ADVERTISEMENT TO THE LAST LONDON EDITION.
The work now restored to public notice has had an extraordinary fate. At
the time of its original publication it obtained a great celebrity, which
continued more than half a century. During that period few books were more
read, or more deservedly applauded. It was the delight of the learned, the
solace of the indolent, and the refuge of the uninformed. It passed through
at least eight editions, by which the bookseller, as WOOD records, got an
estate; and, notwithstanding the objection sometimes opposed against it, of
a quaint style, and too great an accumulation of authorities, the
fascination of its wit, fancy, and sterling sense, have borne down all
censures, and extorted praise from the first Writers in the English
language. The grave JOHNSON has praised it in the warmest terms, and the
ludicrous STERNE has interwoven many parts of it into his own popular
performance. MILTON did not disdain to build two of his finest poems on it;
and a host of inferior writers have embellished their works with beauties
not their own, culled from a performance which they had not the justice
even to mention. Change of times, and the frivolity of fashion, suspended,
in some degree, that fame which had lasted near a century; and the
succeeding generation affected indifference towards an author, who at
length was only looked into by the plunderers of literature, the poachers
in obscure volumes. The plagiarisms of Tristram Shandy, so successfully
brought to light by DR. FERRIAR, at length drew the attention of the public
towards a writer, who, though then little known, might, without impeachment
of modesty, lay claim to every mark of respect; and inquiry proved, beyond
a doubt, that the calls of justice had been little attended to by others,
as well as the facetious YORICK. WOOD observed, more than a century ago,
that several authors had unmercifully stolen matter from BURTON without any
acknowledgment. The time, however, at length arrived, when the merits of
the Anatomy of Melancholy were to receive their due praise. The book was
again sought for and read, and again it became an applauded performance.
Its excellencies once more stood confessed, in the increased price which
every copy offered for sale produced; and the increased demand pointed out
the necessity of a new edition. This is now presented to the public in a
manner not disgraceful to the memory of the author; and the publisher
relies with confidence, that so valuable a repository of amusement and
information will continue to hold the rank to which it has been restored,
firmly supported by its own merit, and safe from the influence and blight
of any future caprices of fashion. To open its valuable mysteries to those
who have not had the advantage of a classical education, translations of
the countless quotations from ancient writers which occur in the work, are
now for the first time given, and obsolete orthography is in all instances
modernized.
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
Robert Burton was the son of Ralph Burton, of an ancient and genteel family
at Lindley, in Leicestershire, and was born there on the 8th of February
1576. [1]He received the first rudiments of learning at the free school of
Sutton Coldfield, in Warwickshire [2]from whence he was, at the age of
seventeen, in the long vacation, 1593, sent to Brazen Nose College, in the
condition of a commoner, where he made considerable progress in logic and
philosophy. In 1599 he was elected student of Christ Church, and, for
form's sake, was put under the tuition of Dr. John Bancroft, afterwards
Bishop of Oxford. In 1614 he was admitted to the reading of the Sentences,
and on the 29th of November, 1616, had the vicarage of St. Thomas, in the
west suburb of Oxford, conferred on him by the dean and canons of Christ
Church, which, with the rectory of Segrave, in Leicestershire, given to him
in the year 1636, by George, Lord Berkeley, he kept, to use the words of
the Oxford antiquary, with much ado to his dying day. He seems to have been
first beneficed at Walsby, in Lincolnshire, through the munificence of his
noble patroness, Frances, Countess Dowager of Exeter, but resigned the
same, as he tells us, for some special reasons. At his vicarage he is
remarked to have always given the sacrament in wafers. Wood's character of
him is, that he was an exact mathematician, a curious calculator of
nativities, a general read scholar, a thorough-paced philologist, and one
that understood the surveying of lands well. As he was by many accounted a
severe student, a devourer of authors, a melancholy and humorous person; so
by others, who knew him well, a person of great honesty, plain dealing and
charity. I have heard some of the ancients of Christ Church often say, that
his company was very merry, facete, and juvenile; and no man in his time
did surpass him for his ready and dexterous interlarding his common
discourses among them with verses from the poets, or sentences from classic
authors; which being then all the fashion in the University, made his
company the more acceptable. He appears to have been a universal reader of
all kinds of books, and availed himself of his multifarious studies in a
very extraordinary manner. From the information of Hearne, we learn that
John Rouse, the Bodleian librarian, furnished him with choice books for the
prosecution of his work. The subject of his labour and amusement, seems to
have been adopted from the infirmities of his own habit and constitution.
