Chapter XX: Appendix (3)

_Lais._ Sweet youths, if you knew[958] what it were to save your
sweet blood, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. 5
What delight can there be in gashing, to make foule scarres in
faire faces, and crooked maimes in streight legges, as though men,
being borne goodly by nature, would of purpose become deformed
by folly,--and all, forsooth for a new-found tearme, called
_valiant_, a word which breedeth more quarrels than the sense can
commendation? 10

_Mil._ It is true, Lais, a feather-bed hath no fellow. Good drinke
makes good blood, and shall pelting[959] words spill it?

_Phry._ I meane to enjoy the world, and to draw out my life at
the wire-drawers; not to curtall it off at the cutlers. 15

_Lais._ You may talke of warre, speake bigge, conquer worlds
with great words; but stay at home, where in steade of alarums
you shall have dances, for hot battailes with fierce men, gentle
skirmishes with faire women. These pewter coates[960] can never sit
so well as satten doublets. Beleeve me, you cannot conceive the 20
pleasure of peace unlesse you despise the rudenes of warre.

_Mil._ It is so. But see Diogenes prying over his tub! Diogenes
what sayest thou to such a morsell? [_Pointing to Lais._]

_Diog._ I say I would spit it out of my mouth, because it should not
poyson my stomacke. 25

_Phry._ Thou speakest as thou art; it is noe meate for dogges.

_Diog._ I am a dogge, and philosophy rates[961] me from carrion.

_Lais._ Uncivil wretch, whose manners are answerable to thy calling,
the time was thou wouldest have had my company, had it not beene, as
thou saidst, too deare. 30

_Diog._ I remember there was a thing that I repented mee of, and
now thou hast tolde it. Indeed, it was too deare of nothing,[962] and
thou deare to no bodie.

_Lais._ Downe, villaine, or I will have thy head broken!

_Mil._ Will you couch?[963] 35

_Phry._ Avant, curre! Come, sweet Lays, let us goe to some
place and possesse peace. But first let us sing; there is more
pleasure in tuning of a voyce, than in a volly of shot. [_A Song._]

_Mil._ Now let us make hast, least Alexander finde us here!
_Exeunt_ [_all except Diogenes._]

Actus quintus. Scæna quarta.[964]

[_Enter_] ALEXANDER, HEPHESTION, [_and_] PAGE.[965] [DIOGENES _is in
his tub_.]

_Alex._ Methinketh, Hephestion, you are more melancholy than
you were accustomed; but I perceive it is all for Alexander. You
can neither brooke this peace nor my pleasure. Bee of good cheare;
though I winke, I sleepe not.

_Hep._ Melancholy I am not, nor well content; for, I know not how, 5
there is such a rust crept into my bones with this long ease that I
feare I shall not scowre it out with infinite labours.

_Alex._ Yes, yes, if all the travailes of conquering the world
will set either thy bodie or mine in tune, we will undertake them.
But what thinke you of Apelles? Did yee ever see any so perplexed?
He neither answered directly to any question, nor looked 10
stedfastly upon any thing. I hold my life the painter is in love.

_Hep._ It may be; for commonly we see it incident in artificers
to be enamoured of their owne workes, as Archidamus of his wooden
dove, Pygmalion of his ivorie image,[966] Arachne of her woven 15
swanne,[967]--especially painters, who playing with their owne
conceits, now coveting[968] to draw a glancing eie, then a rolling,
now a winking, still mending it, never ending it, till they be
caught with it, and then, poore soules, they kisse the colours
with their lips, with which before they were loth to taint their
fingers. 20

_Alex._ I will find it out. Page, goe speedily for Apelles. Will
him to come hither; and when you see us earnestly in talke,
sodainly crie out, "Apelles shop is on fire!"

_Page._ It shall be done.

_Alex._ Forget not your lesson. [_Exit Page._] 25

_Hep._ I marvell what your devise shal be.

_Alex._ The event shall prove.

_Hep._ I pittie the poore painter if he be in love.

_Alex._ Pitie him not, I pray thee. That severe gravity set aside,
what doe you thinke of love? 30

_Hep._ As the Macedonians doe of their hearbe beet,--which
looking yellow in the ground and blacke in the hand,--thinke it
better seene than toucht.

_Alex._ But what doe you imagine it to be?

_Hep._ A word, by superstition thought a god, by use turned to an 35
humour, by selfe-will made a flattering madnesse.

_Alex._ You are too hard-hearted to thinke so of love. Let us
goe to Diogenes. [_They cross the stage._] Diogenes, thou mayst
thinke it somewhat that Alexander commeth to thee againe so soone.

_Diog._ If you come to learne, you could not come soone enough; if 40
to laugh, you be come too soone.

_Hep._ It would better become thee to be more courteous and frame thy
self to please.

_Diog._ And you better to bee lesse, if you durst displease.

_Alex._ What doest thou thinke of the time we have here? 45

_Diog._ That we have little and lose much.

_Alex._ If one be sicke, what wouldst thou have him doe?

_Diog._ Bee sure that hee make not his physician his heire.

_Alex._ If thou mightest have thy will, how much ground would content
thee? 50

_Diog._ As much as you in the end must be contented withall.

_Alex._ What, a world?

_Diog._ No, the length of my bodie.

_Alex._ [_aside_]. Hephestion, shall I bee a little pleasant with him?

_Hep._ [_aside_]. You may; but hee will be very perverse with you. 55

_Alex._ [_aside_]. It skils not;[969] I cannot be angry with him.
Diogenes, I pray thee what doest thou thinke of love?

_Diog._ A little worser than I can of hate.

_Alex._ And why?

_Diog._ Because it is better to hate the things which make to love 60
than to love the things which give occasion of hate.

_Alex._ Why, bee not women the best creatures in the world?

_Diog._ Next men and bees.

_Alex._ What doest thou dislike chiefly in a woman?

_Diog._ One thing. 65

_Alex._ What?

_Diog._ That she is a woman.

