Chapter XVI: Section III: Emblems for Mythological Characters (2)

“Actæon heare, vnhappie man behoulde,
When in the well, hee sawe Diana brighte,
With greedie lookes, hee waxed ouer boulde,
That to a stagge hee was transformed righte,
Whereat amasde, hee thought to runne awaie,
But straighte his howndes did rente hym, for their praie.

By which is ment, That those whoe do pursue
Theire fancies fonde, and thinges vnlawfull craue,
Like brutishe beastes appeare vnto the viewe,
And shall at lengthe, Actæons guerdon haue:
And as his houndes, soe theire affections base,
Shall them deuowre, and all their deedes deface.”

Very beautifully, in _Twelfth Night_ (act i. sc. 1, l. 9, vol. iii. p. 223), is this idea applied by Orsino, duke of Illyria,—

“O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.
_Cur._ Will you go hunt, my lord?
_Duke._ What, Curio?
_Cur._ The hart.
_Duke._ Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn’d into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E’er since pursue me.”

The full force and meaning of the mythological tale is, however, brought out in the _Titus Andronicus_ (act ii. sc. 3, l. 55, vol. vi. p. 459), that fearful history of passion and revenge. Tamora is in the forest, and Bassianus and Lavinia make their appearance,—

“_Bass._ Who have we here? Rome’s royal empress,
Unfurnish’d of her well-beseeming troop?
Or is it Dian, habited like her,
Who hath abandoned her holy groves,
To see the general hunting in this forest?
_Tam._ Saucy controller of my private steps!
Had I the power that some say Dian had,
Thy temples should be planted presently
With horns, as was Actæon’s, and the hounds
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
Unmannerly intruder as thou art!”

Arion rescued by the Dolphin is another mythic tale in which poets may well delight. Alciatus (Emblem 89, edition 1581), directs the moral, “_against the avaricious, or those to whom a better condition is offered by strangers_.” Contrary to the French writers of time and place, the emblem presents in the same device the harpist both cast out of the ship and riding triumphantly to the shore.

In auaros, vel quibus melior conditio ab
extraneis offertur.
_EMBLEMA LXXXIX._

DELPHINI _inſidens vada cærula ſulcat Arion,
Hocʠ_{3} aures mulcet, frenat & ora ſono.
Quàm ſit auari hominis, non tam mens dira ſerarũ est;
Quiʠ_{3} viris rapimur, piſcibus eripimur._

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“On the dolphin sitting Arion ploughs cerulean seas,
With a sound he soothes the ears, with a sound curbs the mouth.
Of wild creatures not so dreadful is the mind, as of greedy man;
We who by men are pillaged, are by fishes rescued.”

With this thought before him Whitney (p. 144) at the head of his stanzas has placed the strong expression, “Man is a wolf to man.”[137] _Cave canem_,—“Beware of the dog,”—is certainly a far more kindly warning; but the motto, _Homo homini lupus_, tallies exactly with the conduct of the mariners.

“NO mortall foe so full of poysoned spite,
As man, to man, when mischiefe he pretendes:
The monsters huge, as diuers aucthors write,
Yea Lions wilde, and fishes weare his frendes:
And when their deathe, by frendes suppos’d was sought,
They kindnesse shew’d, and them from daunger brought.

ARION lo, who gained store of goulde,
In countries farre: with harpe, and pleasant voice:
Did shipping take, and to CORINTHVS woulde,
And to his wishe, of pilottes made his choise:
Who rob’d the man, and threwe him to the sea,
A Dolphin, lo, did beare him safe awaie.”

A comment from St. Chrysostom, _super Matth._ xxii., is added,—

“As a king is honoured in his image, so God is loved and hated in man. He cannot hate man, who loves God, nor can he, who hates God, love men.”

Reference is also made to Aulus Gellius (bk. v. c. 14, vol. i. p. 408), where the delightful story is narrated of the slave Androclus and the huge lion whose wounded foot he had cured, and with whom he lived familiarly for three years in the same cave and on the same food. After a time the slave was taken and condemned to furnish sport in the circus to the degraded Romans. That same lion also had been taken, a beast of vast size, and power and fierceness. The two were confronted in the arena.

