “The human race alone lifts its head to heaven and stands erect, despising the earth. Man’s figure teaches, unless folly has bound you to the earth, that you who look upward with your head held high should also raise your soul to sublime things, lest while your body is raised above the earth, your mind should sink to the ground under its burden. Book V, Poem 5

Desiderius Erasmus, In Praise of Folly

In Praise of Folly, Desiderius Erasmus, transl. John Wilson [1668], Dover Publications, Mineola New York, 2003

Erasmus was born in Rotterdam, Holland, on October 27, probably in 1466, and died in Basel, Switzerland, on July 12, 1536. The facts of his early life are by no means clear, but it seems that he was born out of wedlock… iii

Though Erasmus went on to be ordained a priest in 1492, he was never happy with that life and a couple of years later leapt at the opportunity to leave and become Latin secretary to the Bishop of Cambrai. That appointment led him step by step to the freedom of the life of a wandering scholar, and in 1499, at the invitation of Lord Mountjoy, on of the pupils he had taken in Paris, he made his first trip to England. iii

But in 1509, after hearing that Henry VIII had just ascended to the throne, he set out for England. During the long journey to England (most of it on horseback) he conceived the idea of Encomium moriae, “The Praise of Folly.” … Erasmus had met More during his first visit to England, when More was only twenty-tree. iv

When Erasmus was accused of having “laid the egg that Luther hatched,” he acknowledged that he might have done so, but said that he had expected quite another kind of bird. Though he had criticized clerical abuses, he had never wanted to cause a rupture in the church, and he remained in its bosom till his death. vi

For what injustice is it that when we allow every course of life its recreation, that study only should have none? 2, Letter to More

This liberty was ever permitted to all men’s wits, to make their smart, witty reflections on the common errors of mankind, and that too without offense, as long as this liberty does not run inot licentiousness… 2, Letter to More

At what rate soever the world talks of me (for I am not ignorant what an ill report Folly had god, even among the most foolish), yet that I am that she, that only she, whose deity recreates both gods and men, even this is a sufficient argument, that I no sooner stepped up to speak to this full assembly than all your faces put on a kind of new and unwonted pleasantness. So suddenly have you cleared your brows, and with so frolic and hearty a laughter given me your applause, that in truth as many of you as I behold on every side of me seem to me no less than Homer’s gods drunk with nectar and nepenthe… (5, first two sentences)

Though, by the way, I cannot but wonder at the ingratitude, shall I say, or negligence of men who, notwithstanding they honor me in the first place and are willing enough to confess my bounty, yet not one of them for these so many ages has there been who in some thankful oration has set out the praises of Folly… 6

…could not at first sight convince himself by my face the true index of my mind? 7

According to whose pleasure war, peace, empire, counsels, judgments, assemblies, wedlocks, bargains, leagues, laws, arts, all things light or serious—I want breath—in short, all the public and private business of mankind is governed;… 7

Yet, mistake me not, ’twas not that blind and decrepit Plutus in Aristophanes that got me, but such as he was in his full strength and pride of youth; and not that only, but at such a time when he had been well heated with nectar, of which he had, at one of the banquets of the gods, take a dost extraordinary. 8

Nor do I envy to the great Jupiter the goat, his nurse, forasmuch as I was suckled by two jolly nymphs, to wit, Drunkenness, the daughter of Bacchus, and Ignorance, of Pan. 8

…this here, which you observe with that proud cast of her eye, is Philautia, Self-love; she with the smiling countenance, that is ever and anon clapping her hands, is Kolakia, Flattery; she that looks as if she were half asleep is Lethe, Oblivion; she that sits leaning on both elbows with her hands clutched together is Misoponia, Laziness; she with the garland on her head, and that smells so strong of perfumes, is Hedone, Pleasure; she with those staring eyes, moving here and there, is Anoia, Madness; she with the smooth skin and full pampered body is Tryphe, Wantonness; and, as to the two gods that you see with them, that one is Komos, Intemperance, the other Eegretos hypnos, Dead Sleep. These, I say, are my household servants… 8

But tell me, by Jupiter, what part of man’s life is that that is not sad, crabbed, unpleasant, insipid, troublesome, unless it be seasoned with pleasure, that is to say, folly? 10

And first, who knows not but a man’s infancy is the merriest part of life to himself, and most acceptable to others? For what is that in them which we kiss, embrace, cherish, nay enemies succor, but this witchcraft of folly, which wise Nature did of purpose give them into the world with them that they might the more pleasantly pass over the toil of education, and as it were flatter the care and diligence of their nurses? 10

And by how much the further it runs from me, by so much the less it lives, till it comes to the burden of old age, not only hateful to others, but to itself also. Which also were altogether insupportable did not I pity its condition. 10

For who would not look upon that child as a prodigy that should have as much wisdom as a man?—according to that common proverb, “I do not like a child that is a man too soon.” Or who would endure a converse or friendship with that old man who to so large an experience of things had joined an equal strength of mind and sharpness of judgment? And therefore for this reason it is that old age dotes; and that it does so, it is beholding to me. 10-11

And if men would but refrain from all commerce with wisdom and give up themselves to be governed by me, they should never know what it were to be old, but solace themselves with a perpetual youth. Do but observe our grim philosophers that are perpetually beating their brains on knotty subjects, and for the most part you’ll find them grown old before they are scarcely young. 11

Why is it that Bacchus is always a stripling, and bushy-haired? but because he is mad, and drunk, and spends his life in drinking, dancing, revels, and May games, not having so much as the least society with Pallas. And lastly, he is so far from desiring to be accounted wise that he delights to be worshipped with sports and gambols; nor is he displeased with the proverb that gave him the surname of fool, “A greater fool than Bacchus”… 12

Why is Cupid always portrayed like a boy, but because he is a very wag and can neither do nor so much as think of anything sober? 12-13

And therefore, according to Homer’s example, I think it high time to leave the gods themselves, and look down a little on the earth; wherein likewise you’ll find nothing frolic or fortunate that it owes not to me. 13

…and I give them such as is worthy of myself, to wit, that they take to them a wife—a silly thing, God wot, and foolish, yet wanton and pleasant, by which means the roughness of the masculine temper is seasoned and sweetened by her folly. 14

For to what purpose were it to clog our stomachs with dainties, junkets, and the like stuff, unless our eyes and ears, nay whole mind, were likewise entertained with jests, merriments, and laughter? But of these kind of second courses I am the only cook; though yet those ordinary practices of our feasts, as choosing a king, throwing dice, drinking healths, trolling it round, dancing the cushion, and the like, were not invented by the seven wise men but myself… 15

What is it when one kisses his mistress’ freckle neck, another the wart on her nose? When a father shall swear his squint-eyed child is more lovely than Venus? What is this, I say, but mere folly? And so, perhaps you’ll cry it is; and yet ’tis this only that joins friends together and continues them so joined. 16

Is not the author and parent of all our love, Cupid, as blind as a beetle? And as with him all colors agree, so from him is it that everyone likes his own sweeterkin best, though never so ugly… 16

…forasmuch as Nature, in too many things rather a stepdame that a parent to us, has imprinted that evil in men, especially such as have least judgment, that everyone repents him of his own condition and admires that of others. When it comes to pass that all her gifts, elegancy, and graces corrupt and perish. For what benefit is beauty, the greatest blessing of heaven, if it be mixed with affectation? What youth, if corrupted with the severity of old age? Lastly, what is that in the whole business of a man’s life he can do with any grace to himself or others—for it is not so much a thing of art, as the very life of every action, that it be done with a good mien—unless this my friend and companion, Self-love, be present with it? 17

For these kind of men that are so given up to the study of wisdom are generally most unfortunate, but chiefly in their children; Nature, it seems, so providently ordering it, lest this mischief of wisdom should spread further among mankind. For which reason it is manifest why Cicero’s son was so degenerate, and that wise Socrates’ children, as one has well observed, were more like their mother than their father, that is to say, fools. 19

To the wise man, who partly out of modesty and partly distrust of himself, attempts nothing; or the fool, whom neither modesty which he never had, nor danger which he never considers, can discourage from anything? The wise man had recourse to the books of the ancients, and from thence picks nothing but subtleties of words. The fool, in undertaking and venturing on the business of the world, gathers, if I mistake not, the true prudence, such as Homer though blind may be said to have seen when he said, “The burnt child dreads the fire.” For there are two main obstacles to the knowledge of things, modesty that casts a mist before understanding, and fear that, having fancied a danger, dissuades us from the attempt. But from these folly sufficiently frees us, and few there are that rightly understand of what great advantage it is to blush at nothing and attempt everything. 21

How miserable, to say no worse, our birth, how difficult our education; to how many wrongs our childhood exposed, to what pains our youth; how unsupportable our old age, and grievous our unavoidable death? 24

