But I list not to defend poesy with the help of his underling historiographer.Let it suffice to have showed it is a fit soil for praise to dwell upon;and what dispraise may be set upon it is either easily overcome,or transformed into just commendation.So that since the excellences of it may be so easily and so justly confirmed,and the low creeping objections so soon trodden down {74};it not being an art of lies,but of true doctrine;not of effeminateness,but of notable stirring of courage;not of abusing man's wit,but of strengthening man's wit;not banished,but honoured by Plato;let us rather plant more laurels for to ingarland the poets'heads (which honour of being laureate,as besides them only triumphant captains were,is a sufficient authority to show the price they ought to be held in)than suffer the ill-favoured breath of such wrong speakers once to blow upon the clear springs of poesy.
But {75}since I have run so long a career in this matter,methinks,before I give my pen a full stop,it shall be but a little more lost time to inquire,why England,the mother of excellent minds,should be grown so hard a step-mother to poets,who certainly in wit ought to pass all others,since all only proceeds from their wit,being,indeed,makers of themselves,not takers of others.How can I but exclaim,"Musa,mihi causas memora,quo numine laeso?"{76}
Sweet poesy!that hath anciently had kings,emperors,senators,great captains,such as,besides a thousand others,David,Adrian,Sophocles,Germanicus,not only to favour poets,but to be poets;and of our nearer times can present for her patrons,a Robert,King of Sicily;the great King Francis of France;King James of Scotland;such cardinals as Bembus and Bibiena;such famous preachers and teachers as Beza and Melancthon;so learned philosophers as Fracastorius and Scaliger;so great orators as Pontanus and Muretus;so piercing wits as George Buchanan;so grave councillors as,besides many,but before all,that Hospital {77}of France,than whom,I think,that realm never brought forth a more accomplished judgment more firmly builded upon virtue;I say these,with numbers of others,not only to read others'poesies,but to poetise for others'reading:that poesy,thus embraced in all other places,should only find in our time a hard welcome in England,I think the very earth laments it,and therefore decks our soil with fewer laurels than it was accustomed.For heretofore poets have in England also flourished;and,which is to be noted,even in those times when the trumpet of Mars did sound loudest.And now that an over-faint quietness should seem to strew the house for poets,they are almost in as good reputation as the mountebanks at Venice.
Truly,even that,as of the one side it giveth great praise to poesy,which,like Venus (but to better purpose),had rather be troubled in the net with Mars,than enjoy the homely quiet of Vulcan;so serveth it for a piece of a reason why they are less grateful to idle England,which now can scarce endure the pain of a pen.Upon this necessarily followeth that base men with servile wits undertake it,who think it enough if they can be rewarded of the printer;and so as Epaminondas is said,with the honour of his virtue,to have made an office by his exercising it,which before was contemptible,to become highly respected;so these men,no more but setting their names to it,by their own disgracefulness,disgrace the most graceful poesy.For now,as if all the Muses were got with child,to bring forth bastard poets,without any commission,they do post over the banks of Helicon,until they make their readers more weary than post-horses;while,in the meantime,they,"Queis meliore luto finxit praecordia Titan,"{78}are better content to suppress the outflowings of their wit,than by publishing them to be accounted knights of the same order.
But I that,before ever I durst aspire unto the dignity,am admitted into the company of the paper-blurrers,do find the very true cause of our wanting estimation is want of desert,taking upon us to be poets in despite of Pallas.Now,wherein we want desert,were a thankworthy labour to express.But if I knew,I should have mended myself;but as I never desired the title so have I neglected the means to come by it;only,overmastered by some thoughts,I yielded an inky tribute unto them.Marry,they that delight in poesy itself,should seek to know what they do,and how they do,especially look themselves in an unflattering glass of reason,if they be inclinable unto it.
For poesy must not be drawn by the ears,it must be gently led,or rather it must lead;which was partly the cause that made the ancient learned affirm it was a divine,and no human skill,since all other knowledges lie ready for any that have strength of wit;a poet no industry can make,if his own genius be not carried into it.
And therefore is an old proverb,"Orator fit,poeta nascitur."{79}
Yet confess I always,that as the fertilest ground must be manured,so must the highest flying wit have a Daedalus to guide him.That Daedalus,they say,both in this and in other,hath three wings to bear itself up into the air of due commendation;that is art,imitation,and exercise.But these,neither artificial rules,nor imitative patterns,we much cumber ourselves withal.Exercise,indeed,we do,but that very forebackwardly;for where we should exercise to know,we exercise as having known;and so is our brain delivered of much matter which never was begotten by knowledge.For there being two principal parts,matter to be expressed by words,and words to express the matter,in neither we use art or imitation rightly.Our matter is "quodlibet,"{80}indeed,although wrongly,performing Ovid's verse,"Quicquid conabor dicere,versus erit;"{81}never marshalling it into any assured rank,that almost the readers cannot tell where to find themselves.
