Horace's Nil Admirari and Jonson's First Folio Mock

  Soul of the age!
The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage!
My SHAKSPEARE rise !

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Shakespeare's Admirable/Wonderful Style was for Jonson 'the making of monsters'.

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Jonson's 1616 Folio and his play _The Alchemist_ bore an epigraph adapted from Horace:
"Neque, me ut miretur turba, laboro: / Contentus paucis lectoribus"
- " I do not expend my efforts so that the multitude may wonder at me: I am contented with a few readers" 

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 nil admirari - to wonder at nothing

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nil admirari: To be astonished at nothing

nil admirari: To be astonished at nothing

Horace, Epistles

VI. To Numicius.

Nil Admirari.

Not to admire, Numicius, is the best,
The only way, to make and keep men blest.
The sun, the stars, the seasons of the year
That come and go, some gaze at without fear:
What think you of the gifts of earth and sea,
The untold wealth of Ind or Araby,
Or, to come nearer home, our games and shows,
The plaudits and the honours Rome bestows?
How should we view them? ought they to convulse
The well-strung frame and agitate the pulse?
Who fears the contrary, or who desires
The things themselves, in either case admires;
Each way there's flutter; something unforeseen
Disturbs the mind that else had been serene.
Joy, grief, desire or fear, whate'er the name
The passion bears, its influence is the same;
Where things exceed your hope or fall below,
You stare, look blank, grow numb from top to toe.
E'en virtue's self, if followed to excess,
Turns right to wrong, good sense to foolishness.
Go now, my friend, drink in with all your eyes
Bronze, silver, marble, gems, and Tyrian dyes,
Feel pride when speaking in the sight of Rome,
Go early out to 'Change and late come home,
For fear your income drop beneath the rate
That comes to Mutus from his wife's estate,
And (shame and scandal!), though his line is new,
You give the pas to him, not he to you.
Whate'er is buried mounts at last to light,
While things get hid in turn that once looked bright.
So when Agrippa's mall and Appius' way
Have watched your well-known figure day by day,
At length the summons comes, and you must go
To Numa and to Ancus down below.
Your side's in pain; a doctor hits the blot:
You wish to live aright (and who does not?);
If virtue holds the secret, don't defer;
Be off with pleasure, and be on with her.
But no; you think all morals sophists' tricks,
Bring virtue down to words, a grove to sticks;
Then hey for wealth! quick, quick, forestall the trade
With Phrygia and the East, your fortune's made.
One thousand talents here -- one thousand there --
A third -- a fourth, to make the thing four-square.
A dowried wife, friends, beauty, birth, fair fame,
These are the gifts of money, heavenly dame:
Be but a moneyed man, persuasion tips
Your tongue, and Venus settles on your lips.
The Cappadocian king has slaves enow,
But gold he lacks: so be it not with you.
Lucullus was requested once, they say,
A hundred scarves to furnish for the play:
"A hundred!" he replied, "'tis monstrous; still
I'll look; and send you what I have, I will."
Ere long he writes: "Five thousand scarves I find;
Take part of them, or all if you're inclined."
That's a poor house where there's not much to spare
Which masters never miss and servants wear.
So, if 'tis wealth that makes and keeps us blest,
Be first to start and last to drop the quest.
If power and mob-applause be man's chief aims,
Let's hire a slave to tell us people's names,
To jog us on the side, and make us reach,
At risk of tumbling down, a hand to each:
"This rules the Fabian, that the Veline clan;
Just as he likes, he seats or ousts his man:"
Observe their ages, have your greeting pat,
And duly "brother" this, and "father" that.
Say that the art to live's the art to sup,
Go fishing, hunting, soon as sunlight's up,
As did Gargilius, who at break of day
Swept with his nets and spears the crowded way,
Then, while all Rome looked on in wonder, brought
Home on a single mule a boar he'd bought.
Thence pass on to the bath-room, gorged and crude,
Our stomachs stretched with undigested food,
Lost to all self-respect, all sense of shame,
Disfranchised freemen, Romans but in name,
Like to Ulysses' crew, that worthless band,
Who cared for pleasure more than fatherland.
If, as Mimnermus tells you, life is flat
With nought to love, devote yourself to that.

Farewell: if you can mend these precepts, do:
If not, what serves for me may serve for you.