“When the lion saw the man at a distance,” says the narrator, “suddenly, as if wondering, he stood still; and then gently and placidly as if recognising drew near. With the manner and observance of fawning dogs, softly and blandly he wagged his tail and placed himself close to the man’s body, and lightly with his tongue licked the legs and hands of the slave almost lifeless from fear. The man Androclus during these blandishments of the fierce wild creature recovered his lost spirits; by degrees he directed his eyes to behold the lion. Then, as if mutual recognition had been made, man and lion appeared glad and rejoicing one with the other.”

Was it now, from having this tale in mind that, in the _Troilus and Cressida_ (act v. sc. 3, l. 37, vol. vi. p. 247), these words were spoken to Hector?—

“Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
Which better fits a lion than a man.”

_Arion sauué par vn Dauphin_, is also the subject of a well executed device in the “ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΣ” (edition Antwerp, 1592),[138] of which we give the French version (p. 64),—

“Arion retournant par mer en sa patrie
Chargé de quelque argẽt, vid que les mariniers
Animéz contre luy d’une auare furie
Pretendoyent luy oster sa vie & ses deniers.

Pour eschapper leurs mains & changer leur courage,
Sur la harpe il chanta vn chant melodieux
Mais il ne peut fleschir la nature sauuage
De ces cruels larrons & meurtriers furieux.

Estant par eux ietté deans la mere profonde,
Vn Dauphin attiré au son de l’instrument,
Le chargea sur son dos, & au trauers de l’onde
Le portant, le sauua miraculeusement.

Maintes fois l’innocent à qui on fait offense
Trouue plus de faueur es bestes qu’es humains:
Dieu qui aime les bons les prend en sa defense,
Les gardant de l’effort des hommes inhumains.”

To the Emblems we have under consideration we meet with this coincidence in _Twelfth Night_ (act i. sc. 2, l. 10, vol. iii. p. 225); it is the Captain’s assurance to Viola,—

“When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.”

As examples of a sentiment directly opposite, we will briefly refer to Coustau’s _Pegma_ (p. 323, edition Lyons, 1555), where to the device of a Camel and his driver, the noble motto is recorded and exemplified from Plutarch, _Homo homini Deus_,—“Man is a God to man;” the reason being assigned,—

“As the world was created for sake of gods and men, so man was created for man’s sake;” and, “that the grace we receive from the immortal God is to be bestowed on man by man.”

Reusner, too, in his _Emblemata_ (p. 142, Francfort, 1581), though commenting on the contrary saying, _Homo homini lupus_, declares,—

“_Aut homini Deus est homo; si bonus: aut lupus hercle,
Si malus: ô quantum est esse hominem, atq. Deum._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Or man to man is God; if good: or a wolf in truth,
If bad: O how great it is to be man and God!”[139]

Was it in reference to these sentiments that Hamlet and Cerimon speak? The one says (_Hamlet_, act iv. sc. 4, l. 33. vol. viii. p. 127),—

“What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused.”

And again (act ii. sc. 2, l. 295, vol. viii. p. 63),—

“What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!”

So in the _Pericles_ (act iii. sc. 2, l. 26, vol. ix. p. 366), the fine thought is uttered,—

“I hold it ever,
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend,
But immortality attends the former,
Making a man a god.”

The horses and chariot of Phœbus, and the presumptuous charioteer Phaëton, who attempted to drive them, are celebrated with great splendour of description in Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ (bk. ii. fab. 1), that rich storehouse of Mythology. The palace of the god has lofty columns bright with glittering gold; the roof is covered with pure shining ivory; and the double gates are of silver. Here Phœbus was throned, and clothed in purple;—the days and months and years,—the seasons and the ages were seated around him; Phaëton appears, claims to be his son, and demands for one day to guide the glorious steeds. At this point we take up the narrative which Alciat has written (Emb. 56), and inscribed, “_To the rash_.”[140]

In temerarios.

_Aſpicis aurigam currus Phaëtonta paterni
Igniuo mos auſum flectere Solis equos.
Maxima qui poſtquàm terris incendia ſparſit:
Eſt temerè inſeſſo lapſus ab axe miſer.
Sic plerique rotis Fortunæ ad ſydera Reges
Euecti: ambitio quos iuuenilis agit.
Poſt magnam humani generis cladémque, ſuamque,
Cunctorum pœnas denique dant ſcelerum._

“You behold Phaëton the driver of his father’s chariot,—
Who dared to guide the fire breathing horses of the sun.
After over the lands mightiest burnings he scattered,
Wretched he fell from the chariot where rashly he sat.
So many kings, whom youthful ambition excites,
On the wheels of Fortune are borne to the stars.
After great slaughter of the human race and their own,
For all their crimes at last the penalties they pay.”

