No More Learning

Pu'd you the rose or lily?
Or came you by yon meadow green?
Or saw you my sweet Willy? »
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him brade and narrow;
Syne, in the clifting of a craig,
She found him drowned in Yarrow. 2
Returning to Germany and to pure lyric, we have a pretty bit
which is attached to many different songs.
HIGH up on yonder mountain
A mill-wheel clatters round,
And, night or day, naught else but love
Within the mill is ground.
The mill has gone to ruin,
And love has had its day;
God bless thee now, my bonnie lass,
I wander far away. ³
1 Promised.
2 Child's Ballads, vii. 179.
3 Böhme, p. 271.


## p. 5876 (#464) ###########################################

5876
FOLK-SONG
But there is a more cheerful vein in this sort of song; and the
mountain offers pleasanter views:-
-
OH YONDER on the mountain,
There stands a lofty house,
Where morning after morning,
Yes, morning,
Three maids go in and out. ¹
The first she is my sister,
The second well is known,
The third, I will not name her,
No, name her,
And she shall be my own!
Finally, that pearl of German folk-song, 'Innsprück. ' The wanderer
must leave the town and his sweetheart; but he swears to be true,
and prays that his love be kept safe till his return:-
INNSPRÜCK, I must forsake thee,
My weary way betake me
Unto a foreign shore,
And all my joy hath vanished,
And ne'er while I am banished
Shall I behold it more.
I bear a load of sorrow,
And comfort can I borrow,
Dear love, from thee alone.
Ah, let thy pity hover
About thy weary lover
When he is far from home.
My one true love! Forever
Thine will I bide, and never
Shall our dear vow be vain.
Now must our Lord God ward thee,
In peace and honor guard thee,
Until I come again.
In leaving the subject of folk-song, it is necessary for the reader
not only to consider anew the loose and unscientific way in which
this term has been employed, but also to bear in mind that few of
the above specimens can lay claim to the title in any rigid classifica-
tion. Long ago, a German critic reminded zealous collectors of his
The rhyme in German leaves even more to be desired.


## p. 5877 (#465) ###########################################

FOLK-SONG
5877
day that when one has dipped a pailful of water from the brook,
one has captured no brook; and that when one has written down a
folk-song, it has ceased to be that eternally changing, momentary,
spontaneous, dance-begotten thing which once flourished everywhere
as communal poetry. Always in flux, if it stopped it ceased to be
itself. Modern lyric is deliberately composed by some one, mainly to
be sung by some one else; the old communal lyric was sung by
the throng and was made in the singing. When festal excitement at
some great communal rejoicing in the life of clan or tribe "fought
its battles o'er again," the result was narrative communal song. A
disguised and baffled survival of this most ancient narrative is the
popular ballad. Still more disguised, still more baffled, is the purely
lyrical survival of that old communal and festal song; and the best
one can do is to present those few specimens found under conditions
which preserve certain qualities of a vanished world of poetry.
It may be asked why the contemporary songs found among Indian
tribes of our continent, or among remote islanders in low stages of
culture, should not reproduce for us the old type of communal verse.
The answer is simple. Tribes which have remained in low stages of
culture do not necessarily retain all the characteristics of primitive
life among races which had the germs of rapidly developing culture.
That communal poetry which gave life to the later epic of Hellenic
or of Germanic song must have differed materially, no matter in what
stage of development, from the uninteresting and monotonous chants
of the savage. Moreover, the specimens of savage verse which we
know retain the characteristics of communal verse, while they lack
its nobler and vital quality. The dance, the spontaneous production,
repetition, these are all marked characteristics of savage verse. But
savage verse cannot serve as model for our ideas of primitive folk-
song.
He
ummere.