And now I think you see what would become of the world if all men should be wise; to wit it were necessary we got another kind of clay and some better potter. But I, partly through ignorance, partly unadvisedness, and sometimes through forgetfulness of evil, do now and then so sprinkle pleasure with the hopes of good and sweeten men up in their greatest misfortunes that they are not willing to leave this life… 24

But methinks I hear the philosophers opposing it and saying ’tis a miserable thing for a man to be foolish, to err, mistake, and know nothing truly. Nay rather, this is to be a man. And why they should call it miserable, I see no reason…For by the same reason he would call the warlike horse unfortunate, because he understood not grammar, nor ate cheese-cakes… 25

Though yet among these sciences those only are in esteem that come nearest to common sense, that is to say, folly. Divines are half starved, naturalists out of heart, astrologers laughed at, and logicians slighted; only the physician is worth all the rest. And among them too, the more unlearned, impudent, or unadvised he is, the more he is esteemed, even among princes. For physic, especially as it is now professed by most men, is nothing but a branch of flattery, no less than rhetoric. Next them, the second place is given to our law-driven, if not the first, whose profession, though I say it myself, most men laugh at as the ass of philosophy; yet there’s scarce any business, either so great or so small, but is managed by these asses. 26

Go to then, don’t you find among the several kinds of living creatures that they thrive best that understand no more than what Nature taught them? What is more prosperous or wonderful than the bee? 26

And now, by the immortal gods! I think nothing more happy than that generation of men we commonly call fools… 27

…heap together all the discommodities of your life, and then you’ll be sensible from how many evils I have delivered my fools. Add to this that they are not only merry, play, sing, and laugh themselves, but make mirth wherever they come, a special privilege it seems the gods have given them to refresh the pensiveness of life. 28

…so that the same thing which, if it came from a wise man’s mouth might prove a capital crime, spoken by a fool is received with delight. For truth carries with it a certain peculiar power of pleasing, if no accident fall in to give occasion of offense; which faculty the gods have given only to fools. 29

For all madness is not miserable, or Horace had never called his poetical fury a beloved madness; nor Plato placed the raptures of poets, prophets, and lovers among the chiefest blessings of this life; nor that sibyl in Virgil called Aeneas’ travels mad labors. But there are two sorts of madness, the one that which the revengeful Furies send privily from hell, as often as they let loose their snakes and put into men’s breaths either the desire of war, or an insatiate thirst after gold, or some dishonest love, or parricide, or incest, or sacrilege, or the like plagues, or when they terrify some guilty soul with the conscience of his crimes; the other, but nothing like this, that which comes from me and is of all other things the most desirable; which happens as often as some pleasing dotage not only clears the mind of its troublesome cares but renders it more jocund. And this was that which, as a special blessing of the gods, Cicero, writing of his friend Atticus, wished to himself, that he might be the less sensible of those miseries that then hung over the commonwealth. 30

And if any of them chance to get the least piece of it, he presently thinks himself no small gentleman. 31

But there is no doubt but that that kind of men are wholly ours who love to hear or tell feigned miracles and strange lies and are never weary of any tale, though never so long, so it be of ghosts, spirits, goblins, devils, or the like; which the further they are from truth, the more readily they are believed and the more do they tickle their itching ears. 32

But why do I launch out into this ocean of superstitions? Had I a hundred tongues, as many mouths, and a voice never so strong, yet were I not able to run over the several sorts of fools or all the names of folly, so thick do they swarm everywhere. And yet your priests make to scruple to receive and cherish them as proper instruments of profit… 33

And though I am in haste, yet I cannot yet pass by them who, though they differ nothing from the meanest cobbler, yet ’tis scarcely credible how they flatter themselves with the empty title of nobility. One derives his pedigree from Aeneas, another from Brutus, a third from the star by the tail of Ursa Major. 34

Forasmuch as this self-love is so natural to them all that they had rather part with their father’s land than their foolish opinions; but chiefly players, fiddlers, orators, and poets, of which the more ignorant each of them is, the more insolently he pleases himself, that is to say vaunts and spreads out his plumes. 34-35

And now I consider it, Nature has planted, not only in particular men but even in every nation, and scarce any city is there without it, a kind of common self-love. And hence it is that the English, besides other things, particularly challenge to themselves beauty, music, and the logical subtleties. The French think themselves the only well-bred men. The Parisians, excluding all others, arrogate to themselves the only knowledge of divinity. The Italians affirm they are the only masters of good letters and eloquence, and flatter themselves on this account, that of all others they only are not barbarous. In which kind of happiness those of Rome claim the first place, still dreaming to themselves of somewhat, I know not what, of old Rome. The Venetians fancy themselves happy in the opinion of their nobility. The Greeks, as if they were the only authors of sciences, swell themselves with the titles of ancient heroes. The Turk, and all that sink of the truly barbarous, challenge to themselves the only glory of religion and laugh and laugh at Christians as superstitious. And much more pleasantly the Jews expect to this day the coming of the Messiah, and so obstinately contend for their Law of Moses. The Spaniards give place to none in the reputation of soldiery. The Germans pride themselves in their tallness of stature and skill in magic. 35

They think truth is inconsistent with flattery, but that it is much otherwise we may learn from the examples of true beasts. What more fawning than a dog? And yet what more trusty? What has more of those little tricks than a squirrel? And yet what more loving to man? Unless, perhaps you’ll say, men had better converse with fierce lions, merciless tigers, and furious leopards. 35

[Flattery] This supports the dejected, relieves the distressed, encourages the fainting, awakens the stupid, refreshes the sick, supplies the untractable, joins love together, and keeps them so joined…In short, it makes every man the more jocund and acceptable to himself, which is the chiefest point of felicity. Again, what is more friendly than when two horses scrub one another? 36

For so great is the obscurity and variety of human affairs that nothing can be clearly known, as it is truly said by our academics, the least insolent of all the philosophers; or if it could, it would but obstruct the pleasure of life. 36

Nor is there any man living whom I let be without it; whereas the gifts of the gods are scrambled, some to one and some to another. The sprightly delicious wine that drives away cares and leaves such a flavor behind it grows not everywhere. 37

Nor can I want priests but in a land where there are no men. Nor am I yet so foolish as to require statues or painted images, which do often obstruct my worship, since among the stupid and gross multitude those figures are worshipped for the saints themselves. 38

For to what purpose is it to say anything of the common people, who without dispute are wholly mine? For they abound everywhere with so many several sorts of folly,… 39

I knew in my time one of many arts, a Grecian, a Latinist, a mathematician, a philosopher, a physician, a man master of them all, and sixty years of age, who, laying by all the rest, perplexed and tormented himself for above twenty years in the study of grammar, fully reckoning himself a prince if he might but live so long till he could certainly determine how the eight parts of speech were to be distinguished, which none of the Greeks or Latins had yet fully cleared: as if it were matter to be decided by the sword if a man made an adverb of a conjunction. 41

The Poets, I must confess, are not altogether so much beholding to me, though ‘tis agreed of all hands they are of my partie too; because they are a free kind of people, not restrain’d or limited to any thing, and all their studies aim at nothing more than to tickle the ears of fools… 41

And then, for the Rhetoricians, though they now and then shuffle and cut with the Philosopher, yet that these two are of my faction also, though many other Arguments might be produc’d, this clearly evinces it; that besides their other trifles, they have written so much and so exquisitely of Fooling. 42

…seem to me rather to be pitied than happy, as persons that are ever tormenting themselves; adding, changing, putting in, blotting out, revising, reprinting, showing it to friends, and nine years in correcting, yet never fully satisfied; at so great a rate do they purchase this vain reward, to wit, praise, and that too of a very few, with so many watchings, so much sweat, so much vexation and loss of sleep, the most precious of all tings. Add to this the waste of health, spoil of complexion, weakness of eyes or rather blindness, poverty, envy, abstinence from pleasure, over-hasty old age, untimely death, and the like… But they are the wiser that put out other men’s works for their own, and transfer that glory which others with great pains have obtained to themselves… 42

But perhaps I had better pass over our divines in silence and not stir this pool or touch this fair but unsavory plant, as a kind of men that are supercilious beyond comparison, and to that too, implacable;… 44

Nor have I named all the several sects, but only some of the chief; in all which there is so much doctrine and so much difficulty that I may well conceive the apostles, had they been to deal with these new kind of divines, had needed to have prayed in aid of some other spirit. 45

There are some that detest them as a kind of sacrilege and count it the height of impiety to speak so irreverently of such hidden things, rather to be adored than explicated; to dispute of them with such profane and heathenish niceties; to define them so arrogantly… 47