Shakespeare’s notices of the attempted feat and its failure are frequent. First, in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 153, vol. i. p. 121), the Duke of Milan discovers the letter addressed to his daughter Silvia, with the promise,—

“Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee,”—

and with true classic force denounces the folly of the attempt,—

“Why, Phaethon,—for thou art Merops’ son,—
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?”

In her impatience for the meeting with Romeo (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 1, vol. vii. p. 72), Juliet exclaims,—

“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phœbus’ lodging: such a waggoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.”

The unfortunate Richard II. (act iii. sc. 3, l. 178, vol. iv. p. 179), when desired by Northumberland to meet Bolingbroke in the courtyard (“may’t please you to come down”), replies,—

“Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.”

And he too, in _3 Henry VI._ (act i. sc. 4, l. 16, vol. v. p. 244), Richard, Duke of York, whose son cried,—

“A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre or an earthly sepulchre!”—

when urged by Northumberland (l. 30),—

“Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet;”

had this answer given for him by the faithful Clifford,—

“Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, shew’d unto my father.
Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.”

That same Clifford (act ii. sc. 6, l. 10, vol. v. p. 271), when wounded and about to die for the Lancastrian cause, makes use of the allusion,—

“And who shines now but Henry’s enemy?
O Phœbus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaëthon should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car had never scorch’d the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway’d as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.”

In the early heroic age, when Minos reigned in Crete and Theseus at Athens, just as Mythology was ripening into history, the most celebrated for mechanical contrivance and for excellence in the arts of sculpture and architecture were Dædalus and his sons Talus and Icarus. To them is attributed the invention of the saw, the axe, the plumb-line, the auger, the gimlet, and glue; they contrived masts and sailyards for ships; and they discovered various methods of giving to statues expression and the appearance of life. Chiefly, however, are Dædalus and Icarus now known for fitting wings to the human arms, and for attempting to fly across the sea from Crete to the shore of Greece. Dædalus, hovering just above the waves, accomplished the aërial voyage in safety; but Icarus, too ambitiously soaring aloft, had his wings injured by the heat of the sun, and fell into the waters, which from his death there were named the Icarian sea.

From the edition of Alciat’s _Emblems_, 1581, we select a drawing which represents the fall of Icarus; it is dedicated “To Astrologers,” or fortune tellers. The warning in the last two lines is all we need to translate,—

“Let the Astrologer take heed what he foretells; for headlong
The impostor will fall though he fly the stars above.”

In aſtrologos.

_EMBLEMA CIII._

ICARE, _per ſuperos qui raptus & aëra, donec
In mare præcipitem cera liquata daret,
Nunc te cera eadem, feruensque reſuſcitat ignis,
Exemplo vt doceas dogmata certa tuo.
Aſtrologus caueat quicquam prædicere: præceps
Nam cadet impoſtor dum ſuper aſtra volat._

Whitney, however (p. 28), will supply the whole,—

“HEARE, ICARVS with mountinge vp alofte,
Came headlonge downe, and fell into the Sea:
His waxed winges, the sonne did make so softe,
They melted straighte, and feathers fell awaie:
So, whilste he flewe, and of no dowbte did care,
He moou’de his armes, but loe, the same were bare.

Let suche beware, which paste theire reache doe mounte,
Whoe seeke the thinges, to mortall men deny’de,
And searche the Heauens, and all the starres accoumpte,
And tell therebie, what after shall betyde:
With blusshinge nowe, theire weakenesse rightlie weye,
Least as they clime, they fall to theire decaye.”

Faire tout par moyen.

Qui trop ſ’ exalte trop ſe priſe,
Qui trop ſ’abaiſſ[e/] il se deſpriſe,
Mais celluy qui veult faire bien
Il se gouuerne par moyen.