## p. 5878 (#466) ###########################################

5878
SAMUEL FOOTE
(1720-1777)
Ge
HE name of Samuel Foote suggests a whimsical, plump little
man, with a round face, twinkling eyes, and one of the
readiest wits of the eighteenth century. This contemporary
of the elder Colman, Cumberland, Mrs. Cowley, and the great Gar-
rick, knew many famous men and women, and they admired as well
as feared his talents.
Samuel Foote was born at Truro in 1720. He was a young boy
when he first exhibited his powers of mimicry at his father's dinner-
table. At that time he did not expect to earn his living by them,
for he came of well-to-do people, and his mother, who was of aristo-
cratic birth, inherited a comfortable fortune.
Throughout his school days at Worcester and his college days at
Worcester College, Oxford, where he did not remain long enough to
take a degree, and the idle days when he was supposed to be study-
ing law at the Temple and was in reality frequenting coffee-houses
and drawing-rooms as a young man of fashion, he was establishing a
reputation for repartee, bons mots, and satiric imitation. So, when
the wasteful youth had squandered all his money, he naturally
turned to the stage as offering him the best opportunity. Like
many another amateur addicted to a mistaken ambition, Foote first
tried tragedy, and made his début as Othello. But in this and in
other tragedies he was a failure; so he soon took to writing comic
plays with parts especially adapted to himself. The Diversions of
the Morning' was the first of a long series, of which 'The Mayor of
Garratt,' 'The Lame Lover,' The Nabob,' and 'The Minor,' are
among the best known. As these were written from the actor's
rather than from the dramatist's point of view, they often seem faulty
in construction and crude in literary quality. They are farces rather
than true comedies. But they abound in witty dialogue, and in a
satire which illuminates contemporary vices and follies.
Foote seems to have been curiously lacking in conscience. He
lived his life with a gayety which no poverty, misfortune, or physical
suffering could long dampen. When he had money he spent it lav-
ishly, and when the supply ran short he racked his clever brains to
make a new hit. To accomplish this he was utterly unscrupulous,
and never spared his friends or those to whom he was indebted,
4


## p. 5879 (#467) ###########################################

SAMUEL FOOTE
5879
if he saw good material in their foibles. His victims smarted, but
his ready tongue and personal geniality usually extricated him from
consequent unpleasantness. Garrick, who aided him repeatedly, and
who dreaded ridicule above all things, was his favorite butt, yet
remained his friend. The irate members of the East India Company,
who called upon him armed with stout cudgels to administer a casti-
gation for an offensive libel in The Nabob,' were so speedily molli-
fied that they laid their cudgels aside with their hats, and accepted
his invitation to dinner.
To us, much of his charm has evaporated, for it lay in these very
personalities which held well-known people up to ridicule with a
precision which made it impossible for the originals to escape recog-
nition. Even irascible Dr. Johnson, who wished to disapprove of him,
admitted that there was no one like "that fellow Foote. " So this
"Aristophanes of the English stage" was mourned when he died at
the age of fifty-seven, and a company of his friends and fellow-actors
buried him one evening by the dim light of torches in a cloister of
Westminster Abbey.
There is often a boisterous unreserve in the plays of Foote, as in
other eighteenth-century drama, which revolts modern taste. As
they consist of character study rather than incident, mere extracts
are apt to appear incomplete and meaningless. Therefore it seems
fairer to represent the famous wit not alone by formal citation, but
also by some of his bons mots extracted from the collection of William
Cooke in his 'Memoirs of Samuel Foote' (2 vols. 1806).
HOW TO BE A LAWYER
From The Lame Lover
dent.
Enter Jack
ERJEANT-So, Jack, anybody at chambers to-day?
SERJEAL
Jack-Fieri Facias from Fetter Lane, about the bill to
be filed by Kit Crape against Will Vizard this term.
Serjeant- Praying for an equal partition of plunder?
Jack-Yes, sir.
But we
Serjeant-Strange world we live in, that even highwaymen
can't be true to each other! [Half aside to himself. ]
shall make Vizard refund; we'll show him what long hands the
law has.
Jack-Facias says that in all the books he can't hit a prece


## p. 5880 (#468) ###########################################

5880
SAMUEL FOOTE
Serjeant-Then I'll make one myself; Aut inveniam, aut
faciam, has been always my motto. The charge must be made
for partnership profit, by bartering lead and gunpowder against
money, watches, and rings, on Epping Forest, Hounslow Heath,
and other parts of the kingdom.
Jack-He says if the court should get scent of the scheme,
the parties would all stand committed.
Serjeant-Cowardly rascal! but however, the caution mayn't
prove amiss. [Aside. ] I'll not put my own name to the bill.
Jack The declaration, too, is delivered in the cause of Roger
Rapp'em against Sir Solomon Simple.
Serjeant-What, the affair of the note?
Jack-Yes.
Serjeant - Why, he is clear that his client never gave such a
note.
Jack-Defendant never saw plaintiff since the hour he was
born; but notwithstanding, they have three witnesses to prove a
consideration and signing the note.
Serjeant-They have!
Jack-He is puzzled what plea to put in.
Serjeant-Three witnesses ready, you say?
Jack-Yes.
Serjeant - Tell him Simple must acknowledge the note [Jack
starts]; and bid him against the trial comes on, to procure four
persons at least to prove the payment at the Crown and Anchor,
the 10th of December.
Jack-But then how comes the note to remain in plaintiff's
possession?
Serjeant-Well put, Jack: but we have a salvo for that;
plaintiff happened not to have the note in his pocket, but prom-
ised to deliver it up when called thereunto by defendant.
Jack-That will do rarely.
Serjeant-Let the defense be a secret; for I see we have able
people to deal with. But come, child, not to lose time, have you
carefully conned those instructions I gave you?
Jack-Yes, sir.
Serjeant - Well, that we shall see. How many points are the
great object of practice?
Jack-Two.
Serjeant-Which are they?
Jack-The first is to put a man into possession of what is
his right.