Mr. Granger says, He composed this book with a view of relieving his own
melancholy, but increased it to such a degree, that nothing could make him
laugh, but going to the bridge-foot and hearing the ribaldry of the
bargemen, which rarely failed to throw him into a violent fit of laughter.
Before he was overcome with this horrid disorder, he, in the intervals of
his vapours, was esteemed one of the most facetious companions in the
University.
His residence was chiefly at Oxford; where, in his chamber in Christ Church
College, he departed this life, at or very near the time which he had some
years before foretold, from the calculation of his own nativity, and which,
says Wood, being exact, several of the students did not forbear to whisper
among themselves, that rather than there should be a mistake in the
calculation, he sent up his soul to heaven through a slip about his neck.
Whether this suggestion is founded in truth, we have no other evidence than
an obscure hint in the epitaph hereafter inserted, which was written by the
author himself, a short time before his death. His body, with due
solemnity, was buried near that of Dr. Robert Weston, in the north aisle
which joins next to the choir of the cathedral of Christ Church, on the
27th of January 1639-40. Over his grave was soon after erected a comely
monument, on the upper pillar of the said aisle, with his bust, painted to
the life. On the right hand is the following calculation of his nativity:
and under the bust, this inscription of his own composition:—
Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus,
Hic jacet Democritus junior
Cui vitam dedit et mortem
Melancholia
Ob. 8 Id. Jan. A. C. MDCXXXIX.
Arms:—Azure on a bend O. between three dogs' heads O. a crescent G.
A few months before his death, he made his will, of which the following is
a copy:
EXTRACTED FROM THE REGISTRY OF THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY.
In nomine Dei Amen. August 15th One thousand six hundred thirty nine
because there be so many casualties to which our life is subject besides
quarrelling and contention which happen to our Successors after our Death
by reason of unsettled Estates I Robert Burton Student of Christ-church
Oxon. though my means be but small have thought good by this my last Will
and Testament to dispose of that little which I have and being at this
present I thank God in perfect health of Bodie and Mind and if this
Testament be not so formal according to the nice and strict terms of Law
and other Circumstances peradventure required of which I am ignorant I
desire howsoever this my Will may be accepted and stand good according to
my true Intent and meaning First I bequeath Animam Deo Corpus Terrae
whensoever it shall please God to call me I give my Land in Higham which my
good Father Ralphe Burton of Lindly in the County of Leicester Esquire gave
me by Deed of Gift and that which I have annexed to that Farm by purchase
since, now leased for thirty eight pounds per Ann. to mine Elder Brother
William Burton of Lindly Esquire during his life and after him to his Heirs
I make my said Brother William likewise mine Executor as well as paying
such Annuities and Legacies out of my Lands and Goods as are hereafter
specified I give to my nephew Cassibilan Burton twenty pounds Annuity per
Ann. out of my Land in Higham during his life to be paid at two equal
payments at our Lady Day in Lent and Michaelmas or if he be not paid within
fourteen Days after the said Feasts to distrain on any part of the Ground
or on any of my Lands of Inheritance Item I give to my Sister Katherine
Jackson during her life eight pounds per Ann. Annuity to be paid at the two
Feasts equally as above said or else to distrain on the Ground if she be
not paid after fourteen days at Lindly as the other some is out of the
said Land Item I give to my Servant John Upton the Annuity of Forty
Shillings out of my said Farme during his life (if till then my Servant) to
be paid on Michaelmas day in Lindley each year or else after fourteen days
to distrain Now for my goods I thus dispose them First I give an C'th
pounds to Christ Church in Oxford where I have so long lived to buy five
pounds Lands per Ann. to be Yearly bestowed on Books for the Library Item I
give an hundredth pound to the University Library of Oxford to be bestowed
to purchase five pound Land per Ann. to be paid out Yearly on Books as Mrs.
