No More Learning

265 (#287) ############################################

Barnabe Barnes
265
a
to Daniel, or to Drayton, and took pleasure in diluting their
master's words with clumsy verbiage drawn from the classics or
from contemporary poetry of the continent. Rarely did they show
facility or individuality, and, still more rarely, poetic feeling.
Barnabe Barnes, who made his reputation as a sonneteer in
the same year as Lodge, was more voluminous than any English
contemporary. He gave some promise of lyric power which he
never fulfilled. As a whole, his work is crude and lacks restraint.
At times, he sinks to meaningless doggerel, and some of his
grotesque conceits are offensive. His collection of amorous sonnets
bore the title of Parthenophil and Parthenophe. Sonnets,
Madrigals, Elegies and Odes. Here, one hundred and five sonnets
are interspersed with twenty-six madrigals, five sestines, twenty-
one elegies, three canzons,' twenty odes (one in sonnet form) and
what purports to be a translation of Moschus's first Eidullion.
Many of Barnes's poems are echoes of Sidney's verse, both in
Arcadia and in Astrophel and Stella. His canzon II is a spirited
tribute to Sidney under his poetic name of Astrophel. The first
stanza runs :
Sing! sing Parthenophil! sing! pipe! and play!
The feast is kept upon this plain,
Among th’Arcadian shepherds everywhere,
For Astrophel's birthday! Sweet Astrophel!
Arcadia's honour! mighty Paris' chief pride!
Where be the nymphs ? The Nymphs all gathered be,
To sing sweet Astrophe's sweet praise.
Barnes also boasted of his debt to
That sweet Tuscan Petrarch, which did pierce
His Laura with love sonnets.
But Barnes’s volume is a spacious miscellany of echoes of many
other foreign voices. He often emulates the anacreontic vein of
La Pléiade, and had obviously studied much Latin and Greek
poetry of post-classical times. There is a likelihood that Shake-
speare knew his work well, and resented the unaccountable esteem
which it enjoyed on its first publication.
Giles Fletcher, a former fellow of King's College, Cambridge,
was of maturer age than most contemporary sonneteers, when he
brought out his sonnet-sequence of Licia, for he was then 44 years
old. On his title-page, he boldly announces that his 'poems of
love' were written 'to the imitation of the best Latin poets and
others. ' In an address to his patroness, the wife of Sir Richard
Molineux, he deprecates the notion that his book enshrines any
episode in his own experience. He merely claims to follow the


## p. 266 (#288) ############################################

266
The Elizabethan Sonnet
fashion, and to imitate the 'men of learning and great parts' of
Italy, France and England, who have already written 'poems and
sonnets of love. ' He regrets the English poets' proclivities to
borrow their best and choice conceits' from Italy, Spain and
France, and expresses a pious preference for English homespun;
but this is a counsel of perfection, and he makes no pretence
to personal independence of foreign models.
A definite, if slender, interest attaches to Bartholomew Griffin's
Fidessa, a conventional sequence of sixty-two sonnets. Griffin
was exceptionally bold in imitating home products, and borrowed
much from Daniel and Drayton's recent volumes. But it is worthier
of remembrance that one of his sonnets, on the theme of Venus
and Adonis, was transferred with alterations to Jaggard's piratical
miscellany of 1599, The Passionate Pilgrim, all the contents
of which were assigned to Shakespeare on the title-page.
Only the worst features of the Elizabethan passion for sonneteer-
ing—its clumsy inanity and slavish mimicry—are visible in the
remaining sequences which were published in the last decade of
the sixteenth century. William Percy, in his Sonnets to the fairest
Coelia, 1593, bade his lute 'rehearse the songs of Rowland's (ie.
Drayton's) rage,' and found, with Ronsard, 'a Gorgon shadowed
under Venus' face. ' The anonymous poetaster who published, in
1594, a collection of forty sonnets under the title Zepheria took
his own measure when he confessed
My slubbering pencil casts too gross a matter,
Thy beauty's pure divinity to blaze.
'R. L Gentleman,' doubtless Richard Linche, published thirty-
nine sonnets, in 1596, under the title Diella, a crude anagram
on Delia. He freely plagiarised phrases and imagery of well known
sonneteers at home and abroad.
William Smith, a sycophantic disciple of Spenser, who published
fifty-one sonnets under the title Chloris, in 1596, and Robert
Tofte, who 'conceived in Italy' a sequence of forty sonnets in
irregular metres, entitled Laura (1597), merely give additional
proof of the plagiarising habit of the day.
But, as the queen's reign closed, there were signs that the
literary standard of the sonnet-sequence of love was rising above
such sordid levels as these. The old paths of imitation were
not forsaken, but the spirit of adaptation showed to higher ad-
vantage in the work of a few writers who, for the time, withheld
their efforts from the press. Chief among these was the courtly
Scottish poet, Sir William Alexander, afterwards earl of Stirling,


## p. 267 (#289) ############################################

Alexander, Drummond and Greville 267
,
who deferred the publication of his sonneteering experiment-
'the first fancies of his youth'-till 1604. Then he issued, under
the title Aurora, one hundred and six sonnets, interspersed, on
the Italian and French pattern, with a few songs and elegies.
Alexander is not a poet of deep feeling. But he has gifts of style
which raise him above the Elizabethan hacks. Another Scottish
poet, whose muse developed in the next generation, William
Drummond of Hawthornden, began his literary career as a son-
neteer on the Elizabethan pattern just before queen Elizabeth
died. In early youth, he made himself familiar with the most
recent literary effort of Italy, and reproduced with great energy
numerous Italian sonnets of comparatively recent date. But he
impregnated his adaptations with a native fire which places
him in an altogether different category from that of the juvenile
scribblers of Elizabethan London. With these two Scotsmen,
Alexander and Drummond, may be classed Sidney's friend, Fulke
Greville, afterwards lord Brooke, who wrote (but did not publish)
at the end of the sixteenth century a miscellaneous collection of
poems called Caelica. The collection consisted of one hundred
and nine short poems, on each of which the author bestowed the
title of sonnet. Only thirty-seven, however, are quatorzaing. The
remaining seventy-two so-called 'sonnets' are lyrics of all lengths
and in all metres. There is little internal connection among
Brooke's poems, and they deserve to be treated as a series of inde-
a
pendent lyrics. Nor is there any sign of real passion. Lord
Brooke's poetic mistresses, Caelica and Myra, are poetic figments
of his brain, and he varies his addresses to them with invocation
of queen Elizabeth under the poetic title of Cynthia, and with
reflective musings on metaphysical themes. The style is less
complicated than is habitual to Brooke's other literary work, and
the medley sounds a melodious note. Greville emulated the
example of Sir Philip Sidney; but the imagery often associates
itself, more closely than was suffered by Sidney's aims, with the
anacreontic vein of the Greek anthologists and of the French
sonneteers. The series was published for the first time as late as
1633, in a collection of lord Brooke's poetical writings. It may be
reckoned the latest example of the Elizabethan sonnet-sequence.
The pertinacity with which the crude artificialities and plagi-
arisms of the sonnet-sequence of love were cultivated in the last
years of queen Elizabeth's reign involved the sonnet as a form of
poetic art in a storm of critical censure before the vogue expired.
The rage for amorous sonneteering came to excite an almost