## p. 5881 (#469) ###########################################

SAMUEL FOOTE
5881
Serjeant - The second'
Jack-Either to deprive a man of what is really his right, or
to keep him as long as possible out of possession.
Serjeant-Good boy! To gain the last end, what are the best
means to be used?
Jack-Various and many are the legal modes of delay.
Serjeant-Name them.
Jack-Injunctions, demurrers, sham pleas, writs of error,
rejoinders, sur-rejoinders, rebutters, sur-rebutters, re-plications,
exceptions, essoigns, and imparlance.
-
Serjeant [to himself]- Fine instruments in the hands of a
man who knows how to use them. But now, Jack, we come to
the point: if an able advocate has his choice in a cause, which if
he is in reputation he may readily have, which side should he
choose, the right or the wrong?
Jack A great lawyer's business is always to make choice of
the wrong.
Serjeant — And prithee, why so?
Jack-Because a good cause can speak for itself, whilst a bad
one demands an able counselor to give it a color.
Serjeant - Very well.
But in what respects will this answer
to the lawyer himself?
Jack-In a twofold way. Firstly, his fees will be large in
proportion to the dirty work he is to do.
Serjeant-Secondly?
Jack-His reputation will rise, by obtaining the victory in a
desperate cause.
Serjeant-Right, boy. Are you ready in the case of the cow?
Jack-Pretty well, I believe.
Serjeant-Give it, then.
--
Jack First of April, anno seventeen hundred and blank, John
a-Nokes was indicted by blank, before blank, in the county of
blank, for stealing a cow, contra pacem, etc. , and against the
statute in that case provided and made, to prevent stealing of
cattle.
Serjeant-Go on.
Jack-Said Nokes was convicted upon the said statute.
Serjeant - What followed upon?
Jack-Motion in arrest of judgment, made by Counselor Puz-
zle. First, because the field from whence the cow was conveyed
is laid in the indictment as round, but turned out upon proof to
be square.


## p. 5882 (#470) ###########################################

5882
SAMUEL FOOTE
Serjeant-That's well.
That's well. A valid objection.
Jack-Secondly, because in said indictment the color of the
cow is called red; there being no such things in rerum natura
as red cows, no more than black lions, spread eagles, flying
griffins, or blue boars.
Serjeant-Well put.
Jack-Thirdly, said Nokes has not offended against form of
the statute; because stealing of cattle is there provided against:
whereas we are only convicted of stealing a cow. Now, though
cattle may be cows, yet it does by no means follow that cows
must be cattle.
-
Serjeant - Bravo, bravo! buss me, you rogue; you are your
father's own son! go on and prosper. I am sorry, dear Jack, I
must leave thee. If Providence but sends thee life and health, I
prophesy thou wilt wrest as much land from the owners, and
save as many thieves from the gallows, as any practitioner since
the days of King Alfred.
Jack I'll do my endeavor. [Exit Serjeant. ]
A MISFORTUNE IN ORTHOGRAPHY
From The Lame Lover'
STR
-
IR LUKE-A pox o' your law; you make me lose sight of my
story. One morning Welsh coach-maker came with his
bill to my lord, whose name was unluckily Lloyd. My lord
had the man up: "You are called, I think, Mr. Lloyd? "— “At
your Lordship's service, my lord. " "What, Lloyd with an L? "
"It was with an L indeed, my lord. ". "Because in your part
of the world I have heard that Lloyd and Floyd were synony
mous, the very same names. " "Very often indeed, my Lord. ”
-"But you always spell yours with an L? " "Always. " —
"That, Mr. Lloyd, is a little unlucky; for you must know I am
now paying my debts alphabetically, and in four or five years
you might have come in with an F; but I am afraid I can give
you no hopes for your L. Ha, ha, ha! "
-
――
-


