what he could to take hold with hands upon the twigs and plants that there about grew forth) was able to creep down. This place being before naturally of it selfe steepe & pendant with a downe-fall, now was choked & dammed up with a new fall of earth, which left a bank behind it of a wonderful & monstrous heigth. There the horsmen stood still as if they had been come to their waies end. And when Anniball merveiled much what the matter might be that staied them so, as they marched not on: word was brought him, that the Rock was unaccessible & unpassable. Wherupon, he went himself in person to view the place, & then he saw indeed without all doubt, that although he had fetched a compasse about, yet he had gained nought thereby, but conducted his armie to passe through wilds & such places as before had never been beaten & troden. And verely that (of al other) was such as it was impossible to passe through. For, wher as there lay old snow untouched & not trodden on, and over it other snow newly fallen, of a smal depth; in this soft & tender snow, & the same not verie deep, their feet as they went easely tooke hold: but that snow, being once with the gate of so many people & beasts upon it, fretted and thawed, they were faine to go upon the bare yce underneath, and in the slabberie snow-broth, as it relented and melted about their heeles. There they had foule adoe and much strugling, for that they could not tread sure upon the slipperie yce: and againe, going as they did (downe hill) their feet sooner failed them and when they had helped themselves once in getting up, either with hands or knees; if they chanced to fal again, when those their props and staies deceived them, there were no twigs nor rootes about, whereon a man might take hold, and rest or stay himselfe, either by hand or foot. And therefore all that the poore garrons and beasts could doe was to tumble and wallow only upon the slipperie and glassie yce and the molten slabbie snow. Otherwhiles also they perished as they went in the deepe snow, whiles it was yet soft and tender: for when they were once slidden and fallen, with flinging out their heeles, and beating with their hoofes more forcibly for to take hold, they brake the yce through; so as most of them, as if they had ben caught fast and fettered, stucke still in the deepe, hard frozen, & congealed yce. At last, when as both man & beast were weried and overtoiled, and all to no purpose, they encamped upon the top of an hill, having with very much ado clensed the place aforehand for that purpose: such a deale of snow there was to be digged, faied, and thrown out. This done, the souldiors were brought to breake that rocke, through which was their onely waie and against the time that it was to be hewed through, they felled & overthrew many huge trees that grew there about, and made a mightie heape and pile of wood: the wind served fitly for the time to kindle a fire, & then they set all a burning. Now when the rock was on fire and red hot, they powred thereon strong vineger for to calcine & dissolve it. When as the rock was thus baked (as it were) with fire, they digged into it, and opened it with pickeaxes, and made the descent gentle and easie, by meanes of moderate windings and turnings: so as not onely the horses and other beasts, but even the elephants also might be able to go downe. Foure daies he spent about the levelling of this rock : & the beasts were almost pined and lost for hunger. the hill tops for the most part are bare of grasse; and looke what fog and forage there was, the snow overhilled it. The dales and lower grounds have some little For banks lying to the sunne, and rivers withall, neere unto the woods, yea and places more meet and beseeming for men to inhabite. There were the labouring beasts put out to grasse & pasture, and the soldiors that were wearied with making the waies had three daies allowed to rest in. From thence they went downe into the plaine countrie, where they found both the place more easie and pleasant, and the natures of the inhabitants more tractable. (From the Livy.) See Fuller's Worthies, and Whibley's preface to the Suetonius in the Tudor Translations' (1899). Garron is a pony; faied, cleared away; fog, coarse winter grass. John Florio, the translator of Montaigne, was born in London about 1553. His father was a Protestant exile and Italian preacher in London, but unpleasant charges were brought against his moral character, and he lost his post and his patrons. John Florio appears as a private tutor in foreign languages at Oxford about 1576, and two years later published his First Fruites, mainly English and Italian dialogues, accompanied by A Perfect Induction to the Italian and English Tongues. In 1581 Florio was admitted a member of Magdalen College, and became a teacher of French and Italian. He enjoyed the patronage successively of the Earls of Leicester, Southampton, and