## p. 268 (#290) ############################################

268
The Elizabethan Sonnet
overwhelming ridicule. The basest charges were brought against
the professional sonneteer. Sir John Harington, whose epigrams
embody much criticism of current literary practices, plainly states
that poets were in the habit of writing sonnets for sale to
purchasers who paraded them as their own. He mentions the
price as two crowns a sonnet, and asserts :
Verses are now such merchantable ware,
That now for sonnets sellers are and buyers.
There is, indeed, other evidence that suitors were in the habit of
pleading their cause with their mistresses by means of sonnets
which had been bought for hard cash from professional producers.
In sonnet XXI, Drayton narrates how he was employed by a 'witless
gallant’to write a sonnet to the wench whom the young man wooed,
with the result that his suit was successful. Other grounds of offence
were discovered in the sentimental insincerity of the conventional
type of sonnet, which sanctioned the sickly practice of 'oiling a
saint with supple sonneting. ' The adjective ‘sugared' was scorn-
fully held to be the epithet best fitted for the conventional
sonnet. Sir John Harington, in an epigram 'comparing the sonnet
and the epigram' (Bk. I, No. 37), condemns the sonnet’s ‘sugared
taste,' and prays that his verse may have salt to make it last.
Sir John Davies was one of those who protested with vehemence
against the 'bastard sonnets' which ‘base rhymers' daily begot 'to
their own shame and poetry's disgrace. ' To expose the futility of
the vogue, he circulated, in manuscript, a series of nine 'gulling
sonnets' or parodies of the artificial vices of the current fashion.
In one of his parodies he effectively reduces to absurdity the
application of law terms to affairs of the heart. The popular
prejudice against the sonnet found expression in most unlikely
places. Echoes of the critical hostility are even heard in Shake-
speare's plays. In The Two Gentlemen of Verona (III, 2. 68 ff. )
there is a satiric touch in the recipe for the conventional love-
sonnet which Proteus offers the amorous duke :
You must lay lime to tangle her desires,
By wailful sonnets, whose composëd rime
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. . . .
Say that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart.
Mercutio treats Elizabethan sonneteers somewhat equivocally
when alluding to them in his flouts at Romeo :
Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady
was but a kitchen wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her.
(Romeo and Juliet, II, 4. 41–44. )


## p. 269 (#291) ############################################

Elizabethan Critics of the Sonnet 269
When the sonnet-sequence of love was yielding to the loud
protests of the critics, Ben Jonson, in Volpone (Act III, sc. 2)
struck at it a belated blow in a contemptuous reference to the
past days of sonneting' and to the debt that its votaries owed to
‘passionate Petrarch,' Elsewhere, Jonson condemned, root d
branch, the artificial principles of the sonnet. He told Drummond
of Hawthornden that
be cursed Petrarch for redacting verses to sonnets, which he said were like
that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short were racked, others too
long cut short.
(Jonson's Conversation, p. 4. )
Jonson was here silently appropriating a depreciatory simile, which
had been invented by a well known Italian critic of the sonnet,
but there is no question that the English dramatist viewed the
vogue of the Elizabethan sonnet as, for the most part, a discredit
to the age.
To what extent the critics of the Elizabethan sonnet were
moved to hostility by resentment of the practice of clandestine
translation from the foreigner offers room for discussion. A close
study of the criticism to which many sonneteers were subjected
leaves little doubt that plagiarism was out of harmony with
the standard of literary ethics in Elizabethan England. The
publication, in the avowed guise of an original production, of a
literal rendering, not merely an adaptation, of a poem by a
foreign contemporary exposed the offender on discovery to a
severe censure. It has been suggested that foreign poetry was
so widely known in Elizabethan England as to render specific
acknowledgment of indebtedness superfluous. But the poetic
work which was tacitly translated by Elizabethan sonneteers
often came, not from the most popular work of great authors
of France and Italy, but either from the obscurer publica-
tions of the leading poets or from the books of men whose
repute was very restricted. In comparatively few cases would
the average Elizabethan reader be aware that Elizabethan sonnets
were translations of foreign poets unless the information were
directly given him. Moreover, whenever plagiarism was detected
or even suspected, critics condemned in no halting terms the
plagiarist's endeavour to ignore his obligation. Of one who pub-
lished without acknowledgment renderings of Ronsard's far-famed
and popular verse (although, as a matter of fact, the borrower
was too incompetent to be very literal), Puttenham wrote thus
in his Arte of English Poesie (1589):
This man deserves to be endited of pety larceny for pilfering other mens
devises from them and converting them to his own use, for in deede as


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270
The Elizabethan Sonnet
I would wish every inventour, which is the very Poet, to receave the prayses
of his invention, so would I not have a translatour to be ashamed to be
acknowen of his translation.
The word 'larceny' is italicised in the original edition. Michael
Drayton, in the dedication to his sonnets, in 1594, charged the
literal borrowers with 'filching. Again, Daniel, a sonneteer
who, despite his great gifts, depended largely on the literal in-
spiration of foreign verse, was forcibly rebuked by a discerning
contemporary for yielding to a practice which was declared,
without any qualification, to be 'base. ' In the play The Returne
from Parnassus (part II, act 11, sc. 2), the following warning is
addressed to Daniel:
Only let him more sparingly make use
Of others wit, and use his own the more,
That well may scorn base imitation.
To the same effect was Sir John Harington's ironical epigram,
1618 (II, 30), headed, “Of honest theft. To my good friend
Master Samuel Daniel,' which concludes thus:
Then, fellow-Thiefe, let's shake together hands,
Sith both our wares are fileht from forren lands.
The extravagant character of the denunciation in which some
contemporary critics of the plagiarising habit indulged is illus-
trated by another of Harington's Epigrams (II, 77), which is
headed, ‘Of a censurer of English writers. ' It opens thus:
That Englishmen have small or no invention,
Old Guillam saith, and all our works are barren,
But for the stuffe we get from authors forren.
Elizabethan sonneteers who coloured, in their verse, the fruits
of their foreign reading with their own individuality deserve only
congratulation. The intellectual assimilation of poetic ideas and
even poetic phraseology conforms with a law of literature which is
not open to censure. But literal translation, without acknowledg-
ment, from foreign contemporary poetry was, with little qualifica-
tion, justly condemned by contemporary critics.
Although the sonnet in Elizabethan England, as in France and
Italy, was mainly devoted to the theme of love, it was never
exclusively confined to amorous purposes.
Petrarch occasion-
ally made religion or politics the subject of his sonnets and, very
frequently, enshrined in this poetic form the praises of a friend
or patron. As a vehicle of spiritual meditation or of political
exhortation or of friendly adulation, the sonnet long enjoyed an