## p. 5883 (#471) ###########################################

SAMUEL FOOTE
5883
FROM THE MEMOIRS'
A CURE FOR BAD POETRY
A
PHYSICIAN of Bath told him that he had a mind to publish
his own poems; but he had so many irons in the fire he
did not well know what to do.
"Then take my advice, doctor," said Foote, "and put your
poems where your irons are. ”
THE RETORT COURTEOUS
FOLLOWING a man in the street, who did not bear the best of
characters, Foote slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, think-
ing he was an intimate friend. On discovering his mistake he
cried out, "Oh, sir, I beg your pardon! I really took you for a
gentleman who-»
"Well, sir," said the other, "and am I not a gentleman ? »
"Nay, sir," said Foote, "if you take it in that way, I must
only beg your pardon a second time. "
ON GARRICK'S STATURE
PREVIOUSLY to Foote's bringing out his 'Primitive Puppet
Show' at the Haymarket Theatre, a lady of fashion asked him,
"Pray, sir, are your puppets to be as large as life? "
"Oh dear, madam, no. Not much above the size of Garrick ! "
CAPE WINE
BEING at the dinner-table one day when the Cape was going
round in remarkably small glasses, his host was very profuse on
the excellence of the wine, its age, etc. "But you don't seem to
relish it, Foote, by keeping your glass so long before you. "
"Oh, yes, my lord, perfectly well. I am only admiring how
little it is, considering its great age.
>>
THE GRACES
OF AN actress who was remarkably awkward with her arms,
Foote said that "she kept the Graces at arm's-length. "


## p. 5884 (#472) ###########################################

5884
SAMUEL FOOTE
THE DEBTOR
OF A young gentleman who was rather backward in paying
his debts, he said he was "a very promising young gentleman. "
AFFECTATION
AN ASSUMING, pedantic lady, boasting of the many books which
she had read, often quoted 'Locke Upon Understanding,' a work
she said she admired above all things, yet there was one word
in it which, though often repeated, she could not distinctly make
out; and that was the word ide-a (pronouncing it very long):
"but I suppose it comes from a Greek derivation. "
"You are perfectly right, madam," said Foote, "it comes from
the word ideaousky. "
"And pray, sir, what does that mean? "
"The feminine of idiot, madam. "
ARITHMETICAL CRITICISM
A MERCANTILE man of his acquaintance, who would read a
poem of his to him one day after dinner, pompously began: —
"I am," said Foote.
"Hear me, O Phoebus! and ye Muses nine!
Pray be attentive. "
"Nine and one are ten: go on. "
THE DEAR WIFE
A GENTLEMAN just married, telling Foote that he had that
morning laid out three thousand pounds in jewels for his "dear
wife": "Well," said the other, "you have but done her justice,
as by your own reckoning she must be a very valuable woman. "
GARRICK AND THE GUINEA
FOOTE and Garrick, supping together at the Bedford, the for-
mer in pulling out his purse to pay the reckoning dropped a
guinea, which rolled in such a direction that they could not
readily find it.
"Where the deuce," says Foote, «< can it be gone to? "
"Gone to the Devil, I suppose," said Garrick.
"Well said, David; you are always what I took you for, ever
contriving to make a guinea go farther than any other man. ”


## p. 5885 (#473) ###########################################

SAMUEL FOOTE
5885
DR. PAUL HIFFERMAN
One day
PAUL was fond of laying, or rather offering, wagers.
in the heat of argument he cried out, "I'll lay my head you are
wrong upon that point. "
"Well," said Foote, "I accept the wager. Any trifle, among
friends, has a value. "
FOOTE AND MACKLIN
ONE night, when Macklin was formally preparing to begin a
lecture, hearing Foote rattling away at the lower end of the
room, and thinking to silence him at once, he called out in his
sarcastic manner, "Pray, young gentleman, do you know what I
am going to say? "
"No, sir," said Foote quickly: "do you? "
BARON NEWMAN
THIS celebrated gambler (well known about town thirty years
ago by the title of the left-handed Baron), being detected in the
rooms at Bath in the act of secreting a card, the company in the
warmth of their resentment threw him out of the window of a
one-pair-of-stairs room, where they were playing. The Baron,
meeting Foote some time afterward, loudly complained of this
usage, and asked him what he should do to repair his injured
honor.
"Do? " said the wit; "why, 'tis a plain case: never play so
high again as long as you live. "
MRS. ABINGTON
WHEN Mrs. Abington returned from her very first successful
trip to Ireland, Foote wished to engage her for his summer thea-
tre; but in the mean time Garrick secured her for Drury Lane.
Foote, on hearing this, asked her why she gave Garrick the
preference.
"I don't know how it was," said she: "he talked me over
by telling me that he would make me immortal, so that I did
not know how to refuse him. "
"Oh! did he so? Then I'll soon outbid him that way; for
come to me and I will give you two pounds a week more, and
charge you nothing for immortality. "