And next these come those that commonly call themselves the religious and monks, most false in both titles, when both a great part of them are farthest from religion, and no men swarm thicker in all places than themselves. Nor can I think of anything that could be more miserable did not I support them so many several ways. For whereas all men detest them to that height, that they take it for ill luck to meet one of them by chance, yet such is their happiness that they flatter themselves. For first, they reckon it one of the main points of piety if they are so illiterate that they can’t so much as read. And then when they run over their offices, which they carry about them, rather by tale than understanding, they believe the gods more than ordinarily pleased with their braying. 49

…no man dares despise, especially those begging friars, because they are privy to all men’s secrets by means of confessions, as they call them. Which yet were no less than treason to discover, unless, being got drunk, they have a mind to be pleasant, and then all comes out, that is to say by hints and conjectures but suppressing the names. But if anyone should anger these wasps, they’ll sufficiently revenge themselves in their public sermons… 50

They believe they have discharged all the duty of a prince if they hunt every day, keep a stable of fine horses, sell dignities and commanderies, and invent new ways of draining the citizens’ purses and bringing it into their own exchequer; but under such dainty new-found names that though the thing be most unjust in itself, it carries yet some face of equity; adding to this some little sweet’nings that whatever happens, they may be secure of the common people. 54

A most inhuman and economical thing, and more to be execrated, that those great princes of the Church and true lights of the world should be reduced to a staff and a wallet. Whereas now, if there be anything that requires their pains, they leave that to Peter and Paul that have leisure enough; but if there be anything of honor or pleasure, they take that to themselves. By which means it is, yet by my courtesy, that scarce any kind of men live more voluptuously or with less trouble; as believing that Christ will be well enough pleased if in their mystical and almost mimical pontificality, ceremonies, titles of holiness and the like, and blessing and cursing, they play the pasts of bishops. To work miracles is old and antiquated, and not in fashion now; to instruct the people, troublesome; to interpret the Scripture, pedantic; to pray, a sign one has little else to do; to shed tears, silly and womanish; to be poor, base; to be vanquished, dishonorable and little becoming him that scare admits even kings to kiss his slipper; and lastly, to die, uncouth; and to be stretched on a cross, infamous. 56-57

Lastly, whoever intend to live merry and frolic, shut their doors against wise men and admit anything sooner. 59

“Blessed are ye when ye are evil spoken of, despised, and persecuted, etc.,” and forbade them to resist evil; for that the meek in spirit, not the proud, are blessed: or, lest remembering, I say, that he had compared them to sparrows and lilies, thereby minding them what small care they should take for the things of this life… 64

But why am I so careful to no purpose that I thus run on to prove my matter by so many testimonies? when in those mystical Psalms Christ speaking to the Father says openly, “Thou knowest my foolishness.” 65

…but seems chiefly delighted in little children, women, and fishers. Besides, among brute beasts he is best pleased with those that have least in them of the foxes’ subtlety. And therefore he chose rather to ride upon an ass when, if he had pleased, he might have bestrode the lion without danger. And the Holy Ghost came down in the shape of a dove, not of an eagle or kite. 66

…a company of fat apostles, not much better, to whom also he carefully recommended folly but gave them a caution against wisdom and drew them together by the example of little children, lilies, mustard-seed, and sparrows, things senseless and inconsiderable, living only by the dictates of nature and without either craft or care. 66

…consider first that boys, old men, women, and fools are more delighted with religious and sacred things than others, and to that purpose are ever next the altars; and this they do by mere impulse of nature. 67

…but give me leave to tell you you are mistaken if you think I remember anything of what I have said, having foolishly bolted out such a hodge-podge of words. ‘Tis an old proverb, “I hate one that remembers what’s done over the cup.” This is a new one of my own making: I hate a man that remembers what he hears. Wherefore farewell, clap your hands, live and drink lustily, my most excellent disciples of Folly. 71

King James I, The Kingis Quair

King James I of Scotland, The Kingis Quair

Quhen, as I lay in bed allone waking,
New partit out of slepe a lyte tofore,
Fell me to mynd of many diverse thing,
Of this and that, can I noght say quharfore,
Bot slepe for (by) craft (device) in erth myght I no more,
For quhich as tho coude I no better wyle (pass the time),
Bot toke a boke to rede apon a quhile, (8-14)


Of quhich the name is clepit properly
Boece, (Boethius) eftir him that was the compiloure, (15-16)


Upon the writing of this noble man,1
That in himself the full recover wan (gained)
Of his infortune, povert, and distresse,
And in tham set his verray sekernesse (security). (32-35)


Enditing (composing) in his fair Latyne tong,
So full of fruyte and rethorikly pykit (adorned),
Quhich to declare my scole (learning) is over yong. (44-46)


The long nyght beholding [the book], as I saide,
Myn eyne gan to smert for studying.
My buke I schet and at my hede it laide
And doun I lay but (w/out) ony tarying,
This mater new in my mynd rolling:
This is to seyne, how that eche estate,
As Fortune lykith, thame will translate. (50-56)


Forwakit and forwalowit, thus musing,
Wery forlyin (for lying), I lestnyt sodaynlye,
And sone I herd the bell to matyns ryng
And up I rase, no langer wald I lye.
Bot now (how trowe ye?) suich a fantasye
Fell me to mynd that ay me thoght the bell
Said to me, "Tell on, man, quhat thee befell." (71-77)


Wist (know) thou thy payne to cum and thy travaille,
For sorow and drede wele myght thou wepe and waille. (97-98)


In Ver (Spring), that full of vertu is and gude, (134)


That, for gladnesse and confort of the sight
And with the tiklyng of his hete and light,
The tender flouris opnyt thame and sprad
And in thair nature thankit him for glad. (144-147)


That maugré (in spite of), playnly, quhethir we wold or no,
With strong hand, by forse, schortly to say,
Of inymyis takin and led away
We weren all, and broght in thair contree:
Fortune it schupe (shaped) non othir wayis to be. (165-168)


"The bird, the beste, the fisch eke in the see,
They lyve in fredome, everich in his kynd;
And I a man, and lakkith libertee! (183-185)


The long dayes and the nyghtis eke
I wold bewaille my fortune in this wise,
For quhich, agane distresse confort to seke,
My custom was on mornis for to ryse
Airly as day - O happy exercise,
By thee come I to joye out of turment! (197-202)


And on the small grene twistis sat
The lytill suete nyghtingale and song
So loud and clere the ympnis (hymns) consecret
Of lufis use, now soft, now lowd among,
That all the gardyng and the wallis rong
Ryght of thair song and of the copill (couplet) next
Of thair suete armony; and lo the text: (225-231)


Quhen thai this song had song a lytill thrawe,
Thai stent a quhile and therwith unaffraid,
As I beheld and kest myn eyne a lawe (below),
From beugh (hopped) to beugh thay hippit and thai plaid,
And freschly in thair birdis kynd arraid
Thair fetheris new, and fret thame in the sonne,
And thankit Lufe that had thair makis (mates) wonne. (239-245)


And sawe hir walk, that verray womanly,
With no wight mo, bot onely wommen tueyne.
Than gan I studye in myself and seyne,
"A, suete, ar ye a warldly creature (290-293)


Quhen I with gude entent this orisoun (prayer)
Thus endit had, I stynt (was still) a lytill stound (while).
And eft myn eye full pitously adoun
I kest, behalding unto hir lytill hound
That with his bellis playit on the ground: (365-369)


"Lift up thyne hert and sing with gude entent,
And in thy notis suete the tresoun telle
That to thy sister trewe and innocent
Was kythit by hir husband false and fell; (386-389)



"Gyf thou suld sing wele ever in thy lyve,
Here is, in fay (faith), the tyme and eke the space. (407-408)


Over that, to, to see the suete sicht
Of hyr ymage, my spirit was so light
Me thoght I flawe for joye without arest,
So were my wittis boundin all to fest. (424-428)


And hastily by bothe the armes tueyne
I was araisit up into the air,
Clippit in a cloude of cristall clere and fair, (523-525)


"For though that thai were hardy at assay (when tested)
And did him service quhilum (sometimes) prively,
Yit to the warldis eye it semyt nay
So was thair service half cowardy,
And for thay first forsuke him opynly
And efter that therof had repenting,
For schame thair hudis (hoods) ovr thair eyne thay hyng. (617-23)


"And yit, considering the nakitnesse (inadequacy)
Bothe of thy wit, thy persone, and thy myght,
It is no mach of thyne unworthynesse
To hir hie birth, estate, and beautee bryght:
Als like ye bene as day is to the nyght,
Or sek (sack) cloth is unto fyne cremesye,
Or foule doken (dockweed) onto the fresche dayesye. (757-763)


And for thou sall se wele (clearly) that I entend
Unto thy help, thy welefare to preserve,
The streight weye thy spirit will I send
To the goddesse that clepit is Mynerve; (778-781)