Pembroke. The Second Fruites, more Italian and English dialogues, had annexed to it the Garden of Recreation, containing Italian Proverbs (1591). His Italian and English dictionary, entitled A Worlde of Wordes, was published in 1598, and was repeatedly reprinted, extended, and translated. Florio was appointed reader in Italian to Queen Anne, and afterwards groom of the privy-chamber. In 1603 he published in folio his famous translation of Montaigne, of which it is praise enough to say that it is a version worthy of its original, and a noble monument of Elizabethan English. Thanks to him, as was said at the time, 'Montaigne now speaks English :' in that version Montaigne spoke to Shakespeare. In his later translation (1685) Charles Cotton, himself not immaculate, dwells on the numerous and gross errors of his predecessor. There are indeed not a few slips in Florio's by no means literal translation; and it may fairly be claimed that Cotton's easy colloquial style comes nearer the diction of the Essays than Florio's quaint and stately but cumbrous and involved English. But Florio, it should be remembered, would not seem quaint to Elizabethans; and his Montaigne still ranks as the great standard English rendering. The title was The Essayes on Morall, Politike and Millitarie Discourses of Lord Michaell de Montaigne. It is certain from the Tempest that Shakespeare was familiar with the book; and it was long, but quite gratuitously, believed that the pedantic Holofernes in Love's Labour's Lost was a study after Florio. No doubt Shakespeare must have known one who was a protégé of his own patrons; but Florio was not the only Italian then in London, and Florio (who died of plague at Fulham in 1625) was no absurd pedant. From the Essay of Lyers. : I see all men generally busied (and that verie improperly) to punish certaine innocent errours in children, which have neither impression nor consequence, and chastice and vex them for rash and fond actions. Onely lying, and stubbornnesse somewhat more, are the faults whose birth and progresse I would have severely punished and cut off; for they grow and increase with them and if the tongue have once gotten this ill habit, good Lord! how hard, nay how impossible it is to make her leave it! whereby it ensueth, that we see many very honest men in other matters, to bee subject and enthralled to that fault. I have a good lad to my tailour, whom I never heard speak a truth; no not when it might stand him in stead of profit. If a lie had no more faces but one, as truth hath, we should be in farre better termes than we are : For whatsoever a lier should say, we would take it in a contrarie sense. But the opposite of truth hath many, many shapes, and an undefinite field. The Pythagoreans make good to be certaine and finite, and evill to bee infinite and uncertaine. A thousand bywayes misse the marke, one onely hits the same. Surely I can never assure my selfe to come to a good end, to warrant an extreme and evident danger, by a shamelesse and solemne lie. An ancient Father saith, We are better in the companie of a knowne dogge, than in a mans societie whose speech is unknowne to us. Ut externus alieno non sit hominis vice (PLIN. Nat. Hist. vii. 1). A stranger to a stranger is not like a man. And how much is a false speech lesse sociable than silence? (Book i. chap. 15.) Of the Force of Imagination. I am Fortis imaginatio generat casum: A strong imagination begetteth chance, say learned clearks. I am one of those that feele a very great conflict and power of imagination. All men are shockt therewith, and some overthrowne by it. The impression of it pierceth me, and for want of strength to resist her, my endevour is to avoid it. I could live with the only assistance of holy and merry-hearted men. The sight of others anguishes doth sensibly drive me into anguish; and my sense hath often usurped the sense of a third man. If one cough continually, he provokes my lungs and throat. more unwilling to visit the sicke dutie doth engage me unto, than those to whom I am little beholding and regard least. I apprehend the evil which I studie, and place it in me. I deeme it not strange that she brings both agues and death to such as give her scope to worke her wil, and applaude her. Simon Thomas was a great Physitian in his daies. I remember upon a time comming by chance to visit a rich old man that dwelt in Tholouse, and who was troubled with the cough of the lungs, who discoursing with the said Simon Thomas of the meanes of his recoverie, he told him that one of the best was to give me occasion to be delighted in his companie, and that fixing his eyes upon the livelines and freshnes of my face, and setting his thoughts upon the jolitie and vigor wherewith my youthfull age did then flourish, and filling all his senses with my florising estate, his habitude might thereby be amended and his health recovered. But he