Brooks formerly gave an hundred pounds to buy Land to the same purpose and
the Rent to the same use I give to my Brother George Burton twenty pounds
and my watch I give to my Brother Ralph Burton five pounds Item I give to
the Parish of Seagrave in Leicestershire where I am now Rector ten pounds
to be given to a certain Feoffees to the perpetual good of the said Parish
Oxon [3]Item I give to my Niece Eugenia Burton One hundredth pounds Item
I give to my Nephew Richard Burton now Prisoner in London an hundredth
pound to redeem him Item I give to the Poor of Higham Forty Shillings where
my Land is to the poor of Nuneaton where I was once a Grammar Scholar three
pound to my Cousin Purfey of Wadlake [Wadley] my Cousin Purfey of Calcott
my Cousin Hales of Coventry my Nephew Bradshaw of Orton twenty shillings a
piece for a small remembrance to Mr. Whitehall Rector of Cherkby myne own
Chamber Fellow twenty shillings I desire my Brother George and my Cosen
Purfey of Calcott to be the Overseers of this part of my Will I give
moreover five pounds to make a small Monument for my Mother where she is
buried in London to my Brother Jackson forty shillings to my Servant John
Upton forty shillings besides his former Annuity if he be my Servant till I
die if he be till then my Servant [4]—ROBERT BURTON—Charles Russell
Witness—John Pepper Witness.
An Appendix to this my Will if I die in Oxford or whilst I am of Christ
Church and with good Mr. Paynes August the Fifteenth 1639.
I give to Mr. Doctor Fell Dean of Christ Church Forty Shillings to the
Eight Canons twenty Shillings a piece as a small remembrance to the poor of
St. Thomas Parish Twenty Shillings to Brasenose Library five pounds to Mr.
Rowse of Oriell Colledge twenty Shillings to Mr. Heywood xxs. to Dr.
Metcalfe xxs. to Mr. Sherley xxs. If I have any Books the University
Library hath not, let them take them If I have any Books our own Library
hath not, let them take them I give to Mrs. Fell all my English Books of
Husbandry one excepted to her Daughter Mrs. Katherine Fell my Six Pieces of
Silver Plate and six Silver spoons to Mrs. Iles my Gerards Herball To Mrs.
Morris my Country Farme Translated out of French 4. and all my English
Physick Books to Mr. Whistler the Recorder of Oxford I give twenty
shillings to all my fellow Students Mrs of Arts a Book in fol. or two a
piece as Master Morris Treasurer or Mr. Dean shall appoint whom I request
to be the Overseer of this Appendix and give him for his pains Atlas
Geografer and Ortelius Theatrum Mond' I give to John Fell the Dean's Son
Student my Mathematical Instruments except my two Crosse Staves which I
give to my Lord of Donnol if he be then of the House To Thomas Iles Doctor
Iles his Son Student Saluntch on Paurrhelia and Lucian's Works in 4 Tomes
If any books be left let my Executors dispose of them with all such Books
as are written with my own hands and half my Melancholy Copy for Crips hath
the other half To Mr. Jones Chaplin and Chanter my Surveying Books and
Instruments To the Servants of the House Forty Shillings ROB.
BURTON—Charles Russell Witness—John Pepper Witness—This Will was shewed
to me by the Testator and acknowledged by him some few days before his
death to be his last Will Ita Testor John Morris S Th D. Prebendari' Eccl
Chri' Oxon Feb. 3, 1639.
Probatum fuit Testamentum suprascriptum, &c. 11° 1640 Juramento Willmi
Burton Fris' et Executoris cui &c. de bene et fideliter administrand. &c.
coram Mag'ris Nathanaele Stephens Rectore Eccl. de Drayton, et Edwardo
Farmer, Clericis, vigore commissionis, &c.
The only work our author executed was that now reprinted, which probably
was the principal employment of his life. Dr. Ferriar says, it was
originally published in the year 1617; but this is evidently a mistake; [5]the
first edition was that printed in 4to, 1621, a copy of which is at
present in the collection of John Nichols, Esq., the indefatigable
illustrator of the History of Leicestershire; to whom, and to Isaac Reed,
Esq., of Staple Inn, this account is greatly indebted for its accuracy. The
other impressions of it were in 1624, 1628, 1632, 1638, 1651-2, 1660, and
1676, which last, in the titlepage, is called the eighth edition.
The copy from which the present is reprinted, is that of 1651-2; at the
conclusion of which is the following address:
"TO THE READER.
Be pleased to know (Courteous Reader) that since the last Impression of
this Book, the ingenuous Author of it is deceased, leaving a Copy of it
exactly corrected, with several considerable Additions by his own hand;
this Copy he committed to my care and custody, with directions to have
those Additions inserted in the next Edition; which in order to his
command, and the Publicke Good, is faithfully performed in this last
Impression.