_Corrozet, 1540._

Fol Icarus que t’eſt il aduenu?
Tu as treſmal le conſeil retenu
De Dedalus ton pere qui t’apprint
L’art de voler, lequel il entreprint
Pour eſchapper de Minos la priſon
Ou vous eſtiez enfermez, pour raiſon
Qu’il auoit faict & baſty vne vache
D’ung boys leger ou Paſiphe ſe cache.
Ce Dedalus nature ſurmonta
A toy & luy des ælles adiouſta
Aux bras & piedz, tant que pouiez voler
Et en volant il ſe print à parler
A toy diſant: mon filz qui veulx pretendre
De te ſauluer, vng cas tu doibs entendre
Que ſi tu veulx à bon port arriuer
Il ne te fault vers le ciel eſleuer.
Car le Soleil la cire fonderoit,
Et par ainſi ta plume tomberoit,
Sy tu vas bas l’humidité des eaulx
Te priuera du pouoir des oyſeaulx,
Mais ſi tu vas ne hault ne bas, adoncques
La voy[e/] eſt ſeur[e/] & ſans dangers quelzconques:
O pauure ſot le hault chemin tu prins
Trop hault pour toy car mal il t’en eſt prins
La cire fond, & ton plumage tumbe
Et toy auſſi preſt à mettre ſoubz tumbe.

We use this opportunity to present two consecutive pages of Corrozet’s “HECATOMGRAPHIE” (Emb. 67), that the nature of his

devices, and of their explanations may be seen. There is a motto,—“To take the middle way,”—and these lines follow—

“Who too much exalts himself too much values himself,
Who too much abases himself, he undervalues himself,
But that man who wills to do well,
He governs himself the medium way.”

In the page of metrical explanation subjoined, the usual mythic narrative is closely followed.

The full idea is carried out in _3 Henry VI._ (act v. sc. 6, l. 18, vol. v. p. 332), Gloucester and King Henry being the speakers,—

“_Glou._ Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
And yet for all his wings, the fool was drown’d.
_K. Hen._ I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point
Than can my ears that tragic history.”

In the 1st part also of the same dramatic series (act iv. sc. 6, l. 46, vol. v. p. 78), John Talbot, the son, is hemmed about in the battle near Bourdeaux. Rescued by his father, he is urged to escape, but the young hero replies,—

“Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horse that bears me fall and die!
And like me to the peasant boys of France,
To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won,
An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son:
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot.

_Tal._ Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side;
And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride.”

The tearful tale of Niobe, who that has read Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ (bk. vi. fab. 5) could not weep over it! Seven stalwart sons and seven fair daughters clustered round the haughty dame, and she gloried in their attendance upon her; but at an evil hour she dared to match herself with Latona, and at a public festival in honour of the goddess to be the only one refusing to offer incense and prayers. The goddess called her own children to avenge the affront and the impiety; and Apollo and Diana, from the clouds, slew the seven sons as they were exercising on the plain near Thebes. Yet the pride of Niobe did not abate, and Diana in like manner slew also the seven daughters. The mother’s heart was utterly broken; she wept herself to death, and was changed to stone. Yet, says the poet, _Flet tamen_,—“ Yet she weeps,”—

_Liquitur, et lacrymas etiam nunc marmora manant,—_

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“It melts, and even now the marble trickles down tears.”

Alciat adopts the tale as a warning; _Pride_ he names his 67th Emblem.

Superbia.
_EMBLEMA LXVII_

EN _ſtatuæ ſtatua, & ductum de marmore marmor,
Se conferre Deis auſa procax Niobe.
Eſt vitium muliebre ſuperbia, & arguit oris
Duritiem, ac ſenſus, qualis ineſt lapidi_.

As we look at the device we are sensible to a singular incongruity between the subject and the droll, _Punch_-like figures, which make up the border. The sentiment, too, is as incongruous, that “Pride is a woman’s vice and argues hardness of look and of feeling such as there is in stone.”

Making a slight change in the motto, Whitney (p. 13) writes. _Superbiæ vltio_,—“Vengeance upon pride,”—

“OF NIOBE, behoulde the ruthefull plighte,
Bicause shee did dispise the powers deuine:
Her children all, weare slaine within her sighte,
And, while her selfe with tricklinge teares did pine,
Shee was transform’de, into a marble stone,
Which, yet with teares, dothe seeme to waile, and mone.

This tragedie, thoughe Poëtts first did frame,
Yet maie it bee, to euerie one applide:
That mortall men, shoulde thinke from whence they came,
And not presume, nor puffe them vp with pride,
Leste that the Lorde, whoe haughty hartes doth hate,
Doth throwe them downe, when sure they thinke theyr state.”