_Alex._ In mine opinion thou wert never borne of a woman, that thou
thinkest so hardly of women. [_Enter Apelles._] But now commeth
Apelles, who I am sure is as farre from thy thoughts as thou 70
art from his cunning. Diogenes, I will have thy cabin[970] removed
neerer to my court, because I will be a philosopher.

_Diog._ And when you have done so, I pray you remove your
court further from my cabin, because I will not be a courtier.

_Alex._ But here commeth Apelles. Apelles, what peece of work 75
have you now in hand?

_Apel._ None in hand, if it like your Majestie; but I am devising
a platforme[971] in my head.

_Alex._ I thinke your hand put it in your head. Is it nothing
about Venus? 80

_Apel._ No, but something above[972] Venus. [_The Page runs in._]

_Page._ Apelles, Apelles, looke aboute[972] you! Your shop is on fire!

_Apel._ [_starting off_]. Aye mee, if the picture of Campaspe be
burnt, I am undone! 85

_Alex._ Stay, Apelles; no haste. It is your heart is on fire, not
your shop; and if Campaspe hang there, I would shee were burnt.
But have you the picture of Campaspe? Belike you love her well,
that you care not though all be lost, so she be safe.

_Apel._ Not love her! But your Majestie knowes that painters in 90
their last workes are said to excell themselves; and in this I have
so much pleased my selfe, that the shadow as much delighteth mee,
being an artificer, as the substance doth others, that are amorous.

_Alex._ You lay your colours grosly.[973] Though I could not paint
in your shop, I can spie into your excuse. Be not ashamed, Apelles;
it is a gentlemans sport to be in love. [_To the Page._] Call 95
hither Campaspe. [_Exit Page._] Methinkes[974] I might have beene
made privie to your affection: though my counsell had not bin
necessary, yet my countenance might have beene thought requisite.
But Apelles, forsooth, loveth under hand; yea, and under Alexanders
nose, and--but I say no more! 100

_Apel._ Apelles loveth not so; but hee liveth to doe as Alexander
will. [_Re-enter Page with Campaspe._]

_Alex._ Campaspe, here is newes. Apelles is in love with you.

_Camp._ It pleaseth your Majestie to say so. 105

_Alex._ [_aside_]. Hephestion, I will trie her too.--Campaspe, for
the good qualities I know in Apelles and the vertue I see in you, I
am determined you shall enjoy one another. How say you, Campaspe,
would you say, "I?"

_Camp._ Your hand-maid must obey if you command. 110

_Alex._ [_aside_]. Thinke you not, Hephestion, that she would faine
be commanded.

_Hep._ [_aside_]. I am no thought-catcher, but I ghesse
unhappily.[975]

_Alex._ I will not enforce marriage where I cannot compell love.

_Camp._ But your Majestie may move a question where you be 115
willing to have a match.

_Alex._ [_aside_]. Beleeve me, Hephestion, these parties are
agreed; they would have mee both priest and witnesse.--Apelles,
take Campaspe! Why move yee not? Campaspe, take Apelles! Will it
not be? If you be ashamed one of the other, by my consent you 120
shall never come together. But dissemble not, Campaspe. Doe you
love Apelles?

_Camp._ Pardon, my lord; I love Apelles.

_Alex._ Apelles, it were a shame for you, being loved so openly
of so faire a virgin, to say the contrairie. Do you love Campaspe? 125

_Apel._ Onely Campaspe!

_Alex._ Two loving wormes, Hephestion! I perceive Alexander
cannot subdue the affections of men, though he[976] conquer their
countries. Love falleth, like a dew, as well upon the low grasse
as upon the high cedar.[977] Sparkes have their heate, ants their
gall, flies their spleene. Well, enjoy one another. I give her 130
thee frankly, Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a
toy of love and leadeth affection in fetters, using fancie as a
foole to make him sport or a minstrell to make him merry. It is
not the amorous glance of an eye can settle an idle thought in the
heart. No, no, it is childrens game, a life for seamsters and 135
schollers; the one, pricking in clouts,[978] have nothing else to
think on; the other, picking fancies out of books, have little else
to marvaile at. Go, Apelles, take with you your Campaspe; Alexander
is cloyed with looking on that which thou wondrest at.[979] 140

_Apel._ Thankes to your Majestie on bended knee: you have honoured
Apelles.

_Camp._ Thankes with bowed heart: you have blessed Campaspe.
_Exeunt_ [_Apelles and Campaspe_].

_Alex._ Page, goe warne Clytus and Parmenio and the other lords to
be in a readinesse; let the trumpet sound; strike up the drumme;
and I will presently into Persia. How now, Hephestion, is 145
Alexander able to resist love as he list?

_Hep._ The conquering of Thebes was not so honourable as the
subduing of these thoughts.

_Alex._ It were a shame Alexander should desire to command the 150
world, if he could not command himselfe. But come, let us goe. I
will trie whether I can better beare my hand with my heart[980]
than I could with mine eye. And, good Hephestion, when all the
world is wonne and every country is thine and mine, either find me
out another to subdue, or, of[981] my word I will fall in love.
_Exeunt._ 155

FINIS

FOOTNOTES:

[767] Manly, the only editor of preceding texts, who attempts to place the scenes, prints here: "The audience-chamber of the palace. Clitus and Parmenio near the door. Timoclea and Campaspe are brought in later as prisoners. Alexander on the throne, attended by Hephestion." Do not lines 77-78 suggest that the scene takes place just outside the city walls, as Alexander returns from conquest; and that the characters enter one after another?

[768] Plutarch (_Alexander_) says Clitus was of "a churlish nature, prowde and arrogant." See IV. 315, 357-59. Plutarch mentions Parmenio (_Alexander_), IV. 354-56.

[769] Lyly softens Plutarch. See IV. 309-10.

[770] "Likewise that shee loseth her light (as the rest of the planets) by the brightnes of the Sun, when she approcheth neere. For borrowing wholly of him her light she doth shine." Holland, II. 9.

[771] Old French _singulier_, excellent. F.

[772] 'Staine' for excel. The sense is, "It is for turquoises to excel one another, not for diamonds, for among the latter there can be no comparison, since all are perfect."