H. C. (i.e. HEN. CRIPPS.)
The following testimonies of various authors will serve to show the
estimation in which this work has been held:—
The ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, wherein the author hath piled up variety of
much excellent learning. Scarce any book of philology in our land hath, in
so short a time, passed so many editions. —Fuller's Worthies, fol. 16.
'Tis a book so full of variety of reading, that gentlemen who have lost
their time, and are put to a push for invention, may furnish themselves
with matter for common or scholastical discourse and writing. —Wood's
Athenae Oxoniensis, vol. i. p. 628. 2d edit.
If you never saw BURTON UPON MELANCHOLY, printed 1676, I pray look into
it, and read the ninth page of his Preface, 'Democritus to the Reader.'
There is something there which touches the point we are upon; but I mention
the author to you, as the pleasantest, the most learned, and the most full
of sterling sense. The wits of Queen Anne's reign, and the beginning of
George the First, were not a little beholden to him. —Archbishop
Herring's Letters, 12mo. 1777. p. 149.
BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, he (Dr. Johnson) said, was the only book
that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to
rise. —Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 580. 8vo. edit.
BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY is a valuable book, said Dr. Johnson. It
is, perhaps, overloaded with quotation. But there is great spirit and great
power in what Burton says when he writes from his own mind. —Ibid, vol.
ii. p. 325.
It will be no detraction from the powers of Milton's original genius and
invention, to remark, that he seems to have borrowed the subject of L'
Allegro and Il Penseroso, together with some particular thoughts,
expressions, and rhymes, more especially the idea of a contrast between
these two dispositions, from a forgotten poem prefixed to the first edition
of BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, entitled, 'The Author's Abstract of
Melancholy; or, A Dialogue between Pleasure and Pain.' Here pain is
melancholy. It was written, as I conjecture, about the year 1600. I will
make no apology for abstracting and citing as much of this poem as will be
sufficient to prove, to a discerning reader, how far it had taken
possession of Milton's mind. The measure will appear to be the same; and
that our author was at least an attentive reader of Burton's book, may be
already concluded from the traces of resemblance which I have incidentally
noticed in passing through the L' Allegro and Il Penseroso. —After
extracting the lines, Mr. Warton adds, as to the very elaborate work to
which these visionary verses are no unsuitable introduction, the writer's
variety of learning, his quotations from scarce and curious books, his
pedantry sparkling with rude wit and shapeless elegance, miscellaneous
matter, intermixture of agreeable tales and illustrations, and, perhaps,
above all, the singularities of his feelings, clothed in an uncommon
quaintness of style, have contributed to render it, even to modern readers,
a valuable repository of amusement and information. —Warton's Milton, 2d
edit. p. 94.
THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY is a book which has been universally read and
admired. This work is, for the most part, what the author himself styles
it, 'a cento;' but it is a very ingenious one. His quotations, which abound
in every page, are pertinent; but if he had made more use of his invention
and less of his commonplace-book, his work would perhaps have been more
valuable than it is. He is generally free from the affected language and
ridiculous metaphors which disgrace most of the books of his
time. —Granger's Biographical History.
BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, a book once the favourite of the learned
and the witty, and a source of surreptitious learning, though written on a
regular plan, consists chiefly of quotations: the author has honestly
termed it a cento. He collects, under every division, the opinions of a
multitude of writers, without regard to chronological order, and has too
often the modesty to decline the interposition of his own sentiments.
Indeed the bulk of his materials generally overwhelms him. In the course of
his folio he has contrived to treat a great variety of topics, that seem
very loosely connected with the general subject; and, like Bayle, when he
starts a favourite train of quotations, he does not scruple to let the
digression outrun the principal question. Thus, from the doctrines of
religion to military discipline, from inland navigation to the morality of
dancing-schools, every thing is discussed and determined. —Ferriar's
Illustrations of Sterne, p. 58.
The archness which BURTON displays occasionally, and his indulgence of
playful digressions from the most serious discussions, often give his style
an air of familiar conversation, notwithstanding the laborious collections
which supply his text. He was capable of writing excellent poetry, but he
seems to have cultivated this talent too little. The English verses
prefixed to his book, which possess beautiful imagery, and great sweetness
of versification, have been frequently published. His Latin elegiac verses
addressed to his book, shew a very agreeable turn for raillery. —Ibid.
p. 58.