## p. 271 (#293) ############################################

The Sonnet of Compliment
271
established vogue in foreign literature. When the sonnet-sequence
of love was in its heyday in Elizabethan England, the application
of the sonnet to purposes of piety or professional compliment
acquired popularity. The art of the sonnet, when it was enlisted
in such service, largely escaped the storm of censure which its
amorous extravagances excited.
Barnes and Constable, in close conformity with foreign practice,
each supplemented their amorous experiments with an extended
sequence of spiritual sonnets. Barnes’s volume of spiritual
sonnets' was printed in 1595; Constable's religious sonnets only
circulated in manuscript. In 1597, too, a humbler writer, Henry
Lok, sent forth a swollen collection of three hundred and twenty-
eight sonnets on religious topics, which he entitled, Sundrie sonets
of Christian Passions with other affectionate sonets of a feeling
conscience. Lok paraphrases many passages from the Scriptures,
and was well read in the book of Ecclesiastes. His piety is un-
questionable. But there is little poetic quality in his ample effort.
Sonnets inscribed by poets in the way of compliment to their
friends or patrons abound in Elizabethan literature. James I, in
his Treatise of poetry, 1584, ignores all uses of the sonnet save for
the compendious praising' of books or their authors and for the
prefatory presentation in brief summary of the topic of any long
treatise. The latter usage was rare in England, though Shakespeare
experimented with it by casting into sonnet form the prologues
before the first two acts of Romeo and Juliet. But, before, during
and after Shakespeare's day, the English author was wont to clothe
in the sonnet shape much professional intercourse with his patron.
Few writers were guiltless of this mode of address. Not infre-
quently, a long series of adulatory sonnets forms the prelude or
epilogue of an Elizabethan book. Spenser's Faerie Queene and
Chapman's translation of Homer's Iliad are both examples of
literary work of repute which was ushered into the world with
substantial supplement of adulatory sonnets. Both Spenser and
Chapman sought the favour of a long procession of influential
patrons or patronesses in a series of quatorzains. Even those
self-reliant writers of the day who contemned the sonnet-sequence
of love, and declined to make trial of it with their own pens-men
like Ben Jonson and Chapman-were always ready to salute a
friend or patron in sonnet-metre. Of sonnets addressed in the
way of friendship by men of letters to colleagues of their calling,
a good example is the fine sonnet addressed by the poet Spenser
to Gabriel Harvey, ‘his singular good friend'


## p. 272 (#294) ############################################

272
The Elizabethan Sonnet
Some of these occasional sonnets of eulogy or compliment
reach a high poetic level, and are free from most of the mono-
tonous defects which disfigured the conventional sonnet of love.
To the first book of Spenser's Faerie Queene, Sir Walter Ralegh,
the poet's friend, prefixed two sonnets, the first of which was
characterised by rare stateliness of diction. No better illustration
is to be found of the characteristic merits of the Elizabethan vogue.
Ralegh's sonnet was written in 1595, when the sonneteering rage
was at its height; and, while it attests the predominant influence
of Petrarch, it shows, at the same time, how dependence on a
foreign model may be justified by the spirit of the adaptation.
Ralegh's sonnet runs as follows:
A Vision upon this conceit of the Faery Queene.
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that Temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair love, and fairer virtue kept,
All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queene:
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,
And from thenceforth those graces were not seen;
For they this Queen attended, in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse.
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce:
Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief,
And cursed th' access of that celestial thief.
*Celestial thief' is a weak ending, and crudely presents Ralegh's
eulogistic suggestion that Spenser, by virtue of his great poem,
had dethroned the older poetic deities. Ralegh's prophecy, too,
that oblivion had, at length, 'laid him down on Laura's hearse'
was premature. The tide of Petrarchian inspiration flowed on long
after the publication of The Faerie Queene. But Ralegh's sonnet,
viewed as a whole, illustrates how fruitfully foreign imagery could
work in Elizabethan minds, and how advantageously it could be
applied to new purposes by the inventiveness of poetic genius.


## p. 273 (#295) ############################################

CHAPTER XIII
PROSODY FROM CHAUCER TO SPENSER
In the short summary or survey of the progress of English
prosody which was given towards the end of the first volume
of this history, we reached the period of the alliterative revival,
in or about the early days of Chaucer. In the second and third
volumes, the actual record of poetry has been carried, approxi-
mately, to the death of Spenser; and incidental notices of the
prosody of nearly three centuries have, necessarily, been included.
But it has been judged proper to continue here the retrospect, in
connected fashion, of the general history of English versification.
The prosody of the fourteenth century, after its very earliest
periods, is a subject of very complex interest as well as of
extreme importance; and its complexity is not really difficult to
disentangle. It is from the neglect to study it as a whole, more,
perhaps, than from any other cause, that general views of English
prosody, in the not very numerous cases in which they have been
taken at all, have been both haphazard and confused. Yet the
facts, if only a little trouble be taken with them, offer their own
explanation most obligingly, and illustrate themselves in a striking
and, indeed, almost unique manner. The contemporary exist-
ence of such poets as Chaucer, Gower and whosoever may have
written the Piers Plowman poems would be remarkable in any
literature, at any time and from any point of view. In relation to
English prosody it points, formulates, illuminates the lesson which
ought to be learnt, in a manner which makes it surprising that
this lesson should ever have been mistaken. The foreign'element-
the tendency to strict syllabic uniformity of the line and to further
uniformity in its metrical subdivisions—receives special, and, for a
long time, almost final, expression in the hands of Gower. The
‘native' reaction to alliterative accentual rhythm finds its greatest
exposition-exposition which seems to disdain formally all trans-
action with metre and rime, though it cannot altogether avoid
metrical colour-in the lines of Piers Plowman. . And the middle
way—the continuation of the process which has produced Middle
18
E. L. III.
CH. XIII.


## p. 274 (#296) ############################################

274 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
English prosody out of the shaping of the Old English lump by
the pressure of the Franco-Latin mould—is trodden by the greatest
of the three, with results that show him to be the greatest. The
verse of Piers Plowoman does all that it can with the method
it makes it clear that no other knight on any other day of the
tournament is likely to do better on that side-but it also shows
the limits of the method and the weakness of the side itself. Gower
does not quite do this, partly because he is weaker, and partly
because he has a better instrument-but he shows that this instru-
ment itself needs improvement. Chaucer shows, not only that he
is best of all, not only that his instrument is better than the others,
but that this instrument, good as it is, has not done nearly all that
it can do—that there is infinite future in it. He experiments until
he achieves ; but his achievement still leaves room for further
experiment.
But, for real prosodic information, it is necessary to fall back
upon the predecessors of these famous poets, in order to perceive
how they reached their actual position. Naturally, when one comes
to think of it, the predecessors of the right and left hand representa-
tives are of less importance than those of the central protagonist.
The attempts in more or less pure alliteration before Piers Plow-
man hardly deserve study here, for Piers Plowman 'puts them all
down': the practitioners of the octosyllable, more or less precisely
written, are of even less account prosodically. But with the great
mass of verse writers, in scores of varying forms, who are the
active forerunners of Chaucer (whether he directly studied them
or not is beside the question) it is very different. In the huge
body of mostly anonymous verse which is contained in a series
of manuscripts beginning with the Harleian 2253 and ending with
the Vernon, and which includes the work of named writers like
Hampole, William of Shoreham and Laurence Minot, we find end-
less experiment, in almost every instance of which the action and
reaction of mould and mass continue to develop the main process
often referred to. It is, of course, possible, by keeping the eye
wholly to one side, to lump all or most of these things under
general categories of 'so many [generally four] stress lines,' or,
by directing it mainly to the other, to discover Latin or French
originals more or less clumsily imitated. But if the examples are
first carefully considered as individuals and the common features
which they present are then patiently extracted in connection, it will
go hard but the nisus towards new forms, familiar to us later, will
emerge. And, to some students at any rate, the presence of
6