[773] Lyly refers both to the Persian sun-worshippers and the saying of Pompey, "More worship the rising than the setting sun."

[774] All preceding texts read 'that which.'

[775] Odyssey, 11.

[776] Fear.

[777] Esteems.

[778] In all things he is that than.

[779] Mentioned in _North's Plutarch_, Nutt, IV. 345, 353, 380.

[780] If it like. See p. 327.

[781] _Sic_ A. and B.; Bl. 'Chyeronte.'

[782] For the dramatic story of Timoclea and the original of this speech see _North's Plutarch_, Nutt, IV. 310-11.

[783] Worst possible.

[784] Bl. prints this as the name of the speaker.

[785] The market-place. M.

[786] Diogenes brought to Athens an attendant of this name, and dismissed him for the reasons given p. 296.

[787] Lyly refers blindly to the following: "Seeing a mouse running over a Room and considering with himself that it neither sought for a Bed, nor was affraid to be alone in the dark, nor desired any of our esteemed Dainties, he contrived a way to relieve his own Exigencies; being the first, as some think, that folded in the Mantle, because his necessity obliged him to sleep in it." _Lives of Philosophers_, VI., 402.

[788] The constant application of the epithet "Dog," to Diogenes is historically correct. When Alexander first went to see the philosopher, he introduced himself thus: "I am Alexander, surnamed the Great." To this Diogenes replied: "And I am Diogenes, surnamed the Dog." The Athenians raised a pillar of Parian marble, surmounted with a dog, to his memory.

[789] Currish fellow.

[790] Perfect.

[791] Conceits.

[792] Yesterday.

[793] Pun: surpassing, running by.

[794] Bl. prints _Why then, this_; F. _thus_.

[795] This Socratic method foreshadows Shakespeare's clowns and pages.

[796] 'Redes,' teaches.

[797] Pun: painting, substituting false for real.

[798] Bl. omits _a_.

[799] Picture.

[800] Countenances.

[801] Preceding texts read: _And with the riotous_; _with_ printer's repetition.

[802] Terence, _Eunuchus_, 816.

[803] "All the old editions omit _by_; it appears in Dodsley, and a sixteenth-century hand inserted it in ink in a copy of the third edition, now in the Garrick collection." M.

[804] Hash.

[805] Diogenes.

[806] Referring to the bad effect on the voice of eating just before singing.

[807] Bl. first gave the songs. In Bl. 'Granicus' is below 'Song.'

[808] Besides.

[809] Rabbit.

[810] Alexander's Palace. M. The first part might be there, but the portion with Diogenes belongs in some public place through which the philosophers pass, returning from the palace.

[811] Bl. adds here the names of all who enter during the scene.

[812] From Plutarch's account of Aristotle (_Alexander_, IV., 304-306, 363), Lyly borrows only the idea that Alexander, suspecting Aristotle of treasonable designs, withdrew some of his friendliness.

[813] For his relations with Alexander and Clitus, see North's _Plutarch_, IV., 359-360.

[814] See Prologue, _Endimion_.

[815] A theoretical cause.

[816] The preceding seven lines roughly sum up the contrasting opinions of Plato and Aristotle on physical matters.

[817] 'The earth which as a masse swimmeth,' or 'The earth, which is a masse, swimming'?

[818] Nature that is a creative energy.

[819] C. _knewe_.

[820] Bl. omits _of_.

[821] Instruction.

[822] Alexander "plainly shewed the ill will he bare unto Aristotle, for that Callisthenes had bene brought up with him, being his kinsman, and the son of Hero, Aristotle's neece." For the charges against the philosopher Callisthenes, see North's _Plutarch_, Nutt, IV., 359-363.

[823] Bl. _rulers_, the quartos 'rules.'

[824] The following six questions and answers Lyly selects from nine in an interview of Alexander with ten wise men of India. North's _Plutarch_, Nutt, IV., 372-373.

[825] Alexander really spoke thus to Parmenio, but under very different circumstances. _North's Plutarch_, Nutt, IV., 332-333.

[826] Bl. _thrall_.

[827] Neither the quartos nor Bl. mark this entrance. In the Garrick copy of C. a contemporary of Lyly, W. Neile, noted it in ink. If Diogenes enters here, he goes to the farther side of the stage. The philosophers at once cross to him. Possibly he comes on at any time during the preceding dialogue, and going quietly to his part of the stage, waits till the philosophers see him and cross.

[828] See _Lives of Philosophers_, 1696, 401.

[829] "You pretend to be better than you are, for you do not at heart object to counterfeiting," or, possibly, "Since you do not gain money by counterfeiting, you live falsely, for you have no adequate means of support."

[830] Mad.

[831] Editors, following Bl., have made the second act begin here, but would Diogenes go out only to come on at once? Bl. printed 'Diogenes, Psyllus,' etc. To the stage direction M. adds 'And Citizens.'

[832] This line is Lyly's rather vague reference to the search of Diogenes for an honest man.

[833] Almost the words of Diogenes. See _Lives of Philosophers_, VI., 423.

[834] Yesterday.

[835] "Seeing once a little Boy drinking Water out of the Hollow of his Hand, he took his little Dish out of his Scrip, and threw it away, saying: This little boy hath out-done me in frugality."--_Lives of Philosophers_, VI., 412.

[836] Bl. omits _I_. The quartos give it.

[837] Preceding editions _of_.

[838] "In old musical treatises harmony is frequently termed a consent of instruments." F.

[839] Fiddle.

[840] Bl. _ala._ M. corrects.

[841] The Market-place. M.

[842] Preceding editions, _Scæna Secunda_.

[843] Bl. added 'Diogenes, Apelles.'

[844] See _Epistle Dedicatorie, Euphues and his England_.

[845] Ovid, _Fasti_, II. 305.

[846] Horses covered with defensive armor.

[847] Did this suggest:--

"Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now,--instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,--
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute!"--_Rich. III_. I. 1. Do.

[848] "All precious stones in general are improved in brilliancy by being boiled in honey, Corsican honey more particularly."--_Hist. of World_, XXXVII. 74. Bohn.