When the force of the subject opens his own vein of prose, we discover
valuable sense and brilliant expression. Such is his account of the first
feelings of melancholy persons, written, probably, from his own
experience. [See p. 154, of the present edition.]—Ibid. p. 60.
During a pedantic age, like that in which BURTON'S production appeared, it
must have been eminently serviceable to writers of many descriptions. Hence
the unlearned might furnish themselves with appropriate scraps of Greek and
Latin, whilst men of letters would find their enquiries shortened, by
knowing where they might look for what both ancients and moderns had
advanced on the subject of human passions. I confess my inability to point
out any other English author who has so largely dealt in apt and original
quotation. —Manuscript note of the late George Steevens, Esq., in his
copy of THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY.
DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR AD LIBRUM SUUM.
Vade liber, qualis, non ausum dicere, felix,
Te nisi felicem fecerit Alma dies.
Vade tamen quocunque lubet, quascunque per oras,
Et Genium Domini fac imitere tui.
I blandas inter Charites, mystamque saluta
Musarum quemvis, si tibi lector erit.
Rura colas, urbem, subeasve palatia regum,
Submisse, placide, te sine dente geras.
Nobilis, aut si quis te forte inspexerit heros,
Da te morigerum, perlegat usque lubet.
Est quod Nobilitas, est quod desideret heros,
Gratior haec forsan charta placere potest.
Si quis morosus Cato, tetricusque Senator,
Hunc etiam librum forte videre velit,
Sive magistratus, tum te reverenter habeto;
Sed nullus; muscas non capiunt Aquilae.
Non vacat his tempus fugitivum impendere nugis,
Nec tales cupio; par mihi lector erit.
Si matrona gravis casu diverterit istuc,
Illustris domina, aut te Comitissa legat:
Est quod displiceat, placeat quod forsitan illis,
Ingerere his noli te modo, pande tamen.
At si virgo tuas dignabitur inclyta chartas
Tangere, sive schedis haereat illa tuis:
Da modo te facilem, et quaedam folia esse memento
Conveniant oculis quae magis apta suis.
Si generosa ancilla tuos aut alma puella
Visura est ludos, annue, pande lubens.
Dic utinam nunc ipse meus [6](nam diligit istas)
In praesens esset conspiciendus herus.
Ignotus notusve mihi de gente togata
Sive aget in ludis, pulpita sive colet,
Sive in Lycaeo, et nugas evolverit istas,
Si quasdam mendas viderit inspiciens,
Da veniam Authori, dices; nam plurima vellet
Expungi, quae jam displicuisse sciat.
Sive Melancholicus quisquam, seu blandus Amator,
Aulicus aut Civis, seu bene comptus eques
Huc appellat, age et tuto te crede legenti,
Multa istic forsan non male nata leget.
Quod fugiat, caveat, quodque amplexabitur, ista
Pagina fortassis promere multa potest.
At si quis Medicus coram te sistet, amice
Fac circumspecte, et te sine labe geras:
Inveniet namque ipse meis quoque plurima scriptis,
Non leve subsidium quae sibi forsan erunt.
Si quis Causidicus chartas impingat in istas,
Nil mihi vobiscum, pessima turba vale;
Sit nisi vir bonus, et juris sine fraude peritus,
Tum legat, et forsan doctior inde siet.
Si quis cordatus, facilis, lectorque benignus
Huc oculos vertat, quae velit ipse legat;
Candidus ignoscet, metuas nil, pande libenter,
Offensus mendis non erit ille tuis,
Laudabit nonnulla. Venit si Rhetor ineptus,
Limata et tersa, et qui bene cocta petit,
Claude citus librum; nulla hic nisi ferrea verba,
Offendent stomachum quae minus apta suum.
At si quis non eximius de plebe poeta,
Annue; namque istic plurima ficta leget.
Nos sumus e numero, nullus mihi spirat Apollo,
Grandiloquus Vates quilibet esse nequit.
Si Criticus Lector, tumidus Censorque molestus,
Zoilus et Momus, si rabiosa cohors:
Ringe, freme, et noli tum pandere, turba malignis
Si occurrat sannis invidiosa suis:
Fac fugias; si nulla tibi sit copia eundi,
Contemnes, tacite scommata quaeque feres.