## p. 5886 (#474) ###########################################

5886
SAMUEL FOOTE
GARLIC-EATERS
LAUGHING at the imbecilities of a common friend one day,
somebody observed, "It was very surprising; and Tom D
knew him very well, and thought him far from being a fool. "
"Ah, poor Tom! " said Foote, "he is like one of those people
who eat garlic themselves, and therefore can't smell it in a com-
panion. "
MODE OF BURYING ATTORNEYS IN LONDON
A GENTLEMAN in
country, who had just buried a rich
relation who was an attorney, was complaining to Foote, who
happened to be on a visit with him, of the very great expense of
a country funeral in respect to carriages, hat-bands, scarves, etc.
"Why, do you bury your attorneys here? " asked Foote
gravely.
«< Yes, to be sure we do; how else?
"Oh, we never do that in London. »
"No? " said the other much surprised, "how do you man-
age? »
"Why, when the patient happens to die, we lay him out in a
room over night by himself, lock the door, throw open the sash,
and in the morning he is entirely off. "
"Indeed! " said the other in amazement; what becomes of
«<
him? "
"Why, that we cannot exactly tell, not being acquainted with
supernatural causes. All that we know of the matter is, that
there's a strong smell of brimstone in the room the next morn-
ing. "
DINING BADLY
FOOTE, returning from dinner with a lord of the admiralty,
was met by a friend, who asked him what sort of a day he had
had. "Very indifferent indeed; bad company and a worse din-
ner. "
"I wonder at that," said the other, "as I thought the admiral
a good jolly fellow. "
"Why, as to that, he may be a good sea lord, but take it from
me, he is a very bad landlord. "


## p. 5887 (#475) ###########################################

SAMUEL FOOTE
5887
DIBBLE DAVIS
DIBBLE DAVIS, one of Foote's butts-in-ordinary, dining with
him one day at North-end, observed that "well as he loved por-
ter, he could never drink it without a head. "
"That must be a mistake, Dibble,” returned his host, "as you
have done so to my knowledge alone these twenty years.
>>>
AN EXTRAORDINARY CASE
BEING at the levee of Lord Townsend, when that nobleman
was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he thought he saw a person in
his Excellency's suite whom he had known to have lived many
years a life of expediency in London. To convince himself of
the fact, he asked his Excellency who it was.
"That is Mr. T, one of my gentlemen at large," was the
answer. "Do you know him? ”
"Oh, yes! perfectly well," said Foote, "and what your Excel-
lency tells me is doubly extraordinary: first, that he is a gentle-
man; and next, that he is at large. "
MUTABILITY OF THE WORLD
BEING at dinner in a mixed company soon after the bank-
ruptcy of one friend and the death of another, the conversation
naturally turned on the mutability of the world.
« Can you
account for this? " said S- a master builder, who happened
to sit next to Foote. "Why, not very clearly," said the other;
«< except we could suppose the world was built by contract. "
"
AN APPROPRIATE MOTTO
DURING one of Foote's trips to Dublin, he was much solicited
by a silly young man of fashion to assist him in a miscellany of
poems and essays which he was about to publish; but when he
asked to see the manuscript, the other told him "that at present
he had only conceived the different subjects, but had put none of
them to paper. "
"Oh! if that be the state of the case," replied Foote, "I will
give you a motto from Milton for the work in its present state:
'Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. »»