[849] Mullet.

[850] Cornish for brill and turbot.

[851] "Deceived and intoxicated with unreasoning affection." F.

[852] Refute.

[853] During the preceding dialogue Diogenes has probably come in with his tub. Going to a remote part of the stage, he has put it down and crawled into it.

[854] For the original of this scene and for some of the speeches, see _North's Plutarch_, IV. 311-312, Nutt; see also _Lives of Philosophers_, VI. 413.

[855] Does Diogenes go out here, or crawl into his tub, to emerge when Crysus speaks to him, III. iii?

[856] The house of Apelles: first inside, then in front.

[857] Flatter.

[858] Homely face.

[859] If you give up in despair.

[860] Flatter.

[861] Longing, caused by her beauty, will take the color from his face.

[862] Bl. and later editors mark a new scene here. Stage direction in Bl. 'Psyllus, Manes.'

[863] As lean as Diogenes himself? Query: 'Dropped him'? The phrase suggests, "As like as if he had been spit out of his mouth" for "exact image." Kittredge.

[864] Manes mimics each sound.

[865] F. inserts _to_ before _one_.

[866] Impudent replies.

[867] _Oyez._

[868] Psyllus, when he comes to "flie," breaks off incredulous. Manes gives the word.

[869] Preceding editions, _tertia_. The Studio of Apelles.

[870]

"But her eyes!
How could he see to do them?" _M. of V._ III. ii.

[871] Does Campaspe playfully close her eyes here?

[872] Pun: to paint and to hide. Campaspe is posing nude.

[873] Perfect.

[874] Lyly is thinking of the work of Arachne, who challenged Minerva to a trial of skill with the needle, and represented the amours of Jupiter named. Ovid., _Meta._ VI. 1.

[875] Preceding editions _quarta_. As M. notes, Apelles and Campaspe busy themselves with the picture at one side of the stage. A new scene is hardly necessary. Bl. 'Clytus, Parmenio, Alexander, Hephestion, Crysus, Diogenes, Apelles, Campaspe.'

[876] Remain undecided.

[877] The modern "long arm of the Law."

[878] Bl. omits _not_; A. gives it.

[879] _North's Plutarch_, Nutt, IV. 303-304, 351, 369-370.

[880] Bl. _of_; F. _or of_. M. corrects as in text.

[881] Diogenes enters before Crysus; or, more probably, has been on the stage in his tub since II. 1. See p. 301.

[882] In this and the next line, the speakers refer to the popular idea that true Cynics despised money.

[883] Fourpence. Often used for a very small sum.

[884] In Attica about $1000.

[885] As Alexander calls, he is supposed to enter the house of Apelles. See p. 306, note 875.

[886] Arellius? Mentioned, Holland, XXXV. 10. No painter Aurelius is known.

[887] Pun: technical knowledge and manual skill, and guileful. Apelles thinks of his need to conceal his passion.

[888] For the original of this see Holland, XXXV. 7.

[889] Looks, with something of the sense of attractions.

[890] At this time it was fashionable to dye the hair yellow in compliment to the natural color of the Queen's hair. F.

[891] A description simple because ancient armour lacked the varied markings of Elizabethan coats-of-arms.

[892] Loveliness.

[893] Ornamental arrangements of flower-beds.

[894] Harmony.

[895] The charcoal with which Alexander is drawing.

[896] The old pictures were painted on wooden panels.

[897] For the suggestion for this scene, see Holland, XXXV. 10.

[898] Go as I wish.

[899] "Modesty tempered in yielding by a contrasting emotion." F.

[900] Preceding editions _quinta_. Before the house of Apelles. Is a division needed? Apelles might remain when Alexander and Hephestion leave, and just before Psyllus cries "Away, Manes," see his page and move toward him. Bl. 'Psyllus, Manes, Apelles.'

[901] Bl. _Hast thou hast._ F. and M. strike out the first _hast_. Is it not more likely that the second is the mistake?

[902] "Alexander streightly forbad by express edict, that no man should draw his portrait in colours but Apelles the painter: that none should engrave his personage but Pyrgoteles, the graver: and last of all, that no workman should cast his image in brasse but Lysippus a founder," Holland, VII. 1.

[903] Apelles addresses here and in l. 44 a picture of Venus, which he really left unfinished. Holland, XXXV. 11.

[904] Canopy

[905] Basilisk, Holland, VIII. 21.

[906] "Do I say paint what not (what is not) Apelles? What are all these--sighs, wounds, etc., but Apelles himself?"

[907] _Cullises_, strengthening jellies.

[908] The market-place. M.

[909] Bl. adds 'Manes, Diogenes, Populus.'

[910] Ovid, _Meta._ VIII.

[911] Guy him.

[912] Diogenes has probably been in his tub since his dialogue with Crysus, p. 308.

[913] M. suggests 'Yee.' See next line.

[914] Sow the inedible and weed out the edible.

[915] Shut up as if precious.

[916] "In falconry _sealed_ means blinded." Do.

[917] Railed at.

[918] For conduct of Diogenes similar to this scene see _Lives of Philosophers_, VI. 405.

[919] Diogenes refers to ll. 50-54, p. 315. Throughout Diogenes is very like a Cynic as described in Lucian's "Sale of the Philosophers."

[920] Diogenes, thinking of himself as older than most of the crowd and wiser than any, names himself, apparently, in 'thy father.' "Diogenes need fear no curs like you, but you need fear a rating from me."

[921] Decrepit persons.

[922] A room in the palace. M. Why not the house of Apelles, into which the painter and Campaspe go after the last lines of the scene?

[923] Bl. 'Campaspe, Apelles.'

[924] Bl., 'aswell.'

[925] "Apelles would have no dissembling in real love, but only in the simulated love he despises." F.

[926] The palace. M.

[927] Pretext.

[928] "For the sound of the war trumpet, the voice of the singer." F.

[929] A large and usually ornamental drinking cup, made especially for the dresser or sideboard. The chief guest at an entertainment or the presiding dignitary was served from it.

[930] An engraving in Alciati's _Emblems_, representing bees swarming into the face-guard of a helmet probably provided this simile. F.