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Jonson, Discoveries

 De stultitiâ. - What petty things they are we wonder at, like children that esteem every trifle, and prefer a fairing before their fathers!  What difference is between us and them but that we are dearer fools, coxcombs at a higher rate?  They are pleased with cockleshells, whistles, hobby-horses, and such like; we with statues, marble pillars, pictures, gilded roofs, where underneath is lath and lime, perhaps loam.  Yet we take pleasure in the lie, and are glad we can cozen ourselves.  Nor is it only in our walls and ceilings, but all that we call happiness is mere painting and gilt, and all for money.  What a thin membrane of honour that is! and how hath all true reputation fallen, since money began to have any!  Yet the great herd, the multitude, that in all other things are divided, in this alone conspire and agree - to love money.  They wish for it, they embrace it, they adore it, while yet it is possessed with greater stir and torment than it is gotten.



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nil admirari - to be astonished at nothing

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An Epitaph on the ADMIRABLE Dramatic Poet W. Shakespeare

John Milton, 1632:
"On Shakespeare"

What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd Bones,

The labour of an age in piled Stones,

Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid

Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?

Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,

What need'st thou such weak witnes of thy name?

Thou in our WONDER and ASTONISHMENT

Hast built thy self a live-long Monument.

For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art,

Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,

Those Delphick lines with deep impression took,

Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,

Dost make us Marble with too much conceaving;

And so Sepulcher'd in such pomp dost lie,

That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die

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Pomp \Pomp\, n. [OE. pompe, F. pompe, L. pompa, fr. Gr. ? a
   sending, a solemn procession, pomp, fr. ? to send. Cf. Pump
   a shoe.]
   1. A procession distinguished by ostentation and splendor; a
      pageant. ``All the pomps of a Roman triumph.'' --Addison.

   2. Show of magnificence; parade; display; power.

   Syn: Display; parade; pageant; pageantry; splendor; state;
        magnificence; ostentation; grandeur; pride.

Pomp \Pomp\, v. i.
   To make a pompous display; to conduct. [Obs.] --B. Jonson.

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 'Shakespeare' as CITERIA:

citeria, citeriae at Latin => English Of Explained:

N (1st) F clown; effigy/caricature carried in procession at the games (L+S);


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Virtue Triumphant

By Ben Jonson (1572–1637)

WHO, Virtue, can thy power forget
That sees these live and triumph yet?
Th’ Assyrian pomp, the Persian pride,
Greeks’ glory and the Romans’ died;
And who yet imitate	5
Their noises, tarry the same fate.
Force greatness all the glorious ways
You can, it soon decays;
But so good fame shall never:
Her triumphs, as their causes, are forever.

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 Cynthia's Revels - Jonson

The C H A L L E N G E.

B

E it known to all that profess Courtship, by these Pre-
 sents (from the white sattin Reveller, to the Cloth of
Tissue and Bodkin,) that we, ULYSSES-Politropus-Amorphus,
Master of the noble and subtil Science of Courtship, do give
leave and license to our Provost, Acolastus-Polypragmon-
Asotus, to play his Masters Prize, against all Masters what-
soever in this subtile Mystery, at these four, the choice and
most cunning Weapons of Court complement, viz. the bare
Accost; the better Reguard; the solemn Address; and
the perfect Close. These are therefore to give notice to all
comers, that he, the said Acolastus-Polypragmon-Asotus,
is here present (by the help of his Mercer, Taylor, Millener,
Sempster, and so forth) at his designed hour, in this fair
Gallery, the present day of this present month, to perform
and do his uttermost for the atchievement and bearing away of
the Prizes, which are these: viz. For the bare Accost, twoWall-eyes, in a face forced: For the better Reguard, aFace fovourably simpring, with a Fan waving: For thesolemn Address, two Lips wagging, and never a wise word:
For the perfect Close, a Wring by the hand, with a Ban-
quet in a corner. And Phœbus save Cynthia.

   Appeareth no Man yet, to answer the Prizer? No
voyce? Musick, give them their Summons.

[Musick sounds.

   Pha. The solemnity of this is excellent.
   Amo. Silence. Well, I perceive your name is their Ter-
ror; and keepeth them back.

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 nil admirari 'to lose self-possession at nothing

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Amorphus/Oxford/Shakespeare

C Y N T H I A 'S
R E V E L S,

O R,
The Fountain of Self-Love.

A COMICAL SATYR.