forgot to say that mine might also be empaired and infected. Gallus Vibius did so well enure his mind to comprehende the essence and motions of folly, that he so transported his judgement from out his seat, as he could never afterward bring it to his right place againe; and might rightly boast to have become a foole through wisdome. Some there are that through feare anticipate the hangmans hand; as he did, whose friends having obtained his pardon, and putting away the cloth wherewith he was hood-winkt that he might heare it read, was found starke dead upon the scaffold, wounded only by the stroke of imagination. Wee sweat, we shake, we grow pale, and we blush at the motions of our imaginations; and wallowing in our beds we feele our bodies agitated and turmoiled at their apprehensions, yea in such manner as sometimes we are ready to yeeld up the spirit. (Book i. chap. 20.) The Profit of One Man is the Dammage of Demades the Athenian condemned a man of the Citie, whose trade was to sell such necessaries as belonged to burials, under colour, hee asked too much profit for them; and that such profit could not come unto him without the death of many people. This judgement seemeth to be ill taken, because no man profiteth but by the losse of others: by which reason a man should condemne all manner of gaine. The Merchant thrives not but by the licentiousnesse of youth; the Husbandman by dearth of corne; the Architect but by the ruine of houses; the Lawyer by suits and controversies betweene men: Honour it selfe, and practice of religious Ministers, is drawne from our death and vices. No Physitian delighteth in the health of his owne friend, said the ancient Greeke Comike: nor no Souldier is pleased with the peace of his Citie, and so of the rest. And which is worse, let every man sound his owne conscience, hee shall finde that our inward desires are for the most part nourished and bred in us by the losse and hurt of others; which when I considered, I began to thinke how Nature doth not gainesay herselfe in this, concerning her generall policie; for Physitians hold that The birth, increase, and augmentation of everything is the alteration and corrup tion of another. (Book i. chap. 21.) The second edition of the Montaigne appeared in 1613, and a third in 1632. There have been recent reprints by Professor Morley (1 vol. 1885), J. H. M'Carthy (3 vols. 1889-90), Chubb (1 vol. 1893), Waller (in the 'Temple Classics,' 6 vols. 1897-98), and Professor Saintsbury (in the Tudor Translations,' 3 vols. 1892-93). William Painter (1540?-94) studied at Cambridge, was master of Sevenoaks school, but in 1561 became Clerk of Ordnance in the Tower. His Palace of Pleasure (1566-67), largely composed of stories from Boccaccio, Bandello, and Margaret of Navarre, became popular, and was the main source whence many dramatists drew their plots; several of Shakespeare's plays owe something to his Italian borrowings. Twenty-six of the tales come from Bandello, but were done, not from the Italian, but from one or other of the French versions. Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet is based directly on the rhymed translation of Arthur Broke, but may in some points have followed Painter's Rhomeo and Julietta, published in the second volume (1567) of the Palace of Pleasure. The reader may compare the balcony scene in Painter with that given on the next page as in Broke: And continuing this manner of Lyfe for certaine Dayes, Rhomeo not able to content himself with lookes, daily did behold and marke the fituation of the house, and one day amongs others hee efpyed Iulietta at hir Chamber Window, bounding vpon a narrow Lane, ryght ouer against which Chamber he had a Gardein, which was the cause that Rhomeo, fearing difcouery of their loue, began the day time to paffe no more before the Gate, but fo foone as the Night with his browne Mantell had couered the Earth, hee walked alone vp and downe that little ftreat. And after he had bene there many times, miffing the chiefest cause of his comming, Iulietta, impacient of hir euill, one night repaired to hir window, & perceiued throughe the bryghtneffe of the Moone hir Friend Rhomeo vnder hir Window, no leffe attended for, than hee hymfelfe was waighting. Then the fecretly with Teares in hir Eyes, & wyth voyce interrupted by fighes, said: Signior Rhomeo, me thinke that you hazarde your person to mutch, and commyt the fame into great Daunger, at thys time of the Nyght to protrude your felf to the Mercy of them which meane you little good. Who yf they had taken would haue cut you in pieces, and mine honor (which I efteme dearer than my Lyfe,) hindred and suspected for euer.' 