How long think thay to stand in my disdeyne
That in my lawis bene so negligent
From day to day, and list tham noght repent
Bot breken louse (loose) and walken at thair large?
Is ther none that therof gevis charge (heed)? (801-805)


"Lo, my gude sone, this is als (as) mich (much) to seyne
As, gif thy lufe be sett (grounded) all uterly
Of nyce lust, thy travail is in veyne. (897-899)


"Bot there be mony of so brukill (frail) sort
That feynis treuth in lufe for a quhile,
And setten all thair wittis and disport
The sely (silly) innocent woman to begyle, (932-935)


"For as the fouler (fowler) quhistlith (whistles) in his throte
Diversely to counterfete the brid,
And feynis mony a suete and strange note,
That in the busk for his desate (deceit) is hid,
Till sche be fast lok in his net amyd,
Ryght so the fatour (deceiver), the false theif I say,
With suete tresoun oft wynnith thus his pray. (939-945)


"Now go thy way and have gude mynd upon
Quhat I have said in way of thy doctryne." (1051-1052)


Quhare, in a lusty plane, tuke I my way
Endlang (along) a ryver plesant to behold,
Enbroudin all with fresche flouris gay,
Quhare throu the gravel bryght as ony gold
The cristall water ran so clere and cold
That in myn ere maid contynualy
A maner soun, mellit (blended) with armony,
/
That full of lytill fischis by the brym
Now here, now there, with bakkis blewe as lede (lead),
Lap and playit, and in a rout (group) can (did) swym
So prattily (prettily) and dressit (took care) tham to sprede
Thair curall (coral) fynnis as the ruby rede
That in the sonne on thair scalis bryght
As gesserant ay glitterit in my sight. (1058-1071)


O besy goste ay flikering to and fro,
That never art in quiet nor in rest
Till thou cum to that place that thou cam fro,
Quhich is thy first and verray proper nest:
From day to day so sore here artow drest (oppressed)
That with thy flesche ay waking art in trouble,
And sleping eke; of pyne so has thou double. (1205-1211)


Unto the impnis (hymns) of my maisteris dere,
Gowere and Chaucere, that on the steppis satt
Of rethorike quhill thai were lyvand here,
Superlative as poetis laureate
In moralitee and eloquence ornate,
I recommend my buk in lynis sevin,
And eke thair saulis unto the blisse of Hevin. Amen. (1373-1378)

Sir David Lyndsay, Selected Poems

Sir David Lyndsay; Selected Poems, Ed. Janet Hadley Williams, The Association for Scottish Literary Studies, Glasgow, 2000

Quhen thow wes strong, I bure the in myne arme
Full tenderlie, tyll thow begouth to gang (walk)
And in thy bed oft happit (wrapped) the full warme,
With lute in hand syne (thereupon) sweitlie to the sang.

(The Dreme, 8-11)


Bot now thou arte, be influence naturall,
Hie of ingyne (intellect) and rycht inquisitive
Of antique storeis and dedis marciall.

(The Dreme, 29-31)


In to the calendis of Janurarie,
Quhen fresche Phebus, be movyng circulair,
Frome Capricorne wes enterit in Aquarie,
With blastis that the branchis maid full bair.
The snaw and sleit perturbit all the air
And flemit (banished) Flora frome every band and bus
Throuch supporte of the auseir (stern) Eolus.

(The Dreme, 57-63)


The small fowlis in flokkis saw I flee
To Nature, makand gret lamentatioun.
Thay lychtit doun besyde me on ane tree
(Of thare complaynt I hade compassioun),

(The Dreme, 84-87)


‘Allace, Aurora!’ the syllie (simple) larke can crye,
‘Quhare hest how left thy balmy lyquour sweit
That us rejosit, we mounting in the skye?
Thy sylver droppis ar turnit in to sleit.

(The Dreme, 92-95)


The see was furth (lowtide), the sand wes smoith and drye.
Than up and doun I musit myne alone
Tyll that I spyit ane lytill cave of stone,
Heych in ane craig. Upwart I did approche
But tarrying, and clam up in the roche,…
Bot satt styll in that cove, quhare I mycht se
The woltryng of the wallis, up and doun,…
So with my hude my hede I happit warme,
And in my cloke I fauldit boith my feit.
I thocht my corps with cauld suld tak no harme:
My mittanis held my handis weill in heit,
The skowland craig me coverit frome the sleit.
Thare styll I satt, my bonis for to rest,
Tyll Morpheus with sleip my spreit opprest.

(The Dreme, 115-140)


And als, langsum (tedious) to me for tyll (to) indyte
Of this presoun the panis (pain) in speciall
(The heit, the calde, the dolour, and dispyte [contempt]),
Quharefor I speik of thame in generall.

(The Dreme, 316-319)


‘Quhat place is this’, quod I, ‘of blys so bair?’
Scho answerit and said, ‘Purgatorye,
Quhilk purgis saulis or thay cum to glorye.’

(The Dreme, 341-343)


First to the Mone, and vesyit (observed) all hir speir,
Quene of the see and bewtie of the nycht

(The Dreme, 386-387)


…And than, but tarrying,
We past unto the heist of the sevin,
Tyll Saturnus, quhilk trublis all the hevin.
With hevy cheir and cullour paill as leid,
In hym we sawe bot dolour to the deid;
/
And cauld and dry he is, of his nature.
Foule lyke ane oule (owl), of evyll conditioun,
Rycht unplesand he is of portrature.
His intoxicat (poisoned) dispositioun,
It puttis all thing to perditioun.
Ground of seiknes and malancolious,
Perverst and pure, baith fals and invyous,
/
His qualite I can nocht love, bot lack.
As for his movying naturallie, but weir,
About the singis of the zodiack,
He dois compleit his cours in thretty yeir.
And so we left hym in his frosty speir.

(The Dreme, 472-488)


The portratour of that palice preclare (splendid)
By geomatre, it is inmesurabyl;
By rethorike, als inpronunciabyll.

(The Dreme, 591-593)


At Remebrance humilye I did inquyre
Geve I mycht in that plesour styll remane.
Scho said, ‘Aganis reasoun is thy desyre;
Quharefor, my freind, thow mon returne agane,
And for thy synnis, be penance, suffer paine,
And thole the dede with creuell panis sore,
Or thow be ding (worthy) to ryng (reign) with hym in glore.’

(The Dreme, 603-609)


‘Quhat is the cause our boundis (lands) bene so bair?’
Quod I, ‘Or quhate dois mufe (cause) our misere?
Or quhareof dois proceid our poverite?

(The Dreme, 809-811)


Of every mettell we have the ryche mynis,
Baith gold, sylver, and stonis precious;
Howbeit we want the spyces and the wynis,
Or uther strange fructis delicious,
We have als gude, and more neidfull for us:
Meit, drynk, fyre, claithis, thar mycht be gart abound,
Quhilkis ellis is nocht in al the mapamound (globe)

(The Dreme, 827-833)


I fynd thame rute (root) and grund of all our greif

(The Dreme, 880)


For quhen the sleuthful hird (shepherd) dois sloug and sleip,
Taking no cure in kepyng of his floke,
Quho wyll go sers (search) amang sic heirdis scheip
May habyll (possibly) fynd mony pure, scabbit (scabbed)
crok (old ewe),
And goyng wyll at large, withouttin lok.
Than lupis cumis, and Lowrance, in ane lyng (line),
And dois, but reuth, the sely (silly) scheip dounthryng (down-thrust).

(The Dreme, 889-896)


And thus, as we wer talking to and fro,
We saw a boustius berne cum ovir the bent,
But hors, on fute, als fast as he mycht go,
Quhose raiment wes all raggit, revin, and rent,

(The Dreme, 918-921)


Thare officiaris thay held me at disdane,
For Symonie, he rewlit all that rout,
And Covatyce, that carle, gart bar me oute.
/
Pryde hatih chaist frome thame humilitie,
Devotioun is fled unto the freris;
Sensuale Pleasour hes baneist Chaistitie,
Lordis of religioun thay go lyke seculeris

(The Dreme, 978-984)


Our gentyll men ar all degenerat

(The Dreme, 988)

Boy wyt ye weill, my hart was wounder sarye,
Quhen Comoun Weill so sopit (sopped) was in sorrow.