First Acted in the Year 1600. By the then CHILDREN of QUEEN
ELIZABETH's CHAPPEL.

 Amorphus. Plant your self there, Sir: and observe me. You
shall now, as well be the Ocular, as the Ear-witness,
how clearly I can refel that paradox, or rather pseudodox;
of those, which hold the Face to be the Index of the
mind, which (I assure you) is not so, in any politick
Creature: for instance; I will now give you the parti-
cular, and distinct face of every your most noted species
of Persons, as your Merchant, your Schollar, your
Soldier, your Lawyer, Courtier, &c. and each of these
so truly, as you would swear, but that your Eye shall
see the variation of the Lineament, it were my most
proper and genuine aspect. First, for your Merchant,
or City-face, 'tis thus, a dull, plodding Face, still look-
ing in a direct line, forward: there is no great matter
in this Face. Then have you your Students, or aca-
demique Face, which is here, an honest, simple, and
methodical Face: but somewhat more spred than the
former. The third is your Soldiers Face, a menacing,
and astounding Face, that looks broad, and big: the
grace of this Face consisteth much in a Beard. The anti-
face, to this, is your Lawyers Face, a contracted, sub-
tile, and intricate Face, full of quirks, and turnings,
a labyrinthæan Face, now angularly, now circularly, e-
very way aspected. Next is your statist's Face, a seri-
ous, solemn, and supercilious Face, full of formal, and
square Gravity, the Eye (for the most part) deeply and
artificially shadow'd: there is great judgment required
in the making of this Face. But now, to come to your
Face of Faces, or Courtiers Face, 'tis of three sorts,
according to our subdivision of a Courtier, Elementary,
Practick, and Theorick. Your Courtier Theorick, is
he, that hath arriv'd to his farthest, and doth now
know the Court, rather by speculation, than practice;
and this is his Face: a fastidious and oblick Face, that
looks, as it went with a Vice, and were screw'd thus.
Your Courtier Practick, is he, that is yet in his Path,
his course, his way, and hath not toucht the puntilio,
or point of his hope; his Face is here: a most promi-
sing, open, smooth, and over-flowing Face, that seems
as it would run, and pour it self into you. Somewhat
a northerly Face. Your Courtier Elementary, is one
but newly enter'd, or as it were in the alphabet, or ut-re-
mi-fa-sol-la of Courtship. Note well this Face, for it is
this you must practice.
   Aso. I'll practice 'em all, if you please, Sir.
   Amo. I, hereafter you may: and it will not be alto-
gether an ungrateful study. For, let your Soul be as-
sur'd of this (in any rank, or profession whatever) the
more general, or major part of Opinion goes with the
Face, and (simply) respects nothing else. Therefore,
if that can be made exactly, curiously, exquisitely,
thorowly, it is enough: But (for the present) you shall
only apply your self to this Face of the Elementary
Courtier, a light, revelling, and protesting Face, now
blushing, now smiling, which you may help much with
a wanton wagging of your Head, thus, (a Feather will
teach you) or with kissing your Finger that hath the
Ruby, or playing with some String of your Band, which
is a most quaint kind of melancholy besides: or (if a-
mong Ladies) laughing lowd, and crying up your own
Wit, though perhaps borrow'd, it is not amiss. Where
is your Page? call for your Casting-bottle, and place
your mirrour in your Hat, as I told you: so. Come,
look not pale, observe me, set your face, and enter.
   Mer. O, for some excellent Painter, to have tane the
Copy of all these Faces!

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With what noose can I hold this Proteus, varying thus his forms?  Horace, Epistle 1:1
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In Cynthia's Revels Jonson exposes the courtier Oxford/Amorphus's sprezzatura and aristocratic je-ne-sais-quois as studied and artful poses and not the signs of a natural or innate nobleness. The courtier's production of maraviglia/wonder as a source of delight and an expression of an inborn nobility is exposed as folly and a ridiculous imitation of vera nobilitas.


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Crites/Criticus/Jonson

Act III.    Scene IV.

Arete, Crites.

