Metamorphoses Book I (A. S. Kline's Version)
Bk I:1-20 The Primal Chaos
I want to speak about bodies changed into new forms. You, gods, since you are the ones who alter these, and all other things, inspire my attempt, and spin out a continuous thread of words, from the world's first origins to my own time.
*************************
Gabriel Harvey's satirical portrait of the Earl of Oxford:
Speculum Tuscanismi
Since Galatea came in, and Tuscanism gan usurp,
Vanity above all: villainy next her, stateliness Empress
No man but minion, stout, lout, plain, swain, quoth a Lording:
No words but valorous, no works but womanish only.
For life Magnificoes, not a beck but glorious in show,
In deed most frivolous, not a look but Tuscanish always.
His cringing side neck, eyes glancing, fisnamy smirking,
With forefinger kiss, and brave embrace to the footward.
Large bellied Cod-pieced doublet, uncod-pieced half hose,
Straight to the dock like a shirt, and close to the britch like a
diveling.
A little Apish flat couched fast to the pate like an oyster,
French camarick ruffs, deep with a whiteness starched to the purpose.
Every one A per se A, his terms and braveries in print,
Delicate in speech, quaint in array: conceited in all points,
In Courtly guiles a passing singular odd man,
For Gallants a brave Mirror, a Primrose of Honour,
A Diamond for nonce, a fellow peerless in England.
Not the like discourser for Tongue, and head to be found out,
Not the like resolute man for great and serious affairs,
Not the like Lynx to spy out secrets and privities of States,
Eyed like to Argus, eared like to Midas, nos'd like to Naso,
Wing'd like to Mercury, fittst of a thousand for to be employ'd,
This, nay more than this, doth practice of Italy in one year.
None do I name, but some do I know, that a piece of a twelve month
Hath so perfited outly and inly both body, both soul,
That none for sense and senses half matchable with them.
A vulture's smelling, Ape's tasting, sight of an eagle,
A spider's touching, Hart's hearing, might of a Lion.
Compounds of wisdom, wit, prowess, bounty, behavior,
All gallant virtues, all qualities of body and soul.
O thrice ten hundred thousand times blessed and happy,
Blessed and happy travail, Travailer most blessed and happy.
'Tell me in good sooth, doth it not too evidently appeare, that this English Poet wanted but a good PATTERNE before his eyes, as it might be some delicate, and choyce elegant Poesie of good M. Sidneys, or M. Dyers (ouer very Castor, & Pollux for such and many greater matters) when this trimme geere was in hatching: Much like some Gentlewooman, I coulde name in England, who by all Phisick and Physiognomie too, Might as well have BROUGHT FORTH all goodly faire CHILDREN, as they have Now some ylfavoured and DEFORMED, had they at the tyme of their Conception, had in sight, the amiable and gallant beautifull Pictures of ADONIS, Cupido, Ganymedes, or the like, which no doubt would have wrought such deepe impression in their fantasies, and imaginations, as their children, and perhappes their Childrens children to, myght have thanked them for, as long as they shall have Tongues in their heades."
***************************************
Venus and Adonis
But if the first HEIR of my invention prove DEFORMED, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
**************************************
O manners! that this AGE should BRING FORTH such creatures! that
Nature should bee at leisure to make 'hem
(Every Man In, IV.viii. 146-7)
***************************************
De mollibus & effoemenatis There is nothing valiant, or solid to be hoped for from such, as are always kempt and perfumed; and every day smell of the tailor: the exceedingly curious, that are wholly in mending such an imperfection in the face, in taking away the morphew in the neck; or bleaching their hands at midnight, gumming and bridling their beards; or making the waist small, binding it with hoops, while the mind runs at waste: too much pickedness is not manly. Nor from those that will jest at their own outward imperfections, but hide their ulcers within, their pride, lust, envy, ill nature, with all the art and authority they can. These persons are in danger; for whilst they think to justify their ignorance by impudence, and their persons and clothes and outward ornaments; they use but a comission to deceive themselves. Where, if we will look with our understanding, and not our senses, we may behold virtue and beauty (though covered with rags) in their brightness; and vice, and deformity so much the fouler, in having all the splendour of riches to gild them, or the false light of honour and power to help them. Yet this is that, wherewith the world is taken, and runs mad to gaze on: clothes and titles, the birdlime of fools. (Jonson, Discoveries 1751)
*************************************
Davies, Scourge of Folly
Of the staid furious Poet FUCUS.
