- But since the
Authors of most of our Sciences, were the Romanes, and before them the
Greekes, let us a little stand upon their authorities, but even so farre
as to see what names they have given unto this now scorned skill. Among
the Romanes a Poet was called Vates, which is as much as a diviner,
foreseer, or Prophet, as by his conjoyned words Vaticinium, and Vaticinari,
is manifest, so heavenly a title did that excellent people bestowe uppon
this hart- ravishing knowledge, and so farre were they carried into
the admiration thereof, that they thought in the chanceable hitting
uppon any of such verses, great foretokens of their following fortunes,
were placed. Whereupon grew the word of Sortes Vergilianae, when by
suddaine opening Virgils Booke, they lighted uppon some verse of his,
as it is reported by many, whereof the Histories of the Emperours lives
are full. As of Albinus the Governour of our Iland, who in his childhood
met with this verse Arma amens capio, nec sat rationis in armis: and
in his age performed it, although it were a verie vaine and godlesse
superstition, as also it was, to think spirits were commaunded by such
verses, whereupon this word Charmes derived of Carmina, commeth: so
yet serveth it to shew the great reverence those wittes were held in,
and altogither not without ground, since both by the Oracles of Delphos
and Sybillas prophesies, were wholly delivered in verses, for that same
exquisite observing of number and measure in the words, and that high
flying libertie of conceit propper to the Poet, did seeme to have some
divine force in it.(The Defense of Poesy)
- Loving in trueth,
and fayne in verse my loue to show,
That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine,
Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pittie winne, and pity grace obtaine,
I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inuentions fine, her wits to entertaine,
Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sun-burnd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Inuentions stay;
Inuention, Natures childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowes;
And others feet still seemde but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with childe to speak, and helplesse in my throwes,
Biting my trewand pen, beating myselfe for spite,
Fool, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart, and write (Astrophel
and Stella 1)
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