chops in with English Italinated, and applieth the Italian phrase to our English speaking, the which is, as if an orator that professeth to utter his mind in plain Latin, would needs speak poetry, and far fetched colours of strange antiquity. The lawyer will store his stomach with the prating of pedlars. The auditor in making his account and reckoning, cometh in with sise sould, and cater denere, for vi. s. iiii. d. The fine courtier will talk nothing but Chaucer. The mystical wisemen and poetical clerks will speak nothing but quaint proverbs, and blind allegories, delighting much in their own darkness, especially, when none can tell what they do say. The unlearned or foolish fantastical, that smells but of learning (such fellows as have seen learned men in their days) will so Latin their tongues, that the simple cannot but wonder at their talk, and think surely they speak by some revelation. I know them that think rhetoric to stand wholly upon dark words, and he that can catch an ink-horn term by the tail, him they count to be a fine Englishman, and a good rhetorician. (From the Same.)

THE USES OF WIT

THIRDLY, such quickness of wit must be shewed, and such pleasant saws so well applied, that the ears may find much delight, whereof I will speak largely, when I shall intreat of moving laughter. And assuredly nothing is more needful, than to quicken these heavy loaden wits of ours, and much to cherish these our lumpish and unwieldy natures, for except men find delight, they will not long abide: delight them, and win them; weary them, and you lose them for ever. And that is the reason,

that men commonly tarry the end of a merry play, and cannot abide the half hearing of a sour checking sermon. Therefore even these ancient preachers, must now and then play the fools in the pulpit, to serve the tickle ears of their fleeting audience, or else they are like sometimes to preach to the bare walls, for though their spirit be apt, and our will prone, yet our flesh is so heavy, and humours so overwhelm us, that we cannot without refreshing, long abide to hear any one thing. Thus we see, that to delight is needful, without the which, weighty matters will not

be heard at all, and therefore, him can I thank that both can and will once mingle sweet among the sour.

(From the Same.)

RULES OF ART

Now a wise man that hath good experience in these affairs, and is able to make himself a rhetorique for every matter, will not be bound to any precise rules, nor keep any one order, but such only as by reason he shall think best to use, being master over art, rather than art should be master over him, rather making art by wit, than confounding wit by art. And undoubtedly even in so doing he shall do right well, and content the hearers accordingly. For what mattereth whether we follow our book or no, if we follow wit and appoint our self an order, such as may declare the truth more plainly? Yea, some that be unlearned, and yet have right good wits, will devise with themselves, without any book learning, what they will say, and how much they will say, appointing their order, and parting it into three or four parts or more if need be, such as they shall think especial points, and most meet to be touched. Whose doings as I can well like, and much commend them for the same: so I would think them much more able to do much better: if they either by learning followed a pattern, or else knew the precepts which lead us to right order. Rules were therefore given, and by much observation gathered together, that those which could not see art hid in another man's doings, should yet see the rules open all in an order set together, and thereby judge the rather of their doings, and by earnest imitation, seek to resemble such their invention. I cannot deny, but that a right wise man unlearned, shall do more good by his natural wit, than twenty of these common wits that want nature to help art. And I know that rules were made first by wise men, and not wise men made by rules. For these precepts serve only to help our need, such as by nature have not such plentiful gifts.

(From the Same.)

INTOLERANCE IN ROME

Two years past at my being in Italy, I was charged in Rome town, to my great danger and utter undoing (if God's goodness had not been the greater) to have written this book of Rhetorike, and the Logike also, for the which I was counted an heretic, notwithstanding the absolution granted to all the realm, by Pope Julius the Third, for all former offences or practices, devised against the Holy Mother Church, as they call it. A strange matter, that things done in England seven years before, and the same universally forgiven, should afterwards be laid to a man's charge in Rome. But what cannot malice do? Or what will not the wilful devise, to satisfy their minds, for undoing of others? God be my judge, I had then as little fear (although death was present, and the torment at hand, whereof I felt some smart) as ever I had in all my life before. For, when I saw those that did seek my death, to be so maliciously set, to make such poor shifts for my readier dispatch, and to burden me with those back reckonings, I took such courage, and was so bold, that the judges then did much marvel at my stoutness, and thinking to bring down my great heart, told me plainly that I was in farther peril, than whereof I was aware, and sought thereupon to take advantage of my words, and to bring me in danger by all means possible. And after long debating with me, they willed me at any hand to submit myself to the holy father, and the devout college of cardinals. For, otherwise, there was no remedy. With that, being fully purposed not to yield to any submission, as one that little trusted their colourable deceit, I was as ware as I could be, not to utter anything for mine own harm, for fear I should come in their danger. For, then either should I have died, or else have denied both openly and shamefully, the known truth of Christ and His gospel. In the end, by God's grace, I was wonderfully delivered, through plain force of the worthy Romans (an enterprise heretofore in that sort never attempted) being then without hope of life, and much less of liberty. And now that I am come home, this book is shewed me and I desired to look upon it, to amend it where I thought meet. Amend it, quoth I? Nay, let the book first amend itself, and make me amends. For,

surely I have no cause to acknowledge it for my book, because I have so smarted for it.

(From A Prologue to the Reader.)

THE TEACHING OF POETS

THE saying of poets and all their fables are not to be forgotten, for by them we may talk at large, and win men by persuasion, if we declare beforehand, that these tales were not feigned by such wise men without cause, neither yet continued until this time, and kept in memory without good consideration, and thereupon declare the true meaning of all such writing. For undoubtedly there is no one tale among all the poets, but under the same is comprehended some thing that pertaineth, either to the amendment of manners, to the knowledge of the truth, to the setting forth of nature's work, or else the understanding of some notable thing done. For what other is the painful travail of Ulysses, described so largely by Homer, but a lively picture of man's misery in this life. And as Plutarch saith, and likewise Basilius Magnus in the Iliades are described strength and valiantness of the body. In Odissea is set forth a lively pattern of the mind. The poets are wise men, and wished in heart the redress of things, the which when for fear, they durst not openly rebuke, they did in colours paint them out, and told men by shadows what they should do in good sooth, or else because the wicked were unworthy to hear the truth, they spake so that none might understand but those unto whom they please to utter their meaning, and knew them to be men of honest conversation.

(From The Arte of Rhetorike.)