## p. 275 (#297) ############################################

The Staple of English
English Poetry 275
foot-arrangement and its results—inchoate and imperfect as they
may be—will pretty certainly manifest itself.
The most important, if the most disputed, of these results is
the actual attainment, whether by deliberate intention or not, of
what was to become the great staple of English poetry, the 'deca-
syllabic' 'five-stress' or 'five-foot' line. The older statements
(not quite obsolete yet) that this line does not appear before
Chaucer—that Chaucer “introduced' it-are certainly false; while
the attempts sometimes made to assign its invention, and its first
employment in couplets, to Hampole are not very well founded.
Something, at least, very like it appears as early as the Orison
of Our Lady, and frequently reappears in later poems, especially
in The Pricke of Conscience, but also in other poems of the
Vernon and other MSS which, probably, are later than Richard
Rolle. But it is, in this particular place, less proper to establish
this point by detailed argument than to draw attention to the fact
that it is only one result of a whole multitude—the result of the
ceaseless and resistless action and reaction of mould and mass. '
If the English decasyllable or heroic and the English alexandrine
(which appears in many places, sporadically, from Mannyng to Piers
Ploroman), and combinations of them, with or without shorter lines,
were merely imitations of French, they must have been more
regular : their very irregularity shows that something was forcing
or cramping (for either metaphor may be used) the hands of the
practitioners.
The greatest of these practitioners naturally get their hands
most free, but in different ways: in Piers Plouman, by shirking
the full problem on one side, in Gower, by shirking it on the
other. How Chaucer meets it has been told in detail in the proper
place. Here, we need only consider his results in the couplet and
in rime royal—the octosyllable, for all his excellent practice in it,
must be regarded as a vehicle which he definitely relinquished;
and his stanzas, other than the septet with final couplet, are of
minor importance. But he left the two great combinations of
the decasyllabic line in such a condition that, given the existing
literary language (largely his work) and the existing pronunciation
of it, hardly anything further could be achieved or expected. The
stanza exhibited-except, perhaps, in respect of pause—a severer
standard of uniformity than the couplet; five hundred years of
subsequent practice have shown that, in all cases, this is desirable,
since too great a variety in the individual line interferes with the
concerted effect of the group. But the couplet itself exhibits an
18–2


## p. 276 (#298) ############################################

276 Prosody from Củaucer to Spenser
amount of freedom which has been denied rather because the
deniers think it ought not to be there than because they can
prove its absence! It certainly admits of either single (masculine)
or double (feminine) rime; it certainly admits of extension in sense
from line to line and from couplet to couplet; the pause, though
hovering somewhere about the middle, by no means always de-
finitely or necessarily alights there, or anywhere; and the lines
are certainly not of invariable syllabic length. Here, perhaps,
agreement ceases. But even those who, though they allow that
Chaucer sometimes used nine syllables only, and often (with the
double rime) eleven, would elsewhere crumple up an apparent
hendecasyllable or dodecasyllable into ten, leave an opening to
the other side.
Call the means of crumpling 'slur,''elision,' 'syn-
aloepha,' or what you will, the actual fact remains that some lines
are crumpled and some not; and will permit uncrumpling to those
who choose. Those who do choose see in Chaucer, and have no
mind to alter or disguise what they see, 'feet'-monosyllabic,
dissyllabic and trisyllabic of various composition-and lines-
acephalous,' heroic or alexandrine, as the case may be. In other
words, they see what, in different degrees, has existed in English
prosody ever since. And both parties, however much they may
differ on this point, agree, each on its own system, that the prosody
and versification of Chaucer are as accomplished, as orderly, as
reducible to general rule and system, as the prosody and versifica-
tion of any poet in the world, at any time. That a different opinion
was once and long held is universally admitted to have been the
result of sheer and almost excusable ignorance of certain facts
affecting pronunciation, especially the pronunciation of the final -e.
Thus, the prosody of the fourteenth century proceeds, as has
been said above, in a manner perfectly intelligible and even sur-
prisingly logical. The processes of adjustment of mould and mass
certainly are at work in the thirteenth century; probably, if not
quite certainly, in the twelfth ; and they continue, not merely
unhindered to any important degree by the alliterative-accentual
revival, but, in a certain fashion, assisted, and, as it were, clarified,
by it, in the fourteenth. The more disorderly elements, the rougher
matters, are drawn off into this alliterative direction. No very
great poet shows himself to be a danger in the other direction
of excessive smoothness and syllabic limitation; while a very great
1 Attempts have been made at various times to argue direct and extensive copying
of contemporary French prosody by Chaucer. I have been for years pretty well
acquainted with that prosody, and can pronounce it quite different from his.


## p. 277 (#299) ############################################

Chaucer's Successors
277
poet does show himself capable of conducting prosodic develop-
ment on the combined principles of freedom and order. And,
what is more, this is not only a great poet, but one recognised
as great by his own contemporaries; and his reputation continues
at its highest for more than another century. It might seem
impossible that so favourable a state of things should turn to
anything but good ; that standards, at once so finished and so
flexible as those of the heroic couplet and the rime royal of
Chaucer, should be corrupted or lost. A stationary condition
might seem to be the worst that could reasonably be feared; and
there would not seem to be anything very terrible in a stationary
state of Chaucerian verse.
But the fifteenth century was fated to show that, in prosody,
as in everything else, something unexpected is the only safe thing
to expect. The actual versification of the successors of Chaucer
has been discussed in the chapters appertaining to it; and it has
there been pointed out that some authorities do not take so low
a view of it as seems necessary to the present writer? . But the
fact remains that, in order to get the verses of Lydgate, Occleve
and the rest into any kind of rhythmical system, satisfactory at
once to calculation and to audition, enormous liberties have to be
taken with the text; complicated arrangements of licence and
exception have to be devised; and, in some cases, even these fail-
ing, the franker vindicators have to fall back on the supposition
that mere accent, with unaccented syllables thrown in almost at
pleasure, is the basis of Lydgatian and other prosody. Now, it
may be so; but, in that case, the other fact remains that very
small liberties, if any, need be taken with the text of Chaucer ;
that necessary exceptions and licences in his case are extremely
few; and that, whether his metre be accentual or not, it is most
certainly not merely accentual, in the sense that unaccented
syllables may be peppered down at pleasure as a seasoning, still
less in the sense that the number of accents itself may be altered
at pleasure. In rime royal especially, Chaucer's line-length
and line-arrangement are almost meticulously correct. In his
followers, examples of from seven to seventeen syllables, and of
from four to seven apparent accents, are not merely occasionally,
but constantly, found. And yet we know that almost all these
writers had Chaucer constantly before them and regarded him
1 Professor Max Förster of Würzburg bas been good enough to favour me with a
communication to the effect that some MSS of Burgh, at any rate, are much less dis-
orderly than the printed editions.