Epig. 114
Fucus the furious Poet writes but Plaies;
So, playing, writes: that’s, idly writeth all:
Yet, idle Plaies, and Players are his Staies;
Which stay him that he can no lower fall:
For, he is fall’n into the deep’st decay,
Where Playes and Players keepe him at a stay.
*******************************
Ad Gulielmum Shakespeare
HONEY-TONGUED Shakespeare, when I saw THINE ISSUE,
I swore Apollo got them and none other;
Their rosy-tinted features clothed in tissue,
Some heaven-born goddess said to be their mother:
Rose-cheeked Adonis, with his amber tresses,
Fair fire-hot Venus, charming him to love her,
Chaste Lucretia, virgin-like her dresses,
Proud lust-stung Tarquin, seeking still to prove her:
Romeo, Richard; more whose names I know not,
Their sugared tongues, and power attractive beauty
Say they are saints, although that saints they show not,
For thousands vow to them subjective duty :
They burn in love, thy children, Shakespeare het them,
Go, woo thy Muse, more Nymphish brood beget them.
Epigrammes in the oldest Cut, and newest Fashion.
John Weever. 1599. Fourth Weeke, Epig. 22.
***************************
George Herbert to his Mother:
"However, I need not their help, to reprove the vanity of those many Lovepoems that are daily writ and consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven."
****************************
Jonson
Every Man Out, Jonson
Act IV. Scene VIII.
G R E X.
Mit. This Macilente, Signior, begins to be more so-
ciable on a sudden, methinks, than he was before: there's
some portent in't, I believe.
Cor. O, he's a Fellow of a strange nature. Now does
he (in this calm of his Humour) Plot, and store up a
World of malicious Thoughts in his Brain, till he is so
full with 'em, that you shall see the very Torrent of his
Envy break forth like a Land-flood: and, against the
course of all their Affections oppose it self so violently,
that you will almost have wonder to think, how 'tis
possible the Current of their Dispositions shall receive so
quick and strong an alteration.
Mit. I marry, Sir, this is that, on which my expecta-
tion has dwelt all this while: for I must tell you, Signior
(though I was loth to interrupt the Scene) yet I made it
a question in mine own private discourse, how he should
properly call it, Every man out of his Humour, when I
saw all his Actors so strongly pursue, and continue their
Humours?
Cor. Why, therein his Art appears most full of lustre,
and approacheth nearest the Life: *especially, when in
the flame and height of their Humours, they are laid
flat*, it fills the Eye better, and with more contentment.
How tedious a sight were it to behold a proud exalted
Tree lopt, and cut down by degrees, when it might be
feld in a Moment? and to set the Ax to it before it came
to that PRIDE and fulness, were, as not to have it grow.
Mit. Well, I shall long till I see this FALL, you talk of.
****************************
The Barren Tree - Sermon, Thomas Adams
October 26 1623
...But if God should at once cut down all the barren Trees among us, there never was such a cry in Egypt, as there would be about London. What innumerable swarmes of nothing does beleaguer this Citie? men and women, whose whole imployment is, to goe from their beds to the Tap-house, then to the Play-house, where they make a match for the Brothel-house, and from thence to bed again. To omit those ambulatory Christians, that weare out the Pavement of this great Temple [St. Paul's] with their feet, but scarce even touch stone of it with their knees, that are never further from God, then when they are neerest the Church. To omit that rabble of begging and pilfring, vagabonds, that like beasts, know no other end of their creation, but recreation; but to eate, and drinke, and sleepe. What an armie of these might bee mustred out of our Suburbs? But that Idlenesse hath disabled them to any service: they are neither fit for God not man. Did they but like wormes and insects, spend up the corruption of the Land, and leave us the lesse, it were somewhat. But they are worse, even diseases and unwholesome ayres, to breed infection amongst us. Let Authority looke to their castigation, or answer for their mischiefs: so farre as they deserve, let them not be spared: Cut them downe, Why cumber they the Ground?
The barren Tree doth no good you see; but that is not all: It doth much hurt, and that in two respects.