W

Hat, Crites! where have you drawn forth the day?
 You have not visited your jealous Friends?
   Cri. Where I have seen (most honour'd Arete,)
The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a Court,
(At least I dream't I saw it) so diffus'd,
So painted, pyed, and full of Rainbow strains,
As never yet (either by time, or place)
Was made the Food to my distasted sense:
Nor can my weak imperfect Memory
Now render half the forms unto my Tongue,
That were convolv'd within this thrifty room.
Here, stalks me by a proud and spangled Sir,
That looks three hand-fulls higher than his Foretop;
Savours himself alone, is only kind
And loving to himself: one that will speak
More dark, and doubtful than six Oracles;
Salutes a Friend, as if he had a stich,
Is his own Chronicle, and scarce can eat
For registring himself: is waited on
By Mimicks, Jesters, Pandars, Parasites,
And other such like Prodigies of Men.
He past, appears some mincing Marmoset
Made all of Clothes, and Face; his Limbs so set
As if they had some voluntary act
Without Mans motion, and must move just so
In spite of their Creation: one that weighs
His Breath between his Teeth, and dares not smile
Beyond a point, for fear t'unstarch his look;
Hath travel'd to make Legs, and seen the Cringe
Of several Courts, and Courtiers; knows the time
Of giving Titles, and of taking Walls;
Hath read Court-common-places; made them his:
Studied the Grammar of state, and all the Rules
Each formal Usher in that politick School
Can teach a Man. A third comes giving nods
To his repenting Creditors, protests
To weeping Sutors, takes the coming Gold
Of insolent, and base Ambition,
That hourly rubs his dry and itchy Palms:
Which grip't, like burning Coals, he hurls away
Into the Laps of Bawds, and Buffoons Mouths.
With him there meets some subtile Proteus, one
Can change, and vary with all forms he sees;
Be any thing but honest; serves the time;
Hovers betwixt two Factions, and explores
The drifts of both; which (with cross Face) he bereas
To the divided Heads, and is receiv'd
With mutual grace of either: one that dares
Do deeds worthy the Hurdle, or the Wheel,
To be thought some body; and is (in sooth)
Such as the Satyrist points truly forth,
That only to his Crimes owes all his worth.
   Are. You tell us wonders, Crites.
   Cri. This is nothing.
There stands a Neophyte glazing of his Face,
Pruning his Clothes, perfuming of his Hair,
Against his Idol enters; and repeats
(Like an unperfect Prologue, at third Musick)
His part of Speeches, and confederate Jests,
In passion to himself. Another swears
His Scene of Courtship over; bids, believe him,
Twenty times e're they will; anon, doth seem
As he would kiss away his Hand in kindness;
Then walks as melancholick, and stands wreath'd,
As he were pinn'd up to the Arras, thus.
A third is most in action, swims, and frisks,
Plays with his Mistresses Paps, salutes here Pumps,
Adores her Hems, her Skirts, her Knots, her Curls,
Will spend his Patrimony for a Garter,
Or the least Feather in her bounteous Fan.
A fourth, he only comes in for a mute:
Divides the Act with a dumb shew, and Exit.
Then must the Ladies laugh, strait comes their Scene,
A sixth time worse confusion than the rest.
Where you shall hear one talk of this Mans Eye;
Another, of his Lip; a third, of his Nose;
A fourth commend his Leg; a fifth his Foot;
A sixt his hand; and every one a Limb:
That you would think the poor distorted Gallant
Must there expire. Then fall they in discourse
Of Tires and Fashions, how they must take place,
Where they may kiss, and whom, when to sit down,
And with what grace to rise; if they salute,
What curtesie they must use: such Cob-web stuff,
As would enforce the common'st sense abhor
Th' Arachnean workers.
   Are. Patience, gentle Crites.
This knot of Spiders will be soon dissolv'd,
And all their Webs swept out of Cynthia's Court,
When once her glorious Deity appears,
And but presents it self in her full light:
Till when, go in, and spend your hours with us
Your honour'd Friends, Time and Phronesis,
In Contemplation of our Goddess Name.


Think on some sweet and choice invention, now,
Worthy her serous and illustrious Eyes,
That from the merit of it we may take
Desir'd occasion to prefer your worth,
And make your service known to Cynthia.
It is the pride of Arete to grace
Her studious lovers; and (in scorn of Time,
Envy, and Ignorance) to lift their state
Above a vulgar height. True happiness
Consists not in the multitude of friends,
But in the worth, and choice. Nor would I have
Vertue a popular regard pursue:
Let them be good that love me, though but few.
   Cri. I kiss thy hands, divinest Arete,
And vow my self to thee, and Cynthia.