## p. 278 (#300) ############################################

278 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
a
6
with the highest admiration; and we know, further, that his
followers in Scotland managed to imitate him with very consider-
able precision.
No real or full explanation of this singular decadence has ever
yet been given; probably none is possible. But, in two respects,
at least, something like an approach may be made to such an
explanation. The first of these is that Chaucer, assisted by Genius
but somewhat neglecting Time, standardised' the language rather
too soon. We know that, in his own day, the management of the
final -e was far less uniform and systematic in the case of others
than in his own; that it was, in fact, changing into something like
its modern value. This, of itself, would suffice, with its consequent
alternate use and disuse, forgetfulness and remembrance—nay,
its positive temptation to make a convenience and licence of
the thing—to dislocate and corrupt the metre. And there were
certainly some, probably many, other changes which would help
to produce a similar effect. Nor is it probable that many, if any,
poets had a distinct theoretic understanding of the metres that
they used—the best part of two hundred years had to pass after
1400 before we find trace of any such thing. They were ‘fingering'
at Chaucer's measures by 'rule of thumb,' and with hands furnished
with more thumbs than fingers.
But there was probably another cause which, while less certain,
is highly probable, though it needs careful study and application
to its possible result. The alliterative-accentual revival had not
only spread very far and taken great hold, but it had, as has been
shown, exhibited a singular tendency to combine itself even with
very elaborate metrical arrangements. Nor is there anything
improbable in the supposition that this tendency spread itself much
more widely than such unmistakable instances as the Awntyrs
of Arthure, or the Epistill of Swete Susane, or even Gavin
Douglas's eighth prologué would, of themselves, indicate. Nay, it
is probable that the admixture was not so much an 'adultery
of art' as an unconscious process.
Its results, however, were (except in one important respect to
be noted later) rather unfortunate, and even in not a few cases
very ugly. For exactly how much the combination counted in
the degradation of rime royal and, in a less degree, of the deca-
syllabic couplet—the octosyllabic, always an easy-going form,
escaped better-it would be rash to attempt to determine. But,
almost indisputably, it counted for a great deal—for next to every-
thing-in the rise of the curious phenomenon called 'doggerel'


## p. 279 (#301) ############################################

‘Doggerel
279
which we perceive during this century, and which, towards the
close of it, and at the beginning of the next, usurps a very great
position in the realm of verse.
Chaucer applies the term 'doggerel' to undistinguished and
unpoetic verse or rime, apparently of any kind; and the widest
modern use of it is not dissimilar. But, at the time of which we
are speaking the whole (probably) of the fifteenth century and
the beginning of the sixteenth-the word is wanted for a peculiar
kind of verse, rimed, indeed, all but invariably, and deriving almost
its whole poetical claim from rime, but possessing characteristics in
some respects approaching, on one side, unrimed accentual structure
of various lengths, and, on the other, the rimed 'fourteener' or its
Offspring, the common measure.
We saw, in treating of Gamelyn (which is pretty ce
older than the fifteenth century, though it is impossible to say
how much), that the metre of that remarkable piece is the four-
teener of Robert of Gloucester, 'fingered' in a peculiar way-first
by freely lengthening and shortening the iambic constituents and,
secondly, by utilising the middle pause in such a fashion as to
make of the line two counter-running halves, rather than one
uniform current with only a slight centre-halt. It is from the
neglect of fingering in this process, and from the increase of
attention to occasional accent only, that the 'doggerel' of which
we are speaking, which is dominant in the Middle Drama, very
frequent elsewhere and, perhaps, actually present in not a little
literary rime royal verse, takes its rise. It varies greatly in
length; but most writers group their doggerel, roughly, in pas-
sages, if not in whole pieces. The shortest form (except the pure
Skeltonics) vaguely represents octosyllabic or 'four-accent' verse;
the middle, decasyllables; the longest, alexandrines or fourteeners,
though, in many instances, this telescopes itself out to sixteen or
seventeen syllables, if not more, and tempts the reader or reciter
to'patter,' to take them or even four short' syllables in the stride
from one 'long' to another. The effect is sometimes suitable
1 Some examples may be desirable:
Skeltonic:
And as full of good wyll
As faire Isaphyll:
Coryaunder.
Swete pomaunder,
Goode Cassaunder.
Pseudo-octosyllabic :
Very common--a fair sample is in Heywood's Husband, Wife and Priest,
But by my soul I never go to Sir John
But I find him like a holy man,
?


## p. 280 (#302) ############################################

280 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
enough for the lower kind of comic verse; but, for the higher
kind, even of that, it is utterly unsuitable; while, for anything
passionate or serious, it is fatal. It is the prevalence of it, in
combination with the similar but even worse welter in serious
verse, which has given the fifteenth century in English poetry so
bad a name that some native historians have often said little
about it, and that some famous foreign critics have dismissed it,
almost or altogether, with a kind of contemptuous kick.
The result, however, if of doubtful beauty in itself, was
probably necessary, and can be shown to be a beneficent chapter
in the history of English verse. For, in the first place, the
Chaucerian 'standardising,' as has been shown, had been attempted
a little too early; and, in the second, there was a danger that it
might have been carried yet further into a French uniformity and
regularity which would have caused the abortion of most of the
special beauties of English verse. And, though the main literary
versification lacked music-even when, as, for instance, in Occleve,
it had a certain mechanical correctness-while the doggerel was
not so much poetry as jog-trot, or capering prose, there was a
third division of verse which, until lately, has received very little
attention, but which far exceeded the other two in poetical beauty
and also in real prosodic interest. This is the great body of mostly,
if not wholly, anonymous ballads, carols, nursery rimes, folk songs
and miscellaneous popular lyrics generally-much of our oldest
supply of which probably comes from this century—as Chevy
Chace, The Nut Brown Maid, the exquisite carol I sing of a
maiden certainly do.
The note of all these productions is that they were composed,
in many cases, for definite musical accompaniment–in all, to be
*sung or said,' in some sort of audible measure and rhythm, from
musical arrangement itself down to the reciter's drone, or the
nurse's sing-song. One general result of this is that a merely
where the very next lines slide into pseudo-heroics :
For either he is saying his devotion,
Or else he is going in procession.
Pseudo-alexandrine : Bale's Kyng Johan :
Monkes, chanons and nones in dyvers colours and shape,
Both whyte, blacke, and pyed, God send their increase yll happe.
Pseudo-fourteeners : Thersites :
To augment their joy and the commons felicity,
Fare ye well, sweet audience God grant you prosperity.
But it is important to observe that by 'pattering' or dwelling, these kinds may be
run into one another to a great extent.
6