[931] Gloves were worn in the hat for three purposes,--as the favor of a mistress, the memorial of a friend, and as a mark to challenge an enemy.

[932] Destroy.

[933] To dance in a slow and stately fashion.

[934] Studio of Apelles.

[935] Bl., one word.

[936] Preceding editions, following Bl., read 'Campaspe alone.' It is much more natural to suppose that while she is crossing the stage, Apelles lingers on one side, watching her. When she goes out, he speaks.

[937] Preceding editions, _Actus quartus. Scæna quinta_; Bl. 'Apelles, Page.'

[938] See note 61, p. 309.

[939] The market-place. M.

[940] Bl. puts 'Diogenes' before 'Sylvius.'

[941] For the originals of this and the first, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth of Diogenes's speeches which follow see _Lives of Philosophers_, VI. 406, 415, 417, 418, 424, 428, 431.

[942] Dost thou _not_?

[943] Readiest.

[944] Bl. omits _to_. F. and M. insert it. Query, 'sings'?

[945] Of course the Song falls into three stanzas, with divisions at ll. 35, 39.--_Gen. Ed._

[946] These lines illustrate well how the memory of Shakespeare caught and held the best in the lines of others. Here, scattered through several lines, is the first line of the well-known song in _Cymbeline_:--

3 4
"None but the larke so shrill and cleare.
5 6 7
How at heavens gats she claps her wings,
8
The morne not waking till she sings!
1 2
Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat
Poore Robin Red-breast tunes his note!"

[947] Not only _enraptured_, but with reference to the story of Philomela, Ovid, _Meta._ VI.

[948] Warbler.

[949]'Gate' as in Shakespeare? The 's' from 'she'?

[950] For the original of this see _Lives of Philosophers_, VI. 426.

[951] Studio of Apelles.

[952] Bl. and later editors, _Apelles alone_.

[953] "Be content to live with thy love unexpressed, and to die with it undiscovered."

[954] Quartos and Bl. _thy_. Corrected by Do.

[955] The market-place. M.

[956] Bl. adds 'Diogenes.'

[957] For the purpose.

[958] Bl. _know_.

[959] Contemptible.

[960] Steel cuirasses.

[961] In Kent _rate_ is used for call away, off. F.

[962] If nothing were paid.

[963] Milectus threatens to strike Diogenes.

[964] The market-place. M.

[965] Bl. adds 'Diogenes, Apelles, Campaspe.'

[966] Ovid, _Meta._ X. 9.

[967] Earlier editions, _his wooden swanne_, borrowing the first two words from the line above. See note, p. 305.

[968] M. suggests 'covet.'

[969] A. 'skilleth.'

[970] In Lyly's time 'cabin' seems to have been used vaguely for any rude dwelling.

[971] A sketch for a picture, or the plan for a building. F.

[972] M., phrasing as in the text, says: "In Bl. these two words (each standing at the end of a line) are interchanged. F. prints as I do, but, as he has no note, I do not know whether he followed one of the older editions, or corrects by conjecture."

[973] Frame your excuses clumsily.

[974] Bl., two words.

[975] "But my surmise is mischievous."

[976] Bl. _though conquer_. F. added the 'he.'

[977] See _Euphues and his England_, Arber, 256.

[978] Patching.

[979] "What good reckoning Alexander made of him, he shewed by one notable argument; for having among his courtesans one named Campaspe, whom he fancied especially in regard as well of that affection of his as her incomparable beauty, he gave commandement to Apelles to draw her picture all naked; but perceiving Apelles at the same time to be wounded with the like dart of love as well as himself, he bestowed her on him most frankly. Some are of opinion that by the patterne of this Campaspe, Apelles made the picture of Venus Anadyomene." Holland, XXXV. 10. The name really was Pancaste.

[980] Alexander refers to the unfavorable comment of Apelles on his drawing, p. 310, l. 109.

[981] F. _on_.

THE EPILOGUE AT THE BLACKE FRIERS

WHERE the rain bow toucheth the tree, no caterpillars will hang
on the leaves; where the gloworme creepeth in the night, no adder
will goe in the day: wee hope in the eares where our travailes be
lodged, no carping shall harbour in those tongues. Our exercises
must be as your judgment is, resembling water, which is alwayes of 5
the same colour into what it runneth. In the Troyan horse lay
couched souldiers with children;[982] and in heapes of many words
we feare divers unfit among some allowable. But, as Demosthenes
with often breathing up the hill, amended his stammering, so wee
hope with sundrie labours against the haire[983] to correct our
studies. If the tree be blasted that blossomes, the fault is in 10
the winde and not in the root; and if our pastimes bee misliked
that have beene allowed, you must impute it to the malice of others
and not our endevour. And so we rest in good case, if you rest well
content.

FOOTNOTES:

[982] Knights.

[983] Against the grain. F.

The Epilogue at the Court

WE cannot tell whether wee are fallen among Diomedes[984] birdes
or his horses,--the one received some men with sweet notes,[985]
the other bit all men with sharpe teeth. But, as Homer's gods
conveyed them into cloudes whom they would have kept from curses,
and, as Venus, least Adonis should be pricked with the stings of 5
adders, covered his face with the wings of swans, so wee hope,
being shielded with your Highnesse countenance, wee shall, though
heare[986] the neighing, yet not feele the kicking of those jades,
and receive, though no prayse--which we cannot deserve--yet a
pardon, which in all humilitie we desire. As yet we cannot tell
what we should tearme our labours, iron or bullion; only it 10
belongeth to your Majestie to make them fit either for the forge or
the mynt, currant by the stampe or counterfeit by the anvill. For,
as nothing is to be called white unlesse it had beene named white
by the first creator,[987] so can there be nothing thought good
in the opinion of others unlesse it be christened good by the 15
judgement of your selfe. For our selves, againe, we are like these
torches of waxe, of which, being in your Highnesse hands, you may
make doves or vultures, roses or nettles, laurell for a garland or
ealder for a disgrace.[988]

FOOTNOTES:

[984] A king of Thrace who fed his horses with human flesh.