Shakespeare’s notices of Niobe are little more than allusions; the mode in which Apollo and Diana executed the cruel vengeance may be glanced at in _All’s Well_ (act v. sc. 3, l. 5, vol. iii. p. 201), when the Countess of Rousillon pleads for her son to the King of France,—

“_Count._ ’Tis past, my liege;
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i’ the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force,
O’erbears it and burns on.
_King._ My honour’d lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all;
Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch’d the time to shoot.”

Troilus (act v. sc. 10, l. 16, vol. vi. p. 261), anticipating Priam’s and Hecuba’s mighty grief over the slain Hector, speaks thus of the fact,—

“Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d
Go into Troy, and say there, ‘Hector’s dead:’
There is a word will Priam turn to stone,
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth, and in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself.”

Hamlet, too (act i. sc. 2, l. 147, vol. viii. p. 17), in his bitter expressions respecting his mother’s marriage, speaks thus severely of the brevity of her widowhood,—

“A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow’d my poor father’s body.
Like Niobe, all tears:—why she, even she,—
O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason.
Would have mourn’d longer;—within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married.”

Tiresias, the blind soothsayer of Thebes, had foretold that the comely Narcissus would live as long as he could refrain from the sight of his own countenance,—

“But he, ignorant of his destiny,” says Claude Mignault, “grew so desperately in love with his own image seen in a fountain, that he miserably wasted away, and was changed into the flower of his own name, which is called _Narce_, and means drowsiness or infatuation, because the smell of the Narcissus affects the head.”

However that may be, Alciatus, edition Antwerp, 1581, exhibits the youth surveying his features in a running stream; the flower is behind him, and in the distance is Tiresias pronouncing his doom. “Self love” is the motto.

Φιλαυτία
_EMBLEMA LXIX._

QVOD _nimium tua forma tibi Narciſſe placebat,
In florem, & noti eſt verſa ſtuporis olus.
Ingenij eſt marcor, cladesque. Φιλαυτία, doctos
Quæ peſſum plures datque, deditque viros:
Qui veterum abiecta methodo, noua dogmata quærunt,
Nilque ſuas præter tradere phantaſias._

Anulus also, in the “PICTA POESIS” (p. 48), mentions his foolish and vain passion,—

_Contemnens alios, arsit amore sui,—_

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Despising others, inflamed he was with love of himself.”

From Alciat and Anulus, Whitney takes up the fable (p. 149), his printer Rapheleng using the same wood-block as Plantyn did in 1581. Of the three stanzas we subjoin one,—

“Narcissvs lou’de, and liked so his shape,
He died at lengthe with gazinge there vppon:
Which shewes selfe loue, from which there fewe can scape,
A plague too rife: bewitcheth manie a one.
The ritche, the pore, the learned, and the sotte,
Offende therein: and yet they see it not.”

It is only in one instance, _Antony and Cleopatra_ (act ii. sc. 5, l. 95, vol. ix. p. 48), and very briefly, that Shakespeare names Narcissus; he does this when the Messenger repeats to Cleopatra that Antony is married, and she replies,—

“The Gods confound thee!...
... Go, get thee hence:
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly.”

_Ille amat, hæc odit, fugit hæc: ſectatur at ille
Dúmque fugit: Laurus facta repentè ſtetit.
Sic amat, & fruſtra, nec Apollo potitus amore eſt.
Vltus Apollinis eſt, ſic Amor opprobrium.
HAECINE doctorum ſors eſt inimica virorum,
Vt iuuenes quamuis non redamentur ament?
Exoſoſque habeat prudentes ſtulta iuuentus
His ne iungatur ſtipes vt eſſe velit._

The most beautiful of the maidens of Thessaly, Daphne, the daughter of the river-god Peneus, was Apollo’s earliest love. He sought her in marriage, and being refused by her, prepared to force consent. The maiden fled, and was pursued, and, at the very moment of her need invoked her father’s aid, and was transformed into a laurel.

At this instant the device of Anulus represents her, in the “PICTA POESIS” (P. 47).[141]

“He loves, she hates; she flees, but he pursues,
And while she flees, stopped suddenly, to laurel changed.
So loves Apollo, and in vain; nor enjoys his love.
So love has avenged the reproach of Apollo.
This very judgment of learned men is it not hostile,
That youths should love though not again be loved?
Hated should foolish youth account the wise
Lest by these the log be not joined as it wishes to be.”