1. It occupies the room where a better Tree might grow...
(snip)
2. It drawes away nourishment from better Plants, that would beare us fruits...What should become of them, that wil neither do good, nor suffer good to be done, but cutting downe? A great Oake pines all the underwood neere it, yea spoiles the grasse that should feed the cattell. A greeat Oppressor engrosseth all round about him, till there be no place left for a fertile Tree. Meane while, himselfe hath onely some leaves, to shaddow his Sychophants: but no fruit, unlesse Bramble-berries, and such as the Hogs will scarce eate.
All covet to be great Trees, fewe to bee good.
*****************************
Papers Complaint, compil'd in ruthfull Rimes Against the Paper-spoylers of these Times. John Davies
...Another (ah Lord helpe) mee vilifies
With Art of Loue, and how to subtilize,
Making lewd Venus, with eternall Lines,
To tye Adonis to her loues designes :
Fine wit is shew'n therein : but finer twere
If not attired in such bawdy Geare.
But be it as it will : the coyest Dames,
In priuate read it for their Closset-games :
For, sooth to say, the Lines so draw them on,
To the venerian speculation,
That will they, nill they (if of flesh they bee)
They will thinke of it, sith loose Thought is free.
And thou (O Poet) that dost pen my Plaint,
Thou art not scot-free from my iust complaint
For, thou hast plaid thy part, with thy rude Pen,
To make vs both ridiculous to men.
(ll.47-62, Complete Works, vol. II, p. 75)
**************************
Digges commendatory poem to the First Folio (1623):
To the Memorie of the deceased Authour Maister W. Shakespeare
Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes give
The world thy Workes : thy Workes, by which, out-live
Thy Tombe, thy name must when that stone is rent,
And Time dissolves thy Stratford Moniment,
Here we alive shall view thee still. This Booke,
When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee looke
Fresh to all Ages : when Posteritie
Shall loath what's new, thinke all is PRODEGIE
That is not Shake-speares; ev'ry Line, each Verse
Here shall revive, redeeme thee from thy Herse.
Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,
Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall once invade.
Nor shall I e're beleeve, or thinke thee dead.
(Though mist) untill our bankrout Stage be sped
(Imposible) with some new straine t'OUT-DO
Passions of Juliet, and her Romeo ;
Or till I heare a Scene more nobly take,
Then when thy half-Sword parlying Romans spake.
Till these, till any of thy Volumes rest
Shall with more fire, more feeling be exprest,
Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou canst never dye,
But crown'd with Lawrell, live eternally.
***************************
Bartholomew Fair
Act I. Scene V.
Quar. Come, John, this ambitious WIT of yours (I am
afraid) will do you no good i' the end.
Joh. No? why Sir?
Quar. You grow so INSOLENT with it, and OVER-DOING,
John; that if you look not to it, and TIE IT UP, it will
bring you to some obscure place in time, and there 'twill
leave you.
VVin-w. Do not trust it too much, John, be more spa-
ring, and use it but now and then; a WIT is a dangerous
thing in this AGE; do not over-buy it.
Joh. Think you so, Gentlemen? I'll take heed on't
hereafter.
VVin. Yes, do John.
***************************************
Humor - Wanting power to contain itself:
He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free
nature, had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle
expressions, wherein he FLOWED with that facility that sometimes it
was necessary he should be *stopped*. "Sufflaminandus erat," as
Augustus said of Haterius. His WIT was in his own power; would the
*rule* of it had been so, too.
***************************
Dedication in Latin to Bartholomew Clerke's Translation of The Courtier(1571/1572). Edward de Vere
[translated by B. M. Ward]
For what more difficult, more noble, or more magnificent task has anyone ever undertaken than our author Castiglione, who has drawn for us the figureand model of a courtier, a work to which nothing can be added, in which there is no redundant word, a portrait which we shall recognize as that of a highest and most perfect type of man. And so, although nature herself has made nothing perfect in every detail, yet the MANNERS of men exceed in dignity that with which nature has endowed them; and he who surpasses others has here surpassed himself and has even OUT-DONE nature [i.e., naturam superauit], which by no one has ever been surpassed. Nay more: however elaborate the ceremonial, whatever the magnificence of the court, the splendor of the courtiers, and the multitude of spectators, he has been able to lay down principles for the guidance of the very Monarch himself.
********************************