## p. 5888 (#476) ###########################################

5888
SAMUEL FOOTE
REAL FRIENDSHIP
A YOUNG gentleman, making an apology to his father for
coming late to dinner, said "that he had been visiting a poor
friend of his in St. George's Fields. " "Ah! a pretty kind of
friend indeed," says the father, "to keep us waiting for dinner
in this manner. "
"Aye, and for the best kind, too," said Foote: "as you know,
my dear sir, a friend in need is a friend indeed. "
ANECDOTE OF AN AUTHOR
AN AUTHOR was boasting that as a reviewer he had the
power of distributing literary reputations as he liked. "Take
care," said Foote, "you are not too prodigal of that, or you may
leave none for yourself. "
DR. BLAIR
WHEN Foote first heard of Dr. Blair's writing 'Notes on
Ossian' (a work the reality of which has always been much
doubted), he observed, "The publishers ought to allow a great
discount to the purchaser, as the notes required such a stretch of
credit. "
ADVICE TO A DRAMATIC WRITER
A DULL dramatic writer, who had often felt the severity of the
public, was complaining one day to Foote of the injustice done.
him by the critics; but added, "I have, however, one way of
being even with them, by constantly laughing at all they say. "
"You do perfectly right, my friend," said Foote; "for by this
method you will not only disappoint your enemies, but lead the
merriest life of any man in England. "
THE GRAFTON MINISTRY
A GENTLEMAN coming into the Cocoa-Tree one morning during
the Duke of Grafton's administration, was observing "that he
was afraid the poor ministry were at their wits' end. "
"Well, if it should be so," said Foote, "what reason have
they to complain of so short a journey? "


## p. 5889 (#477) ###########################################

5889
JOHN FORD
(1586-? )
HE dramatic genius of the English Renaissance had well-nigh
spent itself when the sombre creations of John Ford ap-
Speared upon a stage over which the clouds of the Civil War
were fast gathering. Little is known of this dramatist, who repre-
sents the decadent period which followed the age of Shakespeare.
He was born in 1586; entered the Middle Temple in 1602; after 1641
he is swallowed up in the turmoil of the time. The few scattered
records of his life add nothing to, nor do they take anything from, the
John Ford of 'The Broken Heart' and 'Perkin Warbeck. '
His plays are infected with a spirit alien to the poise and beauty
of the best Elizabethan drama. His creations tell of oblique vision;
of a disillusioned genius, predisposed to abnormal or exaggerated forms
of human experience. He breaks through the moral order, in his love
for the eccentricities of passion. He weaves the spell of his genius
around strange sins.
The problems of despair which Ford propounds but never solves,
form the plot of The Broken Heart'; Calantha, Ithocles, Penthea,
Orgilus, are wan types of the passive suffering which numbs the soul
to death. Charles Lamb has eulogized the final scene of this drama.
To many critics, the self-possession of Calantha savors of the theatri-
cal. The scene between Penthea and her brother Ithocles, who had
forced her to marry Bassanes though she loved Orgilus, is replete
with the tenderness, the sense of subdued anguish, of which Ford was
a master. He is the dramatist of broken hearts, whose waste places
are unrelieved by a touch of sunlight. His love of "passion at war
with circumstance" again finds expression in 'Love's Sacrifice,' a
drama of moral confusions. In 'The Lover's Melancholy' sorrow has
grown pensive. A quiet beauty rests upon the famous scene in which
Parthenophil strives with the nightingale for the prize of music.
'The Lady's Trial,' 'The Fancies Chaste and Noble,' 'The Sun's
Darling' (written in conjunction with Dekker), are worthy only of
passing notice. They leave but a pale impression upon the mind.
In 'Perkin Warbeck,' the one historical play of Ford, he exhibits his
mastery over straightforward, sinewy verse. The Witch of Edmon-
ton,' of which he wrote the first act, gives a signal example of his
modern style and spirit.
X-369


## p. 5890 (#478) ###########################################

5890
JOHN FORD
With the exception of 'Perkin Warbeck,' his dramas are destitute
of outlook. This moral contraction heightens the intensity of passion,
which in his conception of it has always its ancient significance of
suffering. His comic scenes are contemptible. He is at his greatest
when dealing with the subtleties of the human heart. Through him
we enter into the darker zones of the soul; we apprehend its remoter
sufferings. Confusion of spiritual vision, blended with the tyranny of
passion, produce his greatest scenes. His are the tragedies of "unful-
filled desire. "
The verse of Ford is measured, passionless, polished. There is a
subtle music in his lines which haunts the memory.
With Ford the sun-born radiance of the noblest Elizabethan drama
fades from the stage. An artificial light, thereafter, replaced it.
FROM PERKIN WARBECK'
[Perkin Warbeck and his followers are presented to King Henry VII. by
Lord Dawbeny as prisoners. ]
D^
AWBENY
King Henry-
Dawbeny-
"Parthenophil is lost, and I would see him;
For he is like to something I remember,
A great while since, a long, long time ago. "
Life to the King, and safety fix his throne.
I here present you, royal sir, a shadow
Of Majesty, but in effect a substance
Of pity; a young man, in nothing grown
To ripeness, but th' ambition of your mercy;
Perkin, the Christian world's strange wonder!
Dawbeny-
King Henry-
We observe no wonder; I behold ('tis true)
An ornament of nature, fine and polished,
A handsome youth, indeed, but not admire him.
How come he to thy hands?
From sanctuary.
At Bewley, near Southampton; registered,
With these few followers, for persons privileged.
Dawbeny,
I must not thank you, sir! you were to blame
To infringe the liberty of houses sacred;
Dare we be irreligious?
Gracious lord!
They voluntarily resigned themselves,
Without compulsion.