(The Dreme, 997-998)


And lychtlie dynit, with lyste (pleasure) and appityte

(The Dreme, 1030)


Hait vicious men, and lufe thame that ar gude

(The Dreme, 1070)


And fynalie, remember thow mon dee,
And suddanlie pas of this mortall see,
And art nocht sicker (certain) of thy lyfe two houris

(The Dreme, 1118-1120)


Nocht lang ago, efter the hour of pryme (midnight),
Secreitly sittyng in myne oratorie,
I tuk ane buke, tyll occupye the tyme,
Quhare I fand mony tragedie and storie
Quhilk Johne Bochas (Boccaccio) had put in memorie…
I, sittyng so, upon my buke redyng,
Rycht suddantlie afore me did appeir
Ane woundit man, aboundantlie bledyng,
With visage paill and with ane dedlye cheir (expression),
Semand ane man of two and fyftie yeir;
In raiment reid, clothit full curiouslie
Of vellot (velvet) of saityng (satin) crammosie (crimson).
/
With febyll voce, as man opprest with paine,
Soiftlye he maid me supplycatioun,
Sayand, ‘My friend, go reid, and reid againe,
Geve thow can fynde, by trew narratioun,
Of ony paine lyke to my passioun.
Rycht sure I am, war Jhone Bochas on lyve,
My tragedie at lenth he wald discryve.
/
Sen he is gone, I pray the tyll indyte
Of my infortune sum remembrance

(The Tragedie of the Cardinall, 1-30)

The Poems of Robert Henryson

The Poems of Robert Henryson, ed. Robert L. Kindrick, TEAMS, Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1997

The nobilnes and grit magnificens
Of prince and lord, quai wants (lists) to magnifie (extol),
His ancestre and lineall discens
Suld first extol, and his genolegie,
So that his harte he mycht inclyne thairby

(Orpheus and Eurydice 1-5)


It is contrair the lawis of nature
A gentill man to be degenerat

(Orpheus and Eurydice 8-9)


No wondir wes thoct he wes fair and wyse,
Gentill and gud, full of liberalitie,
His fader god, and his progenetryse
A goddess, finder of all armony.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 64-67)


Off wardly joy, allace, quat sall I say?
Lyk till a flour that plesandly will spring,
Quhilk fadis sone, and endis with murnyng.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 89-91)


To tak the air and se the flouris spring;
Quhair in a schwa (thicket), neir by this lady ying (young),
A busteous (uncouth) hird, callit Arresteuss,
Kepand his beistis, lay under a buss (bush).

(Orpheus and Eurydice 95-98)


Preckit with lust, he thocht withoutin mair (more [ado])
Hir till (to) oppress—and till hir can he drawe.
Dreidand for evill, scho fled quhen scho him saw,
And as scho ran all bairfute on a buss,
Scho trampit on a serpent vennemuss.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 101-105)

And quen scho vaneist was and unwisible,
Hir madyn wepit with a wofull cheir,
Cryand with mony schowt and voce terrible,
Quhill at the last King Orpheus can heir

(Orpheus and Eurydice 113-116)


Thy goldin pynnis (tuning pins) with mony teiris weit,
And all my pane for till report thow preiss (attempt),
Cryand with me in every steid and streit

(Orpheus and Eurydice 140-142)


His hairt wes so upoun his lusty queen;
The bludy teiris sprang out of his ene,
Thair wes no solace mycht his sobbing sess

(Orpheus and Eurydice 149-151)


Len me thy lycht and lat me nocht go leiss (fail)
To find that fair in fame that was nevir fyld (defiled),
My lady queen and lufe, Euridicess!

(Orpheus and Eurydice 171-173)


This mirry musik and mellefluat,
Compleit and full of nummeris od and evin,
Is causit by the moving of the hevin.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 237-239)


Bot I will tell how Orpheus tuk the way
To seik his wyfe attour the gravis (graves) gray;
Hungry and cauld, our mony wilsum (wild) wone (places),
Withouttin gyd, he and his harp alone.
/
He passit furth the space of twenty dayis,
Fer and full fer and ferrer than I can tell,
And ay he fand streitis and reddy wayis,
Till at the last unto the get of hell

(Orpheus and Eurydice 243-250)


Quhen Orpheus thus saw him suffir neid,
He tuk his harp and fast on it can clink:
The wattir stud, and Tantalus gat a drink.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 286-288)


Beyond this mure he fand a feirfull streit,
Myrk as the nycht, to pass rycht dengerus—
For sliddreness (slipperiness) skant mycht he hald his feit—
In quhilk thair wes a stynk rycht odiuss
That gydit (guided) him to hiddouss hellis hous,
Quhair Rodomantus and Proserpina
Wer king and queen; and Orpheus in can ga.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 303-309)


Syne neddirmair he went quhair Pluto was
And Proserpyne, and thiderward he drew,
Ay playand on his harp quhair he cowth pass,
Till at the last Erudices he knew,
Lene and deidlyk, peteouss paill of hew

(Orpheus and Eurydice 345-349)


Quod Pluto, “Schir, thouct (though) scho by lyk ane elf (apparition),
Scho hes no causs to plenye, and for quhy?
Scho fairis alsweill (as well) daylie as dois my self,
Or king Herod, for all his cchevelry.
It is languor that putis hir in sic ply;
War scho at hame in hir cuntre of Trace,
Scho wald rewert full sone in fax and face.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 359-365)


“Euridices tan be the hand thow tak,
And pass thi way, bot undirneth this pane:
Gife thow turnis, or blenkis behind thy bak,
We sall hir haif forewir till hell agane.”
Thocht this was hard, yit Orpheus was fane,
And on thay went, talkand of play and sport,
Till thay almost come to the outwart port.
/
Thus Orpheus, with inwart lufe repleit,
So blindit was with grit effectioun,
Pensyfe (thinking) apon his wyf and lady sueit.
Remembrit nocht his hard conditioun.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 380-390)


Fair Phebus is the god of sapience;
Caliope, his wyfe, is eloquence;
Thir twa mareit gat Orpheus blyfe (soon),
Quhilk callit is the pairte intellectyfe (intellectual)
Off manis saule and undirstanding, fre
And separate fra sensualitie.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 425-430)


Arestius, this hird that cowth persew
Euridices, is nocht bot gud vertew,
That bissy is to keip our myndis clene

(Orpheus and Eurydice 435-437)


Schir Orpheus, thou seikis all in vane
Thy wyfe so he (high); thairfoir cum doun agane,
And pas unto the monster mervellus
With thre heidis, that we call Cerebus

(Orpheus and Eurydice 459-462)


The second monstris ar the sistiris thre:
Electo, Migera, and Thesaphany
Ar nocht ellis, in bukis as we reid,
Bot wickit thocht, evill word, and thrawart (hasty) deid.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 475-478)


Our synfull deidis fallis doun on sleip,
Thane Ixione out of the quheill gan creip
(Orpheus and Eurydice 513-515)


For this dispyt (evil deed), quhen he was deid, annone (at once)
Was dampnit (damned) in the flud (river) of Acherone,
Till (to) suffer hungir, thrist, nakit and cawld

(Orpheus and Eurydice 527-529)


This hungry man and thirsty, Tantalus,
Betaknis (signifies) men gredy and covetous

(Orpheus and Eurydice 531-532)


And in the nycht sleip soundly thay may nocht,
To gaddir geir (wealth) so gredy is thair thocht.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 543-544)


Quhat lyfe, quhat deth, quhat destiny and werd (fate),
Provydit ware into every man on erd.
Apollo than, for this abusion,
Quhilk is the god of divinatioun,
For he usurpit of his facultie,
Put him to hell, and thair remanis he.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 565-570)


Thow ma (may) no mair offend to God of micht,
Na with thi spaying reif (take) fra him his richt.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 583-585)


Fra ill to war ale thus to hell gois doun,
That is wan howp, throw lang hanting (practice) of syn,
And fowll dispair, that moy fallis in.

(Orpheus and Eurydice 607-609)


No thing is hard, as writ can pruf,
Till (to) him in lufe that letis (lingers)

(The Annunciation 3-4)


The angell it expoundis,
How that hir wame (wombe) but (w/out) woundis
Consave it suld, fra syne exild;
And quhen this carpin wes comilit (completed),
Brichtnes fra bufe aboundis.

(The Annunciation 16-20)


Wox (waxed) in hir chaumer chaist with child

(The Annunciation 23)


That borne was of hir sides (loins)
Our makar, Goddis sone so deir

(The Annunciation 33-34)


The low (flame) of luf haldand (holds) the hete
Unbrynt full blithlie birnis

(The Annunciation 39-40)


Hir mervalus haill (whole) madinhede

(The Annunciation 49)


Him self dispisit (humbled), us to speid (help),
And dowtit (feared) nocht to dee (die) on deid (death)

(The Annunciation 54-55)


Allone as I went up and doun,
In ane abbay wes fair to se,
Thinkand quhat consolatioun
Wes best in to adversitie,
On cais (by chance) I kest on side myne e
And saw this writtin upoun a wall:
“Off quhat estait, man, that thow be,
Obey and thank thi God off all.

(The Abbey Walk 1-8)


Blame nocht thy lord, sa is his will,
Spur nocht thy fute agains the wall,
Bot with meik hairt and prayar still
Obey and thank thy God of all.