[985] "Birds called Diomedæ. Toothed they are, and they have eies as red and bright as the fire: otherwise their feathers be all white. Found they be in one place, innobled for the tombe and Temple of Diomedes, on the coast of Apulia. Their manner is to cry with open mouth uncessantly at any strangers that come aland, save only Grecians, upon whom they wil seem to fawne and make signs of love ... as descended from the race of Diomedes." Holland, X. 44.

[986] F. following Do. unnecessarily prints 'wee heare.'

[987] Bl. _creature_. F. first printed 'creator.'

[988] Disgrace attached to the elder because it was the tree on which Judas hanged himself. F.

_George Peele_

THE OLD WIVES' TALE

_Edited with Critical Essay and Notes
by F. B. Gummere, Ph.D.,
Professor in Haverford College._

CRITICAL ESSAY

=Life.=--George Peele, probably sprung from a Devonshire family, and the son of James Peele, clerk of Christ's Hospital, is known to have been in 1565 a free scholar of the grammar school connected with that foundation. He went to Oxford in 1571; studied at Broadgates Hall, now Pembroke College, and at Christ Church; took his B.A. in 1577, his M.A. in 1579, and went up to London about 1580. At Oxford he already had the name of poet, scholar, and dramatist. He was married, it would seem, as early as 1583, to a wife who brought him some property; this, however, soon vanished, and left the poet dependent upon his wits. Although the stories in the _Jests_ are musty old tales, fastened upon Peele, it is unlikely that they settled on his name without a sense of fitness on the part of a public that had known his ways,--his hopeless lack of pence, his good nature and popularity, his shifts to beg, borrow, and cozen. With Greene, Nashe, Marlowe, and a few lesser lights, he belonged to that group of scholars who wrote plays, translations, occasional poems, pageants, and whatever else would find a market. Now and then, it is almost certain, he appeared as an actor. Of his dissolute course of life, its misery and squalour, there can be no doubt whatever; "driven as myself," says Greene, "to extreme shifts." As early as 1579 Peele had made trouble for his father; he lived in poverty; and the curtain falls upon an ignoble end. Dying before 1598, the poet barely saw his fortieth year.

=Plays assigned to Peele.=--The best plays of Peele are _The Arraignment of Paris_, published in 1584, and, in Fleay's opinion, played as early as 1581,--a "first encrease," Nashe calls it, written in smooth metres which doubtless had influence on Marlowe's own verse; _The Old Wives' Tale_, published 1595; and the saccharine _David and Bethsabe_, beloved of German critics. _Edward I._, with wofully corrupt text, is good only in parts; _The Battle of Alcazar_, published anonymously in 1594, is almost certainly Peele's, but does not help his reputation; while _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_ is quite certainly not Peele's in any way. Fleay, _Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama_, II. 296, assigns it, along with _Common Conditions_ and _Appius and Virginia_, to R. B. (Richard Bower?), whose initials appear on the title-page of the last-named play. Professor Kittredge, however, _Journal of Germanic Philology_, II. 8, suggests, as author of _Sir Clyomon_, Thomas Preston of _Cambyses_ fame. By way of compensation for this loss, Fleay (work quoted, II. 155) attributes to Peele _The Wisdome of Doctor Doddipoll_, published in 1600; there is dialect in the play, but overdone, good blank verse, and an indifferent plot. The song, _What Thing is Love_, hardly makes foundation enough for the assumption that Peele wrote the play, even with the aid of an enchanter among the characters, and a metre like that of _David and Bethsabe_. Further, Fleay presents our author with _Wily Beguiled_, possibly, he thinks, a university play; but his proof is not convincing. Kirkman, in a catalogue of plays added to his edition of _Tom Tiler and his Wife_, 1661, credits George Peele not only with _David and Bethsabe_, but with _Alphonsus, Emperor of Germany_, while Will Shakespeare has the _Arraignment of Paris_. _The Old Wives' Tale_ is set down as anonymous.

In regard to Peele's miscellaneous and occasional poetry there need be noted here only his clever use of blank verse in shorter poems, his charming lyrics, and those noble lines at the end of the _Polyhymnia_, beginning--

"His golden locks time hath to silver turn'd."

=Peele's Place in the Development of English Drama.=--Although we had a text of absolute authority and a minutely accurate life of the author, we should gain with all this lore no real stay for a study, a critical understanding of _The Old Wives' Tale_, regarded as an element in the making of English comedy. Peele and his play, along with any hints of sources and models that are to be heeded, and with whatever help may come from study of his other works, must be fused into a single fact and compared with those "environmental conditions" which influence all literary production. This will determine the equation between art and nature, between the centrifugal forces, which are always expressing themselves in terms of what is called genius or originality, and the centripetal forces of a great literary and popular development. It will determine the relation of Peele's comedy to the line of English comedies.

Such a critical process leaves one with two qualities in mind that seem to have had an initial force. They belong to Peele on contemporary testimony confirmed by a study of his works. Tom Nashe, more in eulogy than in discrimination, yet surely not without a dash of critical discernment, calls Peele "the chief supporter of pleasance now living, the atlas of poetry, and _primus verborum artifex_...."[989]

Nashe undoubtedly flatters, but another of the "college," Greene, in that death-bed appeal to his brother playwrights, was in no mood for flattery; and it is probably sincere, even if mistaken, praise when he calls Peele "in some things rarer, in nothing inferior," to Marlowe, and to that "young juvenall" who may be Nashe or Lodge. In what things Peele was "rarer," Greene fails to say, but a study of _The Arraignment of Paris_, of _David and Bethsabe_, even of portions of _Edward I._, and of the _Battle of Alcazar_, supports the reputation of Peele as an artist in words, and in prose as "well-languaged"; while in _The Old Wives' Tale_ there greets the critic, not too openly, it is true, but unmistakably, the quality of humour. Moreover, there are the _Jests_ which, apocryphal as they doubtless are, and sorry stuff by any reckoning, nevertheless show that to people of his day Peele was counted a merry fellow, a humourist in our sense of the word.[990] Perhaps Shakespeare's jests would seem as stale and flat if we had the anecdotes that passed current among his successors at the playhouse. In any case, George had a sense of humour which found utterance in this _Old Wives' Tale_; it is not the classical humour of _Roister Doister_, not the hearty but clumsy mirth of _Gammer Gurton_, but rather a hint of the extravagant and romantic which turns upon itself with audible merriment at its own pretences, a hint, not of farce or of wit merely, but of genuine humour, something not to be found in Greene's lighter work,[991] or in Lyly's _Mother Bombie_, or in any of those earlier plays that did fealty to the comic muse. Such, then, is the contemporary formula for Peele as a power in the making of English drama: "_primus verborum artifex_," and "chief supporter of pleasance." He was an artist in words, and he had the gift of humour.