The _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 227, vol. ii. p. 218) reverses the fable; Demetrius flees and Helena pursues,—

“_Dem._ I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
_Hel._ The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be changed:
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase:
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.”

There is, too, the quotation already made for another purpose (p. 115) from the _Taming of the Shrew_ (Introd. sc. 2, l. 55),—

“Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.”

And Troilus (act i. sc. 1, l. 94, vol. vi. p. 130) makes the invocation,—

“Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?”

Among Mythological Characters we may rank Milo, “of force unparalleled;” to whom with crafty words of flattery Ulysses likened Diomed; _Troilus and Cressida_ (act ii. sc. 3, l. 237),—

“But he that disciplined thine arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax.”

Milo’s prowess is the subject of a fine device by Gerard de Jode, in the “ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΣ” (p. 61), first published in 1579, with Latin verses. Respecting Milo the French verses say,—

“La force de Milon a esté nompareille,
Et de ses grands efforts on raconte merueille:
S’il se tenoit debout, il ne se trouuoit pas
Homme aucun qui le peust faire bouger d’un pas.

A frapper il estoit si fort & si adestre
Que d’un seul coup de poing il tua de sa dextre
Vn robuste taureau, & des ses membres forts
Vne lieue le porta sans se greuer le corps.

Mais se fiant par trop en ceste grande force,
Il fut en fin saisi d’une mortelle entorce:
Car il se vid manger des bestes, estant pris
A l’arbre qu’il auoit de desioindre entrepris.

Qui de sa force abuse en chase non faisable
Se rend par son effort bien souuent miserable,
Le fol entrepreneur tombe en confusion
Et s’expose à chacun en grand derision.”

The famous winged horse, Pegasus, heroic, though not a hero, has a right to close in our array of mythic characters. Sprung from the blood of Medusa when Perseus cut off her head, Pegasus is regarded sometimes as the thundering steed of Jove, at other times as the war-horse of Bellerophon; and in more modern times, under a third aspect, as the horse of the Muses. Already (at p. 142) we have spoken of some of the merits attributed to him, and have presented Emblems in which he is introduced. It will be sufficient now to bring forward the device and stanza of Alciat, in which he shows us how “by prudence and valour to overcome the Chimæra, that is, the stronger and those using stratagems.”

Conſilio & virtute Chimæram ſuperari, id est,
fortiores & deceptores.

_EMBLEMA XIIII._

BELLEROPHON _ut fortis eques ſuperare Chimæram,
Et Lycij potuit ſternere monſtra ſoli:
Sic tu Pegaſeis vectus petis æthera pennis,
Conſilioque animi monſtra ſuperba domas_.

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“As the brave knight Bellerophon could conquer Chimæra,
And the monsters of the Lycian shore stretch on the ground:
So thou borne on the wings of Pegasus seekest the sky,
And by prudence dost subdue proud monsters of the soul.”

Shakespeare recognises neither Bellerophon nor the Chimæra, but Pegasus, the wonderful creature, and Perseus its owner.

The dauphin Lewis (see p. 141) likens his own horse to Pegasus, “with nostrils of fire,”—

It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire ... he is indeed
a horse.

In the Grecian camp (see _Troilus and Cressida_, act i. sc. 3, l. 33, vol. vi. p. 142), Nestor is urging the worth of dauntless valour, and uses the apt comparison,—

“In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus’ horse.”

The last lines are descriptive of Alciat’s device, on p. 299.

It is the same Nestor (act iv. sc. 5, l. 183), who so freely and generously compliments Hector, though his enemy,—

“I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Despising many forfeits and subduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ the air,
Nor letting it decline on the declined,
That I have said to some my standers by,
‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’”

Young Harry’s praise, too, in _1 Henry IV._, act iv. sc. 1. l. 109, vol. iv. p. 318, is thus celebrated by Vernon,—

“As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.”

For nearly all the personages and the tales contained in this section, authority may be found in Ovid, and in the various pictorially illustrated editions of the _Metamorphoses_ or of portions of them, which were numerous during the actively literary life of Shakespeare. It is, I confess, very questionable, whether for his classically mythic tales he was indeed indebted to the Emblematists; yet the many parallels in mythology between him and them justify the pleasant labour of setting both side by side, and, by this means, of facilitating to the reader the forming for himself an independent judgment.

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