## p. 5891 (#479) ###########################################

JOHN FORD
5891
King Henry-
Warbeck-
Dawbeny-
King Henry
Warbeck
.
So? 'twas very well
Turn now thine eyes,
'Twas very well.
Young man! upon thyself and thy past actions:
What revels in combustion through our kingdom
A frenzy of aspiring youth has danced;
Till wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt
To break thy neck.
Warbeck-
But not my heart; my heart
Will mount till every drop of blood be frozen
By death's perpetual winter. If the sun
Of Majesty be darkened, let the sun
Of life be hid from me, in an eclipse
Lasting and universal. Sir, remember
There was a shooting in of light when Richmond
(Not aiming at the crown) retired, and gladly,
For comfort to the Duke of Bretagne's court.
Richard, who swayed the sceptre, was reputed
A tyrant then; yet then, a dawning glimmer'd
To some few wand'ring remnants, promising day
When first they ventur'd on a frightful shore
At Milford Haven.
Whither speeds his boldness?
Check his rude tongue, great sir.
Oh, let him range:
The player's on the stage still; 'tis his part:
He does but act. - What followed?
______
-
King Henry-
Bosworth Field:
Where at an instant, to the world's amazement,
A morn to Richmond and a night to Richard
Appear'd at once. The tale is soon applied:
Fate which crowned these attempts, when least assured,
Might have befriended others, like resolved.
A pretty gallant! thus your aunt of Burgundy,
Your duchess aunt, informed her nephew: so
The lesson, prompted, and well conned, was molded
Into familiar dialogue, oft rehearsed,
Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth.
Truth in her pure simplicity wants art
To put a feigned blush on; scorn wears only
Such fashion as commends to gazers' eyes
Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath; in such a court
Wisdom and gravity are proper robes
By which the sovereign is best distinguished
From zanies to his greatness.


## p. 5892 (#480) ###########################################

5892
JOHN FORD
King Henry-
Warbeck-
-
Warbeck
Your antic pageantry, and now appear
In your own nature; or you'll taste the danger
Of fooling out of season.
King Henry-
Sirrah, shift
I expect
No less than what severity calls justice,
And politicians safety; let such beg
As feed on alms: but if there can be mercy
In a protested enemy, then may it
Descend to these poor creatures whose engagements
To the bettering of their fortunes have incurred
A loss of all to them, if any charity
Flow from some noble orator; in death
I owe the fee of thankfulness.
King Henry-
So brave?
What a bold knave is this!
We trifle time with follies.
Urswick, command the Dukeling and these fellows
To Digby, the Lieutenant of the Tower.
Meet freedom in captivity: the Tower,
Our childhood's dreadful nursery!
Noble thoughts
Was ever so much impudence in forgery?
The custom, sure, of being styled a king
Hath fastened in his thought that he is such.
PENTHEA'S DYING SONG
From The Broken Heart ›
OH
H, NO more, no more,- too late;
Sighs are spent; the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as fate,
Pure as are unwritten papers,
Are burnt out; no heat, no light
Now remains; 'tis ever night.
Love is dead; let lovers' eyes
Locked in endless dreams,
Th' extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies;
Now Love dies - implying
Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying.


## p. 5893 (#481) ###########################################

JOHN FORD
5893
Amethus-
ENAPHON - Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales
M Which poets of an elder time have feigned
To glorify their Temple, bred in me
Desire of visiting that paradise.
To Thessaly I came; and living private
Without acquaintance of more sweet companions
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
Amethus
Menaphon-
Menaphon
Amethus-
FROM THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY
AMETHUS AND MENAPHON
I day by day frequented silent groves
And solitary walks. One morning early
This accident encountered me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention
That art and nature ever were at strife in.
I cannot yet conceive what you infer
By art and nature.
I shall soon resolve ye.
A sound of music touched my ears, or rather
Indeed entranced my soul. As I stole nearer,
Invited by the melody, I saw
This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge
To the clear quiristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,
Wondering at what they heard: I wondered too.
And so do I: good, on!
A nightingale,
Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes
The challenge, and for every several strain
The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own;
He could not run division with more art
Upon his quaking instrument than she,
The nightingale, did with her various notes
Reply to: for a voice and for a sound,
Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe
That such they were than hope to hear again.
How did the rivals part?