(The Abbey Walk 29-32)


He wes the laithliest on to luk
That on the grund mycht gang (walk),
His nailis wes lyk ane hellis cruk (fiend’s crook),
Thairwith five quarteris lang;
Thair wes nane that he ovrtuk,
In rycht or yit in wrang,
Bot all in schondir (asunder) he thame schuke,
The gyane wes so strang.

(The Bludy Serk 25-32)


The king gart (bade) seik (seek) baith fer and neir,
Beth be se (sea) and land,

(The Bludy Serk 41-42)


Quhen that scho lukit to the serk
Scho thocht on the persoun,
And prayit for him with all hir harte
That lowsd (loosed) hir of bandound (bondage),
Quhair scho was wont to sit full merk (dark)
In that deip dungeoun;
And evir quhill scho wes in quert (health)
That was hir a lessoun.

(The Bludy Serk 81-88)


This king is lyk the Trinitie,
Baith in hevin and heir (here),
The manis saule to the lady,
The gyane to Lucefeir

(The Bludy Serk 97-100)


Hir belt suld be of benignitie
Abowt hir middill meit,
Hir mantill of humilitie
To tholl (repell) bayth wind and weit.

(The Garmont of Gud Ladeis 21-24)


Hir slevis suld be of esperance (hope)
To keip hir fra dispair,
Hir gluvis of gud govirnance
To hyd hir fynyearis fair.

(The Garmont of Gud Ladeis 29-32)


O wicket tung, sawand dissentioun,
Of fals taillis to tell that will not tyre,
Moir perrellus than ony fell (horrible) pusoun (poison),
The pane of hell thow sall hair to thi hyre

(Against Hasty Credence 41-44)


Suld no man traist this wrechit warld, for quhy
Of erdly joy ay (always) sorow is the end,
The state of it can noman certify;
This day a king, to morne na gude (cent) to spend.

(The Praise of Age 25-28)


Wer it Thy will, O lord of hevin, allays,
That we suld thus be haistely put doun
And de as beistis without confessioun

(Ane Prayer for the Past 19-21)


Thow that but (w/out) rewth (pity) upoun the Rud wes rent,
Preserve us frome this perrellus pestilens!

(Ane Prayer for the Past 39-40)


Quhen fair Flora, the godes of the flouris,
Baith firth (woods) and feildis freschly had ourffrete (painted),
And perly droppis of the balmy schouris
Thir widdis (woods) grene had with thair watter wete

(The Ressoning betuix Aige and Yowth 1-4)


Wallowit (withered) and wan (pallid) and waik as ony wand (twig)

(The Ressoning betuix Aige and Yowth 13)


At luvis law a quhyle I think to leite (linger),
In court to cramp (caper) clenely (adroitly) in my clothing
And luke amangis thir lusty ladies sueit;
Of marriege to mell (copulate) with mowis (tricks) meit (appropriate),
In secreitnes quhair we may nocht be sene,
And so with birdis (ladies) blythlie my bailles (cares) beit (relieve)

(The Ressoning betuix Aige and Yowth 34-39)


All erdly thing that evir tuik lyfe mon die:
Paip, empriour, king, barroun, and knycht,
Thocht thay be in thair roall stait and hicht,
May nocht ganestand quhen I pleiss schute this derte

(The Ressoning betuix Deth and Man 3-6)


Quhat freik on fold sa bald (bold) dar maniss me,
Or with me fecht, owthir on fute or horss?
Is non so wicht (strong) or stark in this cuntre,
Bot I sall gar (make) him bow to me on fors.

(The Ressoning betuix Deth and Man 13-16)


Tha call me Deid, suthly I the declair,
Calland all man and woman to thair beiris
Quhen evir I pleiss, quhat tyme, quhat plais, or quhair.

(The Ressoning betuix Deth and Man 18-20)


Fulfilland evir my sensualitie
In deadly syn and specialy in pryd.

(The Ressoning betuix Deth and Man 31-32)


Thairfoir repent and remord thi conscience,
Think on thir wirdis I now upoun the cry:
O wrechit man, O full of ignorance,
All thi plesance thow sall deir aby (pay for);
Dispone thy self and cum with me in hy (haste),
Edderis (adders), askis (newts), and wormis meit for to be;
Cum quhen I call; thow may, me nocht denny,
Thocht thow wer paip, empriour, and king al thre.

(The Ressoning betuix Deth and Man 33-40)


Robene sat on gud grene hill
Kepand a flok of fe (sheep)

(Robene and Makyne 1-2)


Be heynd (gentle), courtas, and fair of feir (manner),
Wyse, hardy, and fre (generous),
So that no denger (disdain) do the deir (dread),
Quhat dule (dolor) in dern (secret) thow dre (suffer);
Preis (press on) the with pane (penance) at all poweir,
Be patient and previe (discreet).

(Robene and Makyne 19-24)


Makyne, to morne this ilk (same) a tyde (time),
And ye will meit me heir,
Peraventure (perhaps) my scheip ma gang (stay) besyd
Quhill we haif liggit (lain) full neir.

(Robene and Makyne 41-44)


Robene, thow hes hard (heard) soung and say (proverb)
In gestis (tales) and storeis auld,
‘The man that will nocht quhen he may
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald’.

(Robene and Makyne 89-92)


Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wedder is warme and fair,
And the grene woid (wood) [is] rycht neir us by

(Robene and Makyne 97-99)


Malkyne went hame blyth annewche (enough)

(Robene and Makyne 121)


Ye wald deir (harm) me I trow, becaus I am dottir (stupid)

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 3)


Or I wes dottit or daft (crazy)

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 11)


The crud (shit) of my culome (buttocks), with your teith crakit

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 30)


For to bath your ba cod (scrotum),
Quhen ye wald nop (nap) and nod;
Is nocht bettir be God,
To latt (help) yow to sleip.

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 49-52)


The hairnis (brains) of ane haddok, hakkit or haill (whole)

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 57)


Recipe. thre sponfull of the blak spyce,
With an grit gowpene (handful) of the gowk (cuckoo) fart,
The lug (ear) of ane lyoun, the gufe (grunt) of ane gryce (piglet)

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 68-70)


Gud nycht, guk guk (cuckoo [gullible fool[), for sa I began;
I haif no (not) come at this tyme langer to tary,
Bot luk on this lettir and leird (learn) gif ye can

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 79-81)


It is ane mirk (dark) mirrour,
Ane uthir manis ers (arse).

(Sum Practysis of Medecyne 90-91)


With gaistly sicht behold oure heidis thre,
Oure holkit (hollow) ene, oure peilit (peeled) pollis (skulls) bair.
As ye ar now, in to this warld we wair,
Als fresche, als fair, als lusty to behald:
Quhan thow lukis on this suth (true) examplair
Off thy self, man, thow may be richt unbald (timid).
/
For suth it is that every man mortall
Mon suffer deid (death) and de, that lyfe hes tane (taken)

(The Thre Deid Pollis 3-10)


Full laithly (loathely) thus sall ly thy lusty heid,
Holkit (hollowed) and how (sunken), and wallowit (withered) as
the weid;
Thy crampand (curled) hair and eik thy cristall ene (eye)
Full cairfully (sorrowfully) conclud sall dulefull deid;

(The Thre Deid Pollis 20-23)


O ladies quhyt, in claithis corruscant (sparkling),
Poleist (adorned) with perle and mony pretius stane,
With palpis (breasts) quhyt and hals (neck) so elegant
Sirculit with gold and sapheris mony ane (a-one);
Your finyearis small, quhyt as quhailis bane (bone),
Arrayit with ringis and mony rubeis reid:
As we ly thus, so sall ye ly ilk (every) ane,
With peilit (peeled) pollis (skulls), and holkit (hollow) thus
your heid.

(The Thre Deid Pollis 25-32)


Sen (when) want of wyse men makis fulis (fools) to sit on
binkis (court benches).
/
That tyme quhen levit (lived) the king Saturnus,
For gudely gouvernance this warld was goldin cald

(The Want of Wyse Men 8-10)


Trew lufe is loren (lost), nd lautee (loyalty) haldis no lynkis

(The Want of Wyse Men 46)


Ane doolie (dismal) sessoun (season) to ane cairful dyte (poem)
Suld correspond and be equivalent:
Richt sa it wes quhen I began to wryte
This tragedie; the wedder (weather) richt fervent (bitter),
Quhen Aries, in middis of the Lent,
Schouris of haill gart (did) fra the north discend,
That scantlie fra the cauld I micht defend.
/
Yit nevertheles within myne oratur (study)
I student (stood), quhen Titan had his bemis bricht
Withdrawin doun and sylit (concealed) under cure (cover),
And fair Venus, the bewtie of the nicht,
Uprais and set unto the west full richt
Hir goldin face, in oppositioun
Of God Phebus, direct discending doun.
/
Throwout the glas hir Bemis brast (burst) sa fair
That I micht se on everie syde me by;
The northin wind had purifyit the air
And sched the mistie cloudis fra the sky;
The froist freisit, the blastis bitterly
Fra Pole Artick come quhisling loud and schill,
And causit me remufe (withdraw [from the window])
aganis my will.