As regards this artistry in words, it is well known that the conditions of English life, the vigour of speech as quickened by intercourse in the street, the market-place, the exchange, where a spoken word even in traffic and commerce still counted better than a written word, dialogue and conversation better than oratory, and the conditions of the stage itself, with its slender resources of scenery and its confident appeal to the imagination, all helped to push this pomp and mastery of phrase into the forefront of an Elizabethan playwright's qualifications. Probably the spectator at a play felt something of the interest which was then so rife in the world of books and learning,--the interest in words as words, in the course of a sentence as indicating more or less triumph over a still untrained tongue. Nietzsche is extravagant but suggestive in certain remarks that bear upon this verbal artistry in the drama. Speaking of Nature and Art,[992] he insists that the Greeks taught men to like pompous dramatic verse and an unnatural eloquence in those tragic situations where mere nature is either stammering or silent. The Italians went further and taught us to endure, in the opera, something still more artificial and unnatural--a passion which not only declaims, but sings. Tragic eloquence, sundered from nature, feeds that pride which "loves art as the expression of a high heroic unnaturalness and conventionality." "The Athenian," Nietzsche goes on to say with cheerful heresy, "went into the theatre not to be roused by pity and terror, but to listen to fine speeches." One is inclined to think that this desire for fine speeches had a large share in the motive which sent an Elizabethan to the play. Certainly the drama responded to this demand more quickly than to any demand for coherence of plot and delicacy of characterization. Who led in this movement? Most critics brush aside all rivals from the path of Marlowe and credit him alone with the "mighty line," the pomp of diction, the sweep of word and figure, which brought the drama from those puerilities of phrase and manner up to its noble estate. This is true in the sense that Marlowe was infinitely greater as a poet and a tragedian than either Greene or Peele. But as _verborum artifex_ it is probable that Marlowe has had considerable credit which belongs to the others, particularly Peele; and the testimony of Nashe and Greene, who knew the craft, must not be rejected so utterly. Campbell, it is true, praised Peele as "the oldest genuine dramatic poet of our language"; but Symonds, and with him are such scholars as Mr. A. W. Ward, asserts that Peele "discovered no new vein." Symonds is inclined to look on Greene as herald[993] and Marlowe as founder; Peele is a pleasant but unimportant maker of plays and verse. Greene, he thinks, began the school of gentleman and scholars who wrote for the stage at a time when rhyming plays were in vogue; but none of those which Greene wrote has come down to our day. Marlowe now comes imperiously upon the scene, forces his blank verse into favour, and is at last reluctantly admitted by Greene and the others into their "college." So runs the theory of Symonds. Quite opposed to this view of the case is Mr. Fleay, who declares that Marlowe followed George Peele in the article of "flowing blank verse."[994] There can be no question, moreover, that certain critics have exalted Greene too high and put Peele too low. Peele had quite as much as Greene to do with the refining and energizing of English dramatic diction, a process aptly described by Thomas Heywood in his _Apology for Actors_:[995] "Our English tongue ... is now _by this secondary meanes of playing_ continually refined, every writer striving in himselfe to adde a new florish unto it." Plots remained clumsy, crude; but what change in the diction of plays! In _Appius and Virginia_ there is still puerile diction and jog-trot metre,--

"They framèd also after this, out of his tender side,
A piece of much formosity, with him for to abide."

From this to blank verse and compressed or energetic diction, as (_Jeronimo_),--

"My knee sings thanks unto your Highness bounty,"--

is a progress involving vast reformings, and some deformings,[996] in diction and in metre, of such sweep that Elizabethans put these qualities first when they went about to judge a play. "Your nine comœdies," writes Harvey to Spenser, come nearer to Ariosto's, "eyther for the finenesse of plausible Elocution, or the rareness of Poetical Invention," than the _Faery Queene_ to the _Orlando Furioso_. In this ennobling of diction, Peele may not have led the column of playwrights, but he was certainly in the van. His achievement must not be dashed by a comparison with Shakespeare, who covered up absurdities of plot--as in the _Merchant of Venice_--by brilliant characterization, where this earlier group depended upon the art of words.[997] For the related art of brave metres, of a "flowing blank verse" in plays, we have no space to argue upon the claims of leadership. Enough is done for the matter if one remembers that Peele, who wrote admirable blank verse before Marlowe was out of his teens, had nothing to learn from the greater poet about the management of this metre in and for itself.[998] Certainly he got more music out of the pentameter than any earlier dramatist had done; witness such a movement as,--

"What sign is rainy and what star is fair,"

or,--

"And water running from the silver spring."