'Madame,' aunswered Rhomeo, my Lyfe is in the Hand of God, who only can difpofe the fame: howbeyt yf any Man had foughte menes to bereyue mee of my Lyfe, I should (in the presence of you) haue made him knowen what mine ability had ben to defend the fame. Notwythftandyng Lyfe is not fo deare, and of futch estimation wyth me, but that I coulde vouchsafe to facryfice the fame for your fake and althoughe my myfhappe had bene fo greate, as to bee dyspatched in that Place, yet had I no cause to be forrye therefore, excepte it had bene by lofynge the meanes, and way how to make you vnderstande the good wyll and duety which I beare you, defyrynge not to conferue the fame for anye commodytye that I hope to haue thereby, nor for anye other respecte, but onelye to Loue, Serue, and Honor you fo long as breath fhal remaine in me.' So foone as he had made an end of his talke, loue and pity began to feaze vpon the heart of Julietta, & leaning hir head vpon hir hand, hauing hir face all befprent wyth teares, the said vnto Rhomeo: 'Syr Rhomeo, I pray you not to renue that grief agayne: for the onely Memory of futch inconuenyence maketh me to counterpoyfe betwene Death and Lyfe, my heart being so vnited with yours, as you cannot receyue the leaft Injury in this world, wherein I shall not be fo great a Partaker as your felf: beseechyng you for conclufion, that if you defire your owne health and mine, to declare vnto me in fewe Wordes what youre determynation is to attaine: for if you couet any other fecrete thing at my Handes, more than myne Honoure can well allowe, you are maruelously deceiued. : The Palace of Pleasure has been edited by Haslewood (1813) and Joseph Jacobs (1890). Arthur Broke, or BROOKE, had the honour of writing that Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Iuliet (1562) from which probably Shakespeare chiefly took the story of his drama. Though professedly translating from the Italian of Bandello, Broke worked from a French translation, and the result was a paraphrase, with additions, amplifications, and alterations, in rather limping verserhymed couplets of twelve and thirteen syllables alternately. (The prose version of the tale by Painter may also have been before Shakespeare, but Broke's poem gave Shakespeare not merely the plot but sometimes the words; the Nurse is partly Broke's creation.) Part of the balcony scene is quoted. Nothing is known of Broke except that he died by shipwreck while passing to France by way of Newhaven to join the English troops fighting for the Huguenots in 1563: Impacient of her woe, she hapt to leane one night Within her window, and anon the Moone did shine so bright That she espyde her loue, her hart reuiued, sprang ; And now for ioy she clappes her handes, which erst for woe she wrang. Eke Romeus, when he sawe his long desired sight, His moorning cloke of mone cast of, hath clad him with delight. Yet dare I say, of both that she reioyced more : His care was great, hers twise as great was all the tyme before. But eche of them alike dyd burne in equall flame, Oh Romeus of your lyfe too lauas sure you are : they teare. In ruth and in disdayne, I, weary of my life, With cruell hand my moorning hart would perce with bloudy knyfe. For you, myne owne once dead, what ioy should I haue heare? And eke my honor staynde which I then lyfe doe holde more deare. Fayre lady myne, dame Iuliet, my lyfe (quod he) Euen from my byrth committed was to fatall sisters three. They may, in spyte of foes, draw foorth my liuely threed; And they also, who so sayth nay, a sonder may it shreed. But who to reaue my lyfe, his rage and force would bende, Perhaps should trye vnto his payne how I it could defende. Ne yet I loue it so, but alwayes, for your sake, A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corps betake. And how I wishe for lyfe, not for my propre ease : Tyll dedly pangs the sprite out of the corps shall send : Lauas is lavish; peysed, poised. The poem has been repeatedly reprinted since 1821, as in J. P. Collier's School of Shakespeare (1843). John Harington, the elder (flor. 1540-78), who was a confidential servant of Henry VIII., wrote very pleasing love-verses, some of which were published in the Nuga Antiquæ (1804). The poet married first a natural daughter of the king, and then Isabella Markham, one of the Princess Elizabeth's gentlewomen; and with his second wife was sent to the Tower by Queen Mary, together with Elizabeth, who, on her accession to the throne, rewarded him with many favours. The following verses, from the author's own MS. dated 1564 (but written probably ten years before), were composed on Isabella Markham; and Sir John Harington (page 391), the translator of Ariosto, was the son of this loving couple : Whence comes my love? O hearte, disclose : Syth noughte dothe saye the hearte of stone. Why thus, my love, so kynd bespeake O Venus, take thy giftes again; Make not so faire to cause our moane, Or make a hearte that 's lyke our owne. Richard Edwards (1523?