## p. 281 (#303) ############################################

The Influence of Music
281
7
prosaic effect is almost impossible--that there must be some
sort of rhythmical division and system, and that this must be
marked. Another particular result of the greatest value is that
'triple time' will not be gainsaid-or, in other words, that tri-
syllabic feet force their way in. The influence of music has not
always been of unmitigated benefit to prosody; but, at this time,
it could hardly, by any possibility, do harm, and might do infinite
good. From the rough but still perfectly rhythmical verse of
“The Percy out of Northumberland,' through the somewhat more
regular and complicated, but equally unartificial 'For I will to the
greenwood go, alone, a banished man,' to the delicately modulated
melody of the carol above referred to, everything is equally opposed
to the heartbreaking prose of the staple rime royal and the mere
disorder of the doggerel. And what these now famous things show,
dozens, scores, hundreds of others, less famous, show likewise.
the simpler and more uniform English line of which the iambic foot
forms the staple—the line suitable for poems of length and bulk
and weight-has been hammered into shape during the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries, so the varieties of mixed cadence, suitable
for lyric, are now being got ready; and, by a curious dispensation,
exactly while the staple line is being not so much hammered as
blunderingly knocked and bulged out of shape.
This lyric adjustment—which, in its turn, was to have important
effects later on the staple line itself—went on continuously till it
developed and refined itself, by steps which may be noticed pre-
sently, into the unsurpassed composition of 1580—1660. But,
meanwhile, however slowly and tardily, the disorder of the staple
line itself was reformed in two directions. The literary line-
which had aimed at following Chaucer or Gower, and had wandered
off into formless prose-girt itself up again (something over tightly)
into octosyllables and decasyllables, pure fourteeners or 'poulter's
measure. ' The loose forms recognised their real basis and became
anapaestic-regular, though unmusical, at first-as in Tusser. The
documents of the first change, so far as practice goes, are to be found
in the corpus of English verse during the middle of the sixteenth
century, beginning with Wyatt and Surrey. As concerns theory,
Gascoigne's Notes of Instruction, though a little late, shows us the
completed process. Earlier, less explicit, but not less really cogent
evidence of discontent and desire to reform may be found in
the craze for classical metres, the true source of which was by no
means merely an idle desire to imitate the classics, but a very
worthy, though mistaken, longing to get rid of the anarchy with


## p. 282 (#304) ############################################

282 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
which rimed English metres were associated, and to substitute
a well tried and approved order. But perhaps most noteworthy
of all is a piece of prose discussion in A Mirror for Magistrates,
where examples of the broken fifteenth century rhythm, which
had been prevalent from Lydgate to Hawes, are produced, 'mis-
liked' and excused on the ground of their being suitable to the
time of their subject-the reign of Richard III. This appears
in almost the oldest part of that curiously composite book; and,
in a part a little later, but still before Spenser, there is a de-
liberate description of English alexandrines as written in agree-
ment with the Roman verse called iambics. '
In the two famous writers in whom the reformation of English
verse first distinctly appears, the reforming influences—or, to speak
with stricter correctness, the models chosen in order to help the
achievement of reformare, without doubt, Italian, though French
may have had some subsidiary or go-between influence. Sonnet
and terza rima in Wyatt, and the same with the addition of blank
verse in Surrey (putting aside lyrics), tell the tale unmistakably.
And it is to be noticed that sonnet, terza rima and blank verse-
the first two by their actually strict and rigid outline and the third
through the fear and caution imposed on the writer by the absence
of his usual mentor, rime, act almost automatically. But (and it
is a precious piece of evidence in regard to their erring prede-
cessors as well as to their penitent and reformed selves) it is quite
clear that even they still have great difficulty in adjusting rhythm
to pronunciation. They wrench accent' in the fashion which
'
Gascoigne was to rebuke in the next (almost in the same) generation;
they dislocate rime; they have occasional recourse to the valued -e
which we know to have been long obsolete, and even to have turned
in some cases to the -y form in adjectives.
Whatever their shortcomings, however (and, in fact, their short-
comings were much less than might have been expected), there is
no doubt that the two poets whose names have long been and
must always be inseparable deserve, in prosody even more than
in poetry generally, the credit of a great instauration'-of show-
ing how the old patterns of Chaucer and others, adjusted to the
new pronunciation, could be got out of the disarray into which
they had fallen, by reference immediately) to Italian models.
Nor is it superfluous to point out that Italian, though apparently
a language most different in vocalisation and cadence from English,
has the very point in common with us which French lacks—the
combination, that is to say, of strict, elaborate and most various
6
6


## p. 283 (#305) ############################################

The Reformers
283
external conformation of stanza with a good deal of syllabic
liberty inside the line. These two things were exactly what
wanted encouragement in English: and Italian, gave them
together.
For the moment, however, and naturally, the stricter side of
the teaching was more attended to than the looser. The older
prosody, at an exceedingly uncertain time but, most probably, on
the bridge of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, had produced
some very lovely things : not only the three above mentioned
(of which only The Nut Brown Maid can be later than the
middle of the fifteenth century, and that may not be) but others
certainly early, such as E. 1. O. , Quia amore langueo and many
less known pieces. But doggerel had invaded lyric too, and sunk
it to merely popular uses; and it would be difficult to pick out
a really beautiful lyric that is certainly of the last generation
of the fifteenth or the first of the sixteenth century. Here, there-
fore, as elsewhere, the reform had to be rather in the precise
direction; and for at least fifty years from Wyatt (who must have
begun writing as early as 1530) to Spenser, English lyric, like
English poetry generally, is 'on its good behaviour': careful of
syllabic exactness within and correspondence without; afraid of
trisyllabic liberty; obviously nervous and ‘keeping its foot,' lest
it slip back into the quicksand of doggerel or the quagmire of
scarcely rhythmed prose.
To say this is by no means (as some seem rather uncritically
to interpret it) to speak disobligingly of the lesser contributors to
Tottel's Miscellany, of Turbervile, of Gascoigne, or even of Googe,
though in all these (especially in the first mentioned group and the
last mentioned individual) exactness is too often secured by sing-
song and jog-trot. Certainly it is not to belittle the work of Wyatt
and Surrey and Sackville, though, in the first two of these, especially
in their poulter's measure,' sing-song and jog-trot do appear. The
fact is that the business of this generation-almost of these two
generations-was to get things ready for their successors to make
a new raising of English prosody to its highest power possible in
the hands of Spenser and Shakespeare, by once more thoroughly
stamping it with rhythm. Chaucer had done this, but the material
had given way; and, in doing so, it had cast an obsolete air on the
forms themselves. Thus, even the magnificent rime royal of Sack-
ville, full of the new and truly Elizabethan spirit as it is, has a sort
of archaic and artificial air at times, the air of something that, if it
were less magnificent, might be called pastiche. And nobody until