=The Old Wives' Tale, an Innovation in Comedy.=--It may be conceded that Peele "discovered no new vein" in diction and in metre, although his work in each was of a high order, not far removed from leadership. Different is the case when one considers his claims for innovation in comedy. He was the first to blend romantic drama with a realism which turns romance back upon itself, and produces the comedy of subconscious humour. The tragedies, and even the miracle plays, while extravagant in form, had not been altogether unnatural in action. The supernatural in that age was not unnatural. The unnatural was mainly confined to the diction. Gradually, as every one knows, the romantic element, in a wide sense, got upper hand and ruled the English drama. In _The Old Wives' Tale_ this romantic spirit comes in, not as a new element, but as a new kind of "art" grafted upon the "nature" of the rough and comic stock; and to the reader's surprise draws away all unnaturalness from the dialogue, which is now plain, natural, commonplace.[999] Realism in diction was no new thing; romance in plot was not an innovation; it was the clash, the interplay, the subjective element, the appeal to something more than a literal understanding of what is said and done, a new appeal to a deeper sense of humour--here lay the new vein discovered by George Peele. The romantic drama, we repeat, was known; witness that little group of "folk-lore romances," as Mr. Fleay calls them, _Common Conditions_, _Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes_, and _Appius and Virginia_; the two former are full of adventures, of amorous knights and wandering ladies, a Forest of Strange Marvels, an Isle of Strange Marshes, what not. In all of them, however, the romance is presented in unnatural diction, to suit such unnatural doings, and justifies those bitter words of the _Second and Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies and Theaters_,[1000] that "the notablest lier is become the best Poet ... for the strangest Comedie brings greatest delectation ... faining countries neuer heard of, monsters and prodigious creatures that are not...." A milder romantic drama, but without the humour which we mean, is Greene's _Orlando Furioso_. The other plays, however, have no humour at all except the traditional humour of the Vice; and of the three representatives, Conditions, who finally turns pirate, is certainly a far merrier person than Haphazard in _Appius_ or Subtle Shift in _Sir Clyomon_. There is realistic setting in _Common Conditions_, with some lively dialogue, and a distinctly catching song and chorus[1001] of tinkers, at the opening of the play. It is "business" here, however, not that dramatic irony, springing from contrast of romantic plot and realistic diction, which makes a sufficiently timid beginning in _The Old Wives' Tale_, and grows so insistent in _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_. Moreover, Peele's realistic work shows the control and consciousness of a higher art. There are no peasants like Hodge in _Gammer Gurton_, Corin in _Sir Clyomon_, and Hob and Lob in _Cambyses_.[1002] There is an outburst or two of yokel wit in Peele's play; but there is no breaking of heads, no chance for the clown to sing a song while drunk, as Hance does in the interlude of _Like Wil to Like_. These signs of a subtler conception of his art should be placed to Peele's credit; for while an obvious dialect marks Hodge and Corin and the rest, Clunch and Madge speak a plain English, reminding one irresistibly of the milk-woman's talk with Piscator: it smacks of cottage and field and hedge-rows and, as Nashe would say, has "old King Harrie sinceritie." There is a difference as between the exaggerated "hayseed" of a comic paper and the finer drawing in one of Hardy's peasants. Exaggeration would spoil the sense of contrast between honest Madge and the high pretences of the plot. In Huanebango there is girding not only at Harvey, but at the romance hero in general; this big-mouthed, impossible fellow, with Corebus as a foil, foreshadows, however dimly, the far more clever presentation of an English Don Quixote in the person of Ralph.

A second element of humour in this realistic treatment of romance is the use of an induction, or rather of a combination of the induction and the play within the play, as a means of expressing dramatic irony. Although the induction springs from the prologue, and although the opening of _The Old Wives' Tale_ is technically an induction, like many another of the time, it has to our thinking a distinctly new vein. What Schwab[1003] calls the first example of the use of an induction--in _The Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune_--makes both induction and play connected parts of a whole. It is a dramatic device, wholly objective in character, external, with no demand upon the sense of contrast. Different, but hardly a new idea,[1004] is the induction as employed by Greene in _Alphonsus_ and _James IV._; here is a return to the old notion of the prologue, a justifying of the playwright's way. Will Summer, the pet jester,[1005] who ushers in Nashe's play, calls himself outright a kind of chorus. In the old _Taming of a Shrew_, printed in 1594, Sly, while only a casual commentator upon the play, is entirely outside of the main action, which, as Schwab points out, thus becomes an actual play within the play. Still, even in these cases, the contrast is objective and direct. The induction is a clever device to heighten interest in the play. Before, it had served the playwright as an expression of his purpose in the main drama; later, as with Ben Jonson, it voiced his critical opinions. Whether objective or subjective, however, the contrast between play and induction is direct. Quite different is that induction, which Schwab rightly calls remarkable, in _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_; and different, too, is that earlier attempt, which Schwab unaccountably fails to mention, in _The Old Wives' Tale_. These both appeal to a sense of humour awakened by the interplay of theme and treatment, of character and situation. In Peele's play this involution of epic, drama, and comment--a seeming confusion which has distressed many of the critics--really heightens the dramatic power of the piece. The induction is double. First come a bit of romance, with the lost wanderers in the wood, and a realistic foil in their own dialogue--by no means the "heavy prose" of Collier's censure. Secondly comes outright realism with Clunch, Madge, the bread and cheese, and the old joke about bedfellows, cleverly followed by Madge's abrupt raid upon romantic ground. She is well started, but stumbling, when the other actors break in; and the inner play, not without some confusion and mystification, runs its course. Perhaps the sense of huddling, abruptness, confusion, is intentional as part of an old wives' tale indeed; perhaps, again, this must be laid to the charge of Peele's carelessness in "plotting plaies." Be that as it may be, the interplay of these elements makes a new kind of comedy; and the humour of this play, crude and tentative as it seems when compared with the humour of Uncle Toby[1006] and of those lesser lights that revolve in the orbit of the Quixotic contrast, differs from earlier essays of the sort in that it is not a separate element of fun, but rather something which exists in solution with the comedy itself. _The Old Wives' Tale_ lies midway between the utter lack of coherence in Nashe's play and the subtlety of Beaumont and Fletcher. Will Summer is often irrelevant and tiresome; the main action, on which he comments, is now pathetic, now farcical, now merely spectacular; but in our play the thread of romance runs throughout unbroken and keeps the piece in a sort of unity, while the comment, whether direct or hinted, has a vastly finer vein of irony. The romantic side of folk-lore has its due withal, as in the test of fidelity at the end between Eumenides and Jack, with the proposed division of Delia--a _casus_ always acceptable to such an audience, and here of acute though subordinate interest. Moreover, Peele has a kind of reticence and control in his art; he suggests in a whisper what Will Summer would have roared into commonplace and horse-play.