(The Testament of Cresseid 1-21)


How Troilus neir out of wit abraid (went)
And weipit soir with visage paill of hew,
For quhilk wanhope (despair) his teiris can renew,
Quhill esperance (hope) rejoisit him agane:
Thus quhyle (sometimes) in joy he levit, quhyle in pane.

(The Testament of Cresseid 45-49)


Of his distress me neidis nocht reheirs,
For worthie Chauceir in the samin buik,
In gudelie termis and in joly veirs,
Compylit hes his cairis, quha will luik.

(The Testament of Cresseid 57-60)


Quhen Diomed had all his appetite,
And mair, fulfillit of this fair ladie,
Upon ane uther he set his haill (whole) delyte,
And send to hir ane lybell of repudie (divorce)
And hir excludit fra his companie.

(The Testament of Cresseid 71-75)


To change in (into) filth all thy feminitie,
And be with fleschelie lust sa maculait (defiled),
And go amang the Greikis air (early) and lait,
So giglotlike (whorishly) takand (taking) thy foull plesance!

(The Testament of Cresseid 80-83)


The quhilk fortoun hes put to sic distress
As hir pleisit, and nathing throw the gilt
Of the (thee)…

(The Testament of Cresseid 89-91)


To quhilk Cresseid, with baill (woe) aneuch (enough) in breist,
Usit to pas, hir prayeris for to say,
Quhill at the last, upon ane solempne day,
/
As custome was, the pepill far and neir
Befoir the none (noon) unto the tempill went
With sacrifice, devoit in thair maneir.

(The Testament of Cresseid 110-115)


O fals Cupide, is nane to wyte (blame) bot thow
And thy mother, of lufe the blind godess!

(The Testament of Cresseid 134-135)


Quhen this was said, doun in ane extasie,
Ravischit in spreit, intill ane dreame scho fell,
And be (by) appearance hard (heard), quhair scho did lye,
Cupide the king ringand ane silver bell

(The Testament of Cresseid 141-144)


His face fronsit (wrinkled), his lyre (complexion) was lyke
the leid (lead),
His teith chatterit and cheverit with the chin,
His ene drowpit, how sonkin in his heid,
Out of his nois the meldrop fast can rin,
With lippis bla (blue) and cheikis leine and thin;
The ice schoklis (icicles) that fra his hair doun hang
Was wonder greit, and as ane speir als lang:

(The Testament of Cresseid 155-161)


As goldin wyre sa (so) glitterand was his hair

(The Testament of Cresseid 177)


Than fair Phebus, lanterne and lamp of licht,
Of man and beist, baith frute and flourisching (bloom)

(The Testament of Cresseid 197-198)


Bot in hir face semit greit variance,
Quhyles perfyte treuth and quhyles inconstance.
/
Under smyling scho was dissimulait (false),
Provocative with blenkis (glances) amorous,
And suddanely changit and alterait,
Angrie as ony serpant vennemous,
Richt pungitive with wordis odious

(The Testament of Cresseid 223-229)


Nixt efter him come lady Cynthia,
The last of all and swiftest in hir spheir;
Of colour blak, buskit (adorned) with hornis twa,
And in the nicht scho listis best appeir;
Haw (wan) as the leid (lead), of colour nathing cleir,
For all hir licht scho borrowis at hir brother
Titan, for of hir self scho hes nane uther.

(The Testament of Cresseid 253-259)


Saying of hir greit infelicitie
I was the caus, and my mother Venus,

(The Testament of Cresseid 281-282)

Regarding the Pain of Others, Susan Sontag

Regarding the Pain of Others, Susan Sontag, Picador, 2003

And photographs of the victims of war are themselves a species of rhetoric. They reiterate. They simplify. They agitate. They create the illusion of consensus. 6

To read in the pictures, as Woolf does, only what confirms a general abhorrence of war is to stand back from an engagement with Spain as a country with a history. It is to dismiss politics. 9

Being a spectator of calamities taking place in another country is a quintessential modern experience. 18

After four decades of big-budget Hollywood disaster films, “It felt like a movie” seems to have displaced the way survivors of a catastrophe used to express the short-term unassimilability of what they had gone through: “It felt like a dream.” 22

Photography is the only major art in which professional training and years of experience do not confer an insuperable advantage over the untrained and inexperienced—this for many reasons, among them the large role that chance (or luck) plays in the taking of pictures, and the bias towards the spontaneous, the rough, the imperfect. 28

The frankest representations of war, and of disaster-injured bodies, are of those who seem most foreign, therefore least likely to be known. With subjects closer to home, the photographer is expected to be more discreet. 61-62

There is beauty in ruins…The most people dared to say was that the photographs were “surreal,”… “Ground Zero,” was of course anything but beautiful. Photographs tend to transform, whatever their subject; and as an image something may be beautiful—or terrifying, or unbearable, or quite bearable—as it is not in real life. 76

Making suffering loom larger, by globalizing it, may spur people to feel they ought to “care” more. It also invites them to feel that the sufferings and misfortunes are too vast, too irrevocable, too epic to be much changed by any local political intervention. 79

Harrowing photographs do not inevitably lose their power to shock. But they are not much help if the task is to understand. Narratives can make us understand. 89

R. V. Young, Richard Crashaw and the Spanish Golden Age

Richard Crashaw and the Spanish Golden Age, R. V. Young, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1982

A disproportionate attention has been devoted to those poems with clear marks of Marinist or neo-Latin influence at the expense of later and decidedly superior pieces, like the Teresa poems and the various hymns on ecclesiastical feasts. Thus Crashaw’s regrettable fate is to be remembered largely for his most extravagant epigrams and, especially, for “The Weeper,” one of the most Marinistic but least successful efforts. Moreover, the focus on the more superficial and insistent distinctions—the startling conceit, the fusion of wit, piety, and sensuality—has obscured the truly fundamental differences between Crashaw and his English contemporaries.

In seeking to define the difference, it is important that concrete examples be adduced but equally important that “The Weeper” be avoided. The common assumption that this poem is typical of Crashaw (resulting, no doubt, for its irresistible pedagogical usefulness as an example of “baroque excess”) has placed it in the center of most discussions of the poet’s word. 1-2

The speaker in Crashaw’s poems is, in fact, almost always impersonal…When Crashaw addresses someone, Saint Teresa for example, it is almost always in the mode of apostrophe: there is no sense that he is expecting a reply…In short, although he deals with persons, Crashaw does not deal with specifically individual or private experience; and although he is often interested in a particular place, as in the Nativity and Epiphany hymns, he almost never defines a truly dramatic setting. 8-9

Crashaw’s poetry is essentially public: the poet is a participant in a ritual, in a celebration of the Church (Cf. Louis L. Martz, The Paradise Within, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964, pp. 3-3). If the personal note is foremost in Herbert, in Crashaw the essence is impersonality. He is interested in Teresa more as a saintly pattern for the faithful than as an individual: there is nothing “psychological” about his treatment of her raptures. Even the mysticism of the dark night of the soul is characteristically linked by Crashaw to a celebration of a Church feast in the Epiphany hymn. 9

Crashaw writes what then might be called “sacred occasional verse,” but since the “occasions” are not only renewed each year but indeed represent the transfiguration of time by the ingression of eternity, his poems escape the usual limitations of this sort of poetry. Crashaw’s own poems, like the medieval hymns he translated, aspire to be, in spirit if not in fact, a part of the liturgy. /

Plainly the difference between Crashaw and most other English devotional poets is not simply a matter of Marinist or neo-Latin influence. Witty conceits and lush images are not the most important or distinctive features of Crashaw’s poetry; a contrasting popular element of humor, innocence, and childlike wonder pervades his work and is explicitly indicated in the Nativity hymn:

Welcome, though not to those gay flyes.
Guided ith’ Beames of earthly kings;
Slippery soules in smiling eyes;
But to poor Shepheards, home-spun things:
Whose Wealth’s their flock; whose witt, to be
Well read in their simplicity. [ll. 91-96]

If this is not the accent of Herbert, neither is it the exotic sophistication associated with Marino. In any case, the Italianate style was available in England before Crashaw (indeed, before Marino) began to write. As A. Alvarez observes, “The elements of Crashaw’s style are there in Southwell and Giles Fletcher’ he also has qualities in common with Francis Quarles. Yet nobody worries about them.” (The School of Donne, New York, Random House, 1961, p. 100) In other words, elaborate rhetorical artifice is not what sets Crashaw apart. “There would be no difficulty with Crashaw’s poetry,” Alvarez quips, “if it were not as good it is.” (p. 99)