## p. 284 (#306) ############################################

284 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
Spenser himself and not the earliest Spenser-writes good 'riding
rime. ' But they exercise themselves in the regular fourteener,
split and coupleted or sandwiched with alexandrines, as if this
return to almost the oldest of English metres was instinctively
felt to have some exercising and energising quality. And they
practise, sometimes, very prettily and always very carefully, divers
lyrical measures of good gymnastic power. The sonnet is too high
for most of them, after the original adventurers: it will have to
wait a little. But blank verse, handled in a stiff and gingerly
manner, is still now and then practised, especially by that great
experimenter and systematic prosodist Gascoigne. Some of them,
especially Turbervile, can get a good deal of sweetness out of
variegated rime.
In one department only, by a singular contrast, does anarchy
hold its ground almost to the last: and that is the drama. The
fact can hardly be quite unconnected with the other fact that the
pure medieval drama had been rather remarkable for prosodic
elaboration and correctness, its vehicles being, in the main, either
fair octosyllabic couplets or more or less complicated lyrical
stanzas often quite exact in construction and correspondence.
But doggerel had broken in early and was, no doubt, encouraged
by the matter of moralities and interludes, when these came to
take the place of the miracle plays. At any rate, by the end
of the fifteenth century and throughout the first two-thirds,
if not the first three-fourths, of the sixteenth, the drama was
simply overrun with doggerel-doggerel of all sorts and shapes
and sizes. Yet, even here, the tendency to get out of the welter
at last made itself felt. First, the doggerel tried to collect and
solidify itself back into the fourteener from which it had, in a
manner, 'deliquesced. ' Then it tried couplet or stanza in deca-
syllables. · And then, the stern standard of the Gorboduc blanks
at last reared itself, too stern and too stiff to draw many followers
round it at first, but destined to undergo transformation till it
became one of the most wonderful of metres past, present, or even,
perhaps, to come—the rimeless, rhythmful, Protean-Herculean
blank verse of Shakespeare.
But we are less concerned here with the fortunes of particular
metres, or particular styles, than with the general progress of
English prosody. This—at a period the signpost to which is the
publication of The Shepheards Calender but the influences and
attainments of which are not, of course, limited to a single book
or a single person—had reached one of its most important stages,


## p. 285 (#307) ############################################

The Shepheards Calender
285
a stage unparalleled in importance except by those similarly
indicated in The Canterbury Tales and Paradise Lost. During
the fifteenth century, it had been almost unmade from some points
of view; but invaluable assistances for the remaking had been
accumulated in all sorts of byeways. In the two middle quarters
of the sixteenth, it had been almost remade-in the sense that the
presence of general rhythm had been restored in accordance with
actual pronunciation; and that, as one school of prosodists would
say, stressed and unstressed, accented and unaccented syllables,
had been taught to observe more orderly and proportional arrange-
ment: as another, that metrical scansion by feet had been once
more vindicated and regimented. But, during these two genera-
tions of reforming experiment, there had been comparatively few
poets of distinguished genius : of those who possessed it, Wyatt
and Surrey came a little too early, Sackville practised on too small
a scale and in too few varieties. Nay, the very fact of reforming
and innovating experiment necessitated a period of go-cart and
then, as it were, one of marking time.
But, by 1580, or a little earlier, both these periods were over,
and the flock of singers of the great Elizabethan time found that
they had been relieved of the preliminary drill. Even the classical
metre craze-threatening as it might seem to be to English poetry
and prosody_did good, not merely by showing what is not the way,
but by emphasising the most important characteristic of what is:
that is to say, the composition of the line, not by a muddle of
promiscuous syllables, but by constituents themselves regularly
and systematically composed and constituted. Even the ‘wooden-
ness of blank verse at first forces the ear to attend to the order
and position of the stresses, to the existence and conformation of
the feet. The jog-trot of the fourteeners and the 'poulter's measure'
says the same thing heavily, as do the varied lyrical forms of
Gascoigne and Turbervile not so heavily; nay, the so-called
doggerel of Tusser (which is only doggerel in phrase and subject
and spirit, for its form is quite regular) says nothing else. Whether
it canters or trots, it may now seem to some ears to run 'mind
your feet' and, to others, 'mind your stress’; but the difference
is here merely logomachic. They heard it then-into whatever
words they translated it and they went and did it.
It may seem that the selection of Spenser to show exactly
what this stage signifies is unjust to others. Certainly, if mis-
understood, it would be so. It is as nearly certain as anything
.
can be that Sidney and others did not learn their prosody from


## p. 286 (#308) ############################################

286 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
Spenser, and that even Drayton and other men, who lived and
wrote far into the seventeenth century, were, in a sense, rather his
junior schoolfellows than his pupils. But his direct influence soon
became immense and all-pervading, and, as an early and masterly
representative of influences that others were feeling, there is no
one to match him. The prosodic lessons of The Shepheards Calender
are all but unmistakable. On one point only is difference of
opinion of an important kind possible—whether the famous loose
metre of February and two other months is definite Genesis and
E. codus or Christabel (to look before and after) four-stress' or
‘iambic' with trisyllabic substitution permitted-or whether it is
an attempt at Chaucerian “five-stress' or 'heroic. ' The present
writer has not the slightest doubt on the subject : but others have.
Omitting this, every metre in the Calender, and every one sub-
sequently tried by its author, though it may be differently named
by different systems, is, with the proper translations of terminology,
unmistakable. In the various forms of identical stanza, from the
sizain through the septet and octave to his own special creation;
in the sonnet; in the still larger strophes of his odes; in the more
variegated lyrical outlines of some of the Calender poems; in the
riding rime (here quite unmistakable) of Mother Hubberd's Tale-
the exact and regular accentuation or quantification of each scheme
is unerringly observed. That great bone of contention, the 'tri-
syllabic foot,' in metre not based trisyllabically, makes compara-
tively rare appearance in him; the believers in 'slur' or 'elision'
seldom have to resort to either expedient. There are a very few
possible alexandrines (outside the last line) in The Faerie Queene;
but they are probably, or certainly, oversights. He fingers this
regularly rhythmical line, whatever its length, into the widest
variety by altering the pauses and weighting or lightening special
places with chosen phrase. He runs the lines into one another, or
holds them apart within the stanza, inexhaustibly. But, on the
whole, despite his great variety of outline and combined form, he
is once more a prophet and a practitioner of regularity—of order-
of unbroken, uneccentric, music and rhythm. This is his mission
in prosody—to make, so far as his example can reach, a gallimaufry
and jumble of mixed and jolting cadences impossible or intolerable
in English. His very abandonment of the promising, and, as it
afterwards turned out, inestimable, 'Oak and Brier' measure, is,
on one theory of that measure, just as much as on another,
evidence of a final dislike to even the possibility of such jumble
and jolt.
>