## p. 5894 (#482) ###########################################

5894
JOHN FORD
You term them rightly;
For they were rivals, and their mistress harmony.
Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger, that a bird,
Menaphon-
Amethus-
Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes,
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice.
To end the controversy, in a rapture
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly
So many voluntaries and so quick,
That there was curiosity and cunning,
Concord in discord, lines of differing method
Meeting in one full centre of delight.
Now for the bird.
Menaphon-
The bird, ordained to be
Music's first martyr, strove to imitate
'These several sounds; which when her warbling throat
Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute,
And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness,
To see the conqueror upon her hearse
To weep a funeral elegy of tears;
That trust me, my Amethus, I could chide
Mine own unmanly weakness that made me
A fellow mourner with him.
Amethus-
Menaphon-
I believe thee.
He looked upon the trophies of his art,
Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed and cried:-
"Alas, poor creature! I will soon revenge
This cruelty upon the author of it;
Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,
Shall never more betray a harmless peace
To an untimely end:" and in that sorrow,
As he was pushing it against a tree,
I suddenly stept in.


## p. 5895 (#483) ###########################################

5895
FRIEDRICH, BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ
(1777-1843)
HE romantic school had many false and erratic tendencies,
but it produced some of the most fanciful and poetic crea-
tions of literature. Fouqué was called the Don Quixote of
the Romanticists, and his early romances of chivalry were devoured
by the public as quickly as they appeared. But his fame proved to
be a passing fancy; and his later works scarcely found a publisher.
This was owing partly to a change in public taste, and partly to
his mannerisms. His descriptions often deteriorate into tediousness,
and the narrative is broken by far-fetched
digressions. He was so imbued with the
spirit of chivalry that he became one-sided,
and his scenes were always laid in "the
chapel or the tilt-yard. " Critics of his time
speak of his mediæval romances as "full of
sweet strength and lovely virtue. " Others
say "the heroes are almost absurd, and do
not arouse enthusiasm. " Heine asserts that
Fouqué's laurel is genuine; Coleridge places*
him above Walter Scott; Thomas Carlyle
compares him to Southey, and describes
him as a man of genius, with little more
than an ordinary share of talent. Fouqué
was introduced to romanticism by Wilhelm
von Schlegel, and drew his first inspiration from Cervantes. What-
ever his shortcomings, it cannot be denied that he succeeded in catch-
ing the spirit of chivalry. His knights may be unreal and quixotic,
but he delineates his characters with the irresistible touch of a poet,
and his work displays noble thoughts and depth of feeling.
FOUQUÉ
Friedrich, Baron de la Motte Fouqué, was descended from a
French family that had emigrated to Prussia, and his grandfather
was a general under Frederick the Great. Fouqué was born at Bran-
denburg, February 12th, 1777, and was a thorough German at heart.
He received a military education, and at the age of nineteen proved
himself a brave soldier in the campaign of the Rhine. He served
under the Duke of Weimar, and his friend and comrade in arms was,
the wonderfully gifted but unfortunate Heinrich von Kleist.
He was
obliged to resign on account of ill health, and withdrawing to his



## p. 5896 (#484) ###########################################

5896
FRIEDRICH LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ
estates he devoted himself to literary pursuits. Once again, how-
ever, in the exciting times of the war against Napoleon, his sword
defended his country. He enlisted as a volunteer, and was after-
wards honorably retired with the rank of major. and decorated with
the Order of St. John. One of his patriotic poems, 'Frisch auf zum
Fröhlichen Jagen' (Come, rouse ye for the merry hunt), with refer-
ence to the rising against Napoleon, is still a popular song. In
Halle, Fouqué delivered lectures on history and poetry which at-
tracted much attention and admiration. In 1842 he was called to
Berlin by Frederick William IV. , but his literary efforts were at an
end. He died in Berlin, January 23d, 1843.
At the beginning of this century, Fouqué was one of the most cele-
brated authors. At the present day, with a few brilliant exceptions,
all of his plays, romances, and poems have been relegated to obliv-
ion. There is one work, however, a gem in German literature, that
has won for its author an enduring place in the memory of readers;
and that is the charming and graceful narrative of 'Undine. ' It af-
fords an example of the writer's best style of production; it breathes
the fresh fragrance of the woods, and is animated by the beautiful
thought that peoples the sea and air with nymphs and spirits.