The fundamental incompatibility between Crashaw’s tone and purpose and the work of Marino and the neo-Latinists may be observed in a progressive slackening of their influence in Crashaw’s finest and most mature poetry. Mario Praz’s study of Crashaw and the notes in the editions by George Williams and L. C. Martin cite numerous parallels to the borrowings from Italian and continental Jesuit sources in Crashaw’s epigrams, “The Weeper,” and many of the earlier poems (Mario Praz, “Crashaw and the Baroque Style,” in The Flaming Heart, 1958; rpt. Gloucester, MA, Peter Smith, 1966, pp. 204-63; L. C. Martin, ed. The Poems English, Latin and Greek of Richard Crashaw, 2nd ed., Oxford: Claredon, 1957; and Williams, ed., Complete Poetry.) In addition there are translations of Marino, other Italians, and various neo-Latinists. But when we turn to the sacred poems identified by Martin as among Crashaw’s last compositions, there is a dramatic diminution in these analogues and, in fact, a dramatic change in the character of the poetry:

“The poems which were added to Steps to the Temple in 1648 show that, apart from the continued preoccupations with “divine” subjects and the continued and perhaps increased fostering of an exalted religious sense, Crashaw’s style was now developing away from the clearly apprehended imagery and precise metrical forms of his earliest poetry towards a freer verse and more complex metaphorical utterance, in which the images, as in Shakespeare’s later style, seem to follow each other in quicker successful without always being clearly conceived or fully exploited. “ (Poems English, Latin and Greek, pp. xci-xcii.)

Crashaw’s most astute critics have noticed this change in the character of his work and point out that if it involves a growth beyond Marinism. Even Mario Praz, who was first to stress the Italian influence, gives certain indications that it is an inadequate explanation for many aspects of Crashaw’s poetry. He praises the translation of Sospetto d’Herode at the expense of Marino’s original, commends the naturalness of Crashaw’s conceits in contrast to Marino’s mechanical effects, and finally suggests that similarities between Crashaw and Marino are largely superficial:

It would be unfair to call Crashaw a Marinist just because he was trained to turn surprising concetti in Marino’s school: Crashaw’s poetry, in its more peculiar aspects, is the literary counterpart, though a minor one, to Ruben’s apotheosis, Murillo’s languors and El Greco’s ecstasies. (The Flaming Heart, pp. 233, 248, 252-53. See also Ruth Wallerstein, Richard Crashaw: A Study in Style and Poetic Development, pp. 35, 53; and Warren, Richard Crashaw: A Study, p. 158)

The extent of Marino’s influence on Crashaw and other English writers is also questioned in a major study of the Italian poet. James V. Mirollo observes that, with few exceptions, “similarities of theme or imagery between Crashaw and Marino cannot be safely attributed to the direct influence of the Italian, who in many instances worked with the same materials in Latin and Italian poetry that Crashaw knew.” According to Mirollo, Marino’s general impact has often been exaggerated:

“In truth, the elements of Marino’s verse that appealed to Crashaw were available as early as the poetry of Robert Southwell, whose poem on Saint Peter (1595), translated out of Tansillo’s Lacrime di San Pietro (1585), may be said to mark the arrival in England of the continental neo-Catholic style…if the Marinesque style is to be identified exclusively with post-Tridentine poetry, then we should have to say that it all began before Marino’s output, with those elements of his style which are least original with him, hence the Italian’s influence was important but not crucial.” (The Poet of the Marvelous: Giambattista Marino [New York: Columbia University Press, 1963], pp. 250-51. Mirollo also point out that “in his relations with Iberian literature Marino was more the borrower than the lender” [p. 265; see also pp. 252-54]. Marino’s “borrowings” from Lope de Vega were first detailed (as Mirollo acknowledges) by Damaso Alonso, “Lope despojado por Marino,” Revista de filologia Espanola, 33, 1949, 110-43. For differing angles on Marino’s relations to Crashaw, see Laura L. Petoello, “A Current Misconception Concerning the Influence of Marino’s Poetry on Crashaw’s,” MLR, 52 [1957], 321-328; and Louis R. Barbato, “Marino, Crashaw, and Sospetto d’Herode,” PQ, 54 [1975], 522-27.)

Crashaw, quite evidently, stands apart from the Metaphysical poets despite obvious affinities of theme and style, but at the same time his peculiarity cannot be accounted for and dismissed by merely referring it to the seductive influence of Marino and neo-Latin rhetoric. It has become commonplace to call Crashaw’s poetry baroque, but very often this is a verbal evasion rather than an explanation. Douglas Bush, for example, calls Crashaw “the one conspicuous English incarnation of ‘baroque sensibility,’” but he proceeds to close and unedifying circle by defining baroque poetry as “poetry like Crashaw’s.” (English Literature in the Earlier Seventeenth Century, 1600-60, 2nd ed., Oxford: Claredon, 1962, p. 147) Various scholars have drawn illuminating parallels between Crashaw’s verse and baroque music or plastic arts, or Counter-Reformation mystical or liturgical symbolism, but comparisons among the various arts are always vague and full of qualifications. This apparent impasse, which forces us to regard Crashaw’s later poetry as sui generis and utterly remote, is the result of assuming that baroque literature was virtually all written in Italian or Latin and thus ignoring one of the most fertile sources of the European baroque movement: the Spanish siglo de oro or Golden Age. In the later sixteenth and earlier seventeenth centuries, baroque art, both visual and literary, was nowhere stronger than in Spain; and, of more importance, nowhere were the forces of the Counter Reformation strong er among poetic talents of the first order. It is, then, to Spain that we must turn in seeking to provide a literary home for England’s poetic outcast, in seeking to place Crashaw in context. 9-12

Wellek and Warren issue a stern warning to the scholar who would seek to establish relationships or influence and parallel between specific works of literature:

“Parallel hunting has been widely discredited recently: especially when attempted by an inexperienced student, it runs into obvious dangers. First of all, parallels must be real parallels, not vague similarities assumed to turn, by mere multiplication, into proof. Forty noughts still make nought. Furthermore, parallels must be exclusive parallels; that is, there must be a reasonable certainty attainable only if the investigator has a wide knowledge of literature or if the parallel is a highly intricate pattern rather than an isolated ‘motif’ or word.” (Rene Wellek and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature, 3rd ed., New York, Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1962, p. 258)

Having asserted this point, however, they then concede the value of the method: “The relationships between two or more works of literature can be discussed profitably only when we see them in their proper place within the scheme of literary development. Relationships between works of art present a critical problem of comparing two wholes, two configurations not to be broken into isolated components except for preliminary study.” It is precisely from a failure to heed this last injunction that Crashaw’s reputation has suffered. Because it is not difficult to locate extravagant conceits in Crashaw, and because there are such conceits in Marino, it has been all too easy to dismiss the English poet as Italianate without ever considering the poetic design which his conceits—and all the other aspects of his poetry—serve. In the light of such observations, it is hardly to the purpose to demonstrate that a given phrase or figure of image in a poem by Crashaw comes not from Marino but rather from, say, Gongora, even if this should prove often enough to be true. 16-17

The Cambridge History of English Literature, Volume VII, Adolphus William Ward, Alfred Rayney Waller, G.P.Putnam's Sons, New York, 1911

Coleridge who...might have been expected to be a thoroughgoing admirer of Browne, does, indeed, accuse him of being a corrupter of language. But the passage in which the accusation occurs is a mass of anachronisms; it was evidently written in one of the well known Coleridgean fits of "fun," as Lamb called them, that is to say, of one-sided crochet; and the corruption alleged is that of a purely fanciful standard of Elizabethan English which appears to have have been blended for himself by the critic out of two such isolated, anything but contemporary, and singularly different, exemplars as Latimer and Hooker. 269

Shelburne Essays, Paul Elmer More, G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1909

Of style in one sense he possesses indeed little; unless sustained by poetic emotion, he never safe from floundering in the most awkward verbiage. He is, more perhaps than any other author in English, dependent for his fame on purple patches. But at its best there is I know not what excellence of sound in his language, a melody through which we seem to catch echoes of other-worldly music that lift the hearer into an ecstasy of admiration. He has, as he himself might say, transfused into words the magic of that Pythagorean numerosity which forever haunted his understanding...It is not easy to discover the secret of these harmonies in the words of Sir Thomas Browne himself, for his manner varies from page to page. at times, especially in his earlier works, the language is brief and direct, built up on the simplest Anglo-Saxon roots. More often it has a touch of exotic strangeness, due principally to the excess of Latin.