## p. 287 (#309) ############################################

Spenser's Mission
287
To, and with, one great measure, Spenser (except doubtfully
and in his earliest youth) did nothing; and it was as well that he
did nothing. Nor is this yet the place in which to take any general
survey of the features and progress of blank verse; for, though
they had, by the end of the queen's reign, reached almost, or quite,
their highest, it was as part of a movement which was still moving
and which certainly could not yet be said to be moving downward.
But the reason why it was well that Spenser took no part in this
is that his mission was, as has been said, essentially a mission,
though not of cramp or fetter, of order and regularity. Now,
blank verse did not require such a missioner then. It had started,
in the first ardour of the movement against doggerel, with severe
practice and example on the part of Surrey and, later, of Sackville.
What it wanted, and what it received, was experiment and explora-
tion of the most varied and daring kind, in all its own possible
licences and transformations. Spenser, be it repeated, was not the
man to do anything of that kind for it; and the two wisely let each
other alone.
Even in regard to blank verse, however, the Spenserian lesson
must have been of inestimable service. It is hardly excessive or
fanciful to regard him, not merely as one of the greatest and one
of the very first of Elizabethan composers, but as the greatest and
the first of Elizabethan conductors, an impeccable master of rhythm,
time and tune. This was what English poetry had wanted for
nearly two hundred years and had now got. The ear was taught
and the correspondence between ear and tongue was established.
Nor—with a pretty large exception in regard to blank verse,
where Spenser's baton was quiet, in the mid-seventeenth century,
and something of one in regard to the looser form of heroic couplet
about the same time-were these great gains ever let slip. Their
exercise, indeed, was, later, confined and hampered unduly; but
its principle was not controverted. In Edward VI's time, this
general system of rhythm, time and tune had but just been
tentatively and imperfectly attained by Wyatt and Surrey; there
has not been any general change in it from Spenser's period to the
time of Edward VII. A few words have changed their usual
accent and Spenser's peculiar system of 'eye-rime' has made it
desirable to keep his spelling, lest we destroy an effect which he
wished to produce. But, whatever you do with the spelling, you
will not alter the rhythm; whereas, if you modernise Chaucer, you
must either put continual new patches and pieces into the verse
or lose the rhythm altogether. Words may fall out, and words


## p. 288 (#310) ############################################

288 Prosody from Chaucer to Spenser
may come in, but the latter find, as the former leave, a fixed
system of prosodic arrangement to which they have but to adjust
themselves. Ben Jonson may have been right or wrong in saying
that Spenser writ no language,' while he certainly was wrong in
assigning mere ‘imitation of the ancients' as the cause thereof.
But, though he did not—it is said-like the Spenserian stanza,
his own more authentic and half-casual selection of Spenser as the
antithesis to 'the Water poet' shows us that he did not go wrong on
his poetic powers. Amongst the evidences of those powers it would
be ridiculous to say to-day that Spenser discovered the rhythmical-
metrical system of English poetry; and it would be unjust to say that
he alone rediscovered and adjusted it to existing circumstances.
But he was among the rediscoverers: and the greatest of them up
to his own time. In all matters of English prosody, except blank
verse and the trisyllabically based measures, we may go back to
Spenser and to his generation for example and practical precept;
and it will always be possible so to go back until the language
undergoes some transformation of which there is not at present
even the faintest symptom.


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CHAPTER XIV
ELIZABETHAN CRITICISM
It is, perhaps, only after long and thorough reading of Middle
English literature that the student becomes aware how completely
absent from it is the spirit of literary criticism. Not, of course,
that, in this respect, it differs very much from its continental con-
temporaries, but that the absence is, perhaps, more complete-at
any rate longer lasting—than with any of them. Almost the first
utterance that belongs even to the precincts and outskirts of the
critical province is Robert Mannyng's statement in the prologue
of his Chronicle, c. 1330) of his reason for preferring one metre to
another, which is merely that it was more likely to be appreciated.
The unknown annotator who observed that Cursor Mundi is the
best book of all' was certainly not thinking of its literary merits.
Here, as elsewhere, the first real signs of advance are found in
Chaucer ; but Chaucer's criticism, though, probably, no one was
ever born with more of the critical spirit, is mainly implicit and
undeveloped. Yet the presence of it is unmistakable, not merely in
his remarks on his own prosody, not merely in the host's on Sir
Thopas, not merely in Sir Thopas itself and in the way in which
the company fall upon the luckless monk, but in many slighter
symptoms. Indeed, it may be said that the first definite sign of the
awakening of the critical instinct in English writers, other than
Chaucer, is in their admiration for Chaucer himself. It is true
that this admiration had singular yokefellows; but that is quite
natural. Even as you must walk before you run, and totter before
you walk, so must criticism itself, at the first, be uncritical.
The first body of critical observations in English is, probably,
to be found in the prefaces of Caxton ; and a very interesting,
though a rather infantine, body it is. His very earliest work, the
translation of the Recuyell, is dictated to him by his sense of 'the
fair language of French, which was in prose so well and com-
pendiously set and written. ' He afterwards ‘remembers himself
of his simpleness and unperfectness' in both languages. He
perceives, in reference to the Dictes of the Philosophers, that lord
19
E. L. III.
CH, XIV.


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290
Elizabethan Criticism
Rivers's translation is right well and cunningly made. ' He sees
that, though Boethius was 'an excellent author of divers books
craftily and curiously made in prose and metre,' yet the style of
De Consolatione is 'hard and difficult,' so that Chaucer deserved
“perpetual laud' for translating it. Benet Burgh has 'full
craftily made' Cato in 'ballad royal. ' And the praises of The
Canterbury Tales and of the Morte d'Arthur, more elaborate
than these, but also much better known, might be called the first
real 'appreciations' in English.
These elementary and half unconscious critical exercises of
Caxton, as a moment's thought will show, must have had a great
influence, exercised, no doubt, as unconsciously as it was generated,
on the new readers of these new printed books. Yet it was long
before the seed fell into a soil where it could germinate. Even
when, at the beginning of the next century, regular Rhetorics
began to be written at first hand in imitation of the ancients, or
through modern humanists like Melanchthon (the earliest instance,
apparently, is that of Leonard Coxe of Reading, in 1524), the
temptation to stray from strictly formal rhetoric into criticism was
not much felt until there arose at Cambridge, towards the middle
of the century, that remarkable school of friends who are represented
in the history of English prose by Ascham, Cheke and Wilson, and
whose share in the revival of letters is dealt with elsewhere in the
present volume? Even then, on the eve of Elizabeth's reign, and
with the new burst of Italian critical writing begun by Trissino,
Daniello and Vida, the critical utterances are scanty, quite unsys-
tematic and shot (as one of the three would have said) 'at rovers. '
The really best work of the trio in this kind is Cheke's, who, if he
was mistaken in his caution to Sir Thomas Hoby against the practice
of borrowing from ancient tongues in modern”, has left us, in the
criticism on Sallust quoted by Ascham, a really solid exercise in
the art: not, of course, absolutely right-few things are that in
criticism-but putting one side of rightness forcibly and well,
in his depreciation (as Quintilian, doubtless his inspirer, has put
it) of 'wishing to write better than you can. ' It may, however,
be noted that all the three set themselves against over-elaboration
of style in this way or that. It was this which provoked Thomas
Wilson (whom we may not now, it seems, call 'Sir' Thomas) to
diverge from the usual course of rhetorical precept, not merely
into some illustrative tales, but into a definite onslaught on ‘ink-
horn' terms—foreign, archaic, technical or what not.