-66) was a Somerset man, who studied at Oxford, and was a member of Lincoln's Inn, but became a gentleman of the Chapel Royal and Master of the Children of the Chapel. His drama of Palamon and Arcite has not been preserved; but Damon and Pythias is in Dodsley's collection, and is of little importance. Many of his poems, which were very popular, are in The Paradyse of Dayntye Devises. One was Amantium Iræ Amoris Redintegratio Est. In going to my naked bed, as one that would have slept, I heard a wife sing to her childe, that long before had wept. She sighed sore, and sung full sweet, to bring the babe to rest, That would not cease, but cried still, in sucking at her brest. She was full wearie of her watch, and grieved with her childe; She rocked it, and rated it, till that on her it smilde; Then did she say: Now have I found this proverb true to prove, The falling out of faithfull freendes renewing is of love. Then tooke I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb for to write, In register for to remaine of such a worthy wight, sat; And proved plaine there was no beast, nor creature bearing life, Could well be knowne to live in love without discorde and strife: Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God above, The falling out of faithfull freendes renewing is of love. I marvaile much, pardie, quoth she, for to beholde the rout, To see man, woman, boy, and beast, to tosse the world about; Some kneele, some crouch, some becke, some check, and some can smoothly smile, And some embrace others in arme, and there thinke many a wile. Some stand aloofe at cap and knee, some humble, and some stout, Yet are they never freendes indeed until they once fall out. Thus ended she her song, and said, before she did remove: The falling out of faithfull freendes renewing is of love. George Turberville (1540?-1610) was of the ancient Dorset house from which Mr Hardy's 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles' was descended, and was secretary to Sir Thomas Randolph, Queen Elizabeth's ambassador in Scotland and (for two years) in Russia. He translated from Latin into English verse (Ovid, &c.), and from Italian (Ten Tragicall Tales, also versified); wrote books on Falconrie and hunting, and -his most notable book, in virtue of which he ranks amongst Elizabethan poets - Epitaphes, Epigrams, Songs and Sonets (2nd ed. 1567; reprinted by Collier 1867). number of his poems, written in 'Moscovia,' describe the manners of the Russians. That Death is not so much to be Feared as Daylie Diseases are. What? ist not follie for to dread and stand of Death in feare, and griefs away doth weare? Was never none that twise hath felt And oftentimes one selfe same Corse A Vow to Serve Faithfully. A Discharge thy dole, Thou subtile soule, It standes in little steede To curse the kisse That causer is Thy chirrie lippe doth bleede is a very old stave (as in Sir Thomas More, page 124, and the older song on page 157); and This kind of paine Doth he sustaine His pittifull pining wo: Releasing Or ceasing The pangs that pinch him so suggests the bob-wheel used afterwards by Montgomerie in The Cherrie and the Slae. A few other contemporaries we name here: Barnabe Googe (1540–1594), born in Lincoln, studied both at Cambridge and at Oxford, and in 1574 was by Cecil sent to Ireland, where he became provost-marshal in Connaught. He was well spoken of as a poet for his Eglogs, Epitaphes, and Sonnetes (1563), and translated The Popish Kingdome or Reigne of Antichrist, a satirical Latin poem by Thomas Naogeorgus or Kirchmayer.— Thomas Churchyard (1520?-1604), soldier, poetaster, and miscellaneous writer, produced scores of volumes, pamphlets, and broadsides in prose and verse. He served in the army; 'trailed a pike' in the reigns of Henry VIII., Mary, and Elizabeth; fought in Scotland (he described the siege of Leith in a poem), Ireland, Flanders, and France; and received from Elizabeth-whom he had propitiated by complimentary addresses-a pension of eighteenpence a day, which was not paid regularly. Churchyard was the Old Palæmon of Spenser's Colin Clout, That sang so long untill quite hoarse he grew. His best poem is The Legend of Shore's Wife (1563), but is not great. The Worthiness of Wales is a highly topographical poem (1587, republished by the Spenser Society in 1871). His adventures are described in Churchyarde's Chippes (1575, &c. ; the part concerning Scotland was reprinted by Chalmers in 1817). Single pieces or selections were printed by Sir Alexander Boswell and others. —Thomas Phaer (c. 1510-60), lawyer, physician, and translator, apparently born at Norwich, is remembered for his translation (1555–60) of the first nine books of the Eneid into fourteen-syllable verse (completed later by other hands); it was warmly commended by Puttenham and other contemporaries. Sir Thomas Chaloner (1521-65), a London mercer's son, who was at the court of Charles V. as a diplomatist, repeatedly conducted negotiations with the Scots, fought at Pinkie, and was later ambassador to Spain. He wrote in prose and |