Frendeat, allatret, vacuas gannitibus auras
Impleat, haud cures; his placuisse nefas.
Verum age si forsan divertat purior hospes,
Cuique sales, ludi, displiceantque joci,
Objiciatque tibi sordes, lascivaque: dices,
Lasciva est Domino et Musa jocosa tuo,
Nec lasciva tamen, si pensitet omne; sed esto;
Sit lasciva licet pagina, vita proba est.
Barbarus, indoctusque rudis spectator in istam
Si messem intrudat, fuste fugabis eum,
Fungum pelle procul (jubeo) nam quid mihi fungo?
Conveniunt stomacho non minus ista suo.
Sed nec pelle tamen; laeto omnes accipe vultu,
Quos, quas, vel quales, inde vel unde viros.
Gratus erit quicunque venit, gratissimus hospes
Quisquis erit, facilis difficilisque mihi.
Nam si culparit, quaedam culpasse juvabit,
Culpando faciet me meliora sequi.
Sed si laudarit, neque laudibus efferar ullis,
Sit satis hisce malis opposuisse bonum.
Haec sunt quae nostro placuit mandare libello,
Et quae dimittens dicere jussit Herus.
DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR TO HIS BOOK
PARAPHRASTIC METRICAL TRANSLATION.
Go forth my book into the open day;
Happy, if made so by its garish eye.
O'er earth's wide surface take thy vagrant way,
To imitate thy master's genius try.
The Graces three, the Muses nine salute,
Should those who love them try to con thy lore.
The country, city seek, grand thrones to boot,
With gentle courtesy humbly bow before.
Should nobles gallant, soldiers frank and brave
Seek thy acquaintance, hail their first advance:
From twitch of care thy pleasant vein may save,
May laughter cause or wisdom give perchance.
Some surly Cato, Senator austere,
Haply may wish to peep into thy book:
Seem very nothing—tremble and revere:
No forceful eagles, butterflies e'er look.
They love not thee: of them then little seek,
And wish for readers triflers like thyself.
Of ludeful matron watchful catch the beck,
Or gorgeous countess full of pride and pelf.
They may say pish! and frown, and yet read on:
Cry odd, and silly, coarse, and yet amusing.
Should dainty damsels seek thy page to con,
Spread thy best stores: to them be ne'er refusing:
Say, fair one, master loves thee dear as life;
Would he were here to gaze on thy sweet look.
Should known or unknown student, freed from strife
Of logic and the schools, explore my book:
Cry mercy critic, and thy book withhold:
Be some few errors pardon'd though observ'd:
An humble author to implore makes bold.
Thy kind indulgence, even undeserv'd,
Should melancholy wight or pensive lover,
Courtier, snug cit, or carpet knight so trim
Our blossoms cull, he'll find himself in clover,
Gain sense from precept, laughter from our whim.
Should learned leech with solemn air unfold
Thy leaves, beware, be civil, and be wise:
Thy volume many precepts sage may hold,
His well fraught head may find no trifling prize.
Should crafty lawyer trespass on our ground,
Caitiffs avaunt! disturbing tribe away!
Unless (white crow) an honest one be found;
He'll better, wiser go for what we say.
Should some ripe scholar, gentle and benign,
With candour, care, and judgment thee peruse:
Thy faults to kind oblivion he'll consign;
Nor to thy merit will his praise refuse.
Thou may'st be searched for polish'd words and verse
By flippant spouter, emptiest of praters:
Tell him to seek them in some mawkish verse:
My periods all are rough as nutmeg graters.
The doggerel poet, wishing thee to read,
Reject not; let him glean thy jests and stories.
His brother I, of lowly sembling breed:
Apollo grants to few Parnassian glories.
Menac'd by critic with sour furrowed brow,
Momus or Troilus or Scotch reviewer:
Ruffle your heckle, grin and growl and vow:
Ill-natured foes you thus will find the fewer,
When foul-mouth'd senseless railers cry thee down,
Reply not: fly, and show the rogues thy stern;
They are not worthy even of a frown:
Good taste or breeding they can never learn;
Or let them clamour, turn a callous ear,
As though in dread of some harsh donkey's bray.
If chid by censor, friendly though severe,
To such explain and turn thee not away.
Thy vein, says he perchance, is all too free;
Thy smutty language suits not learned pen:
Reply, Good Sir, throughout, the context see;
Thought chastens thought; so prithee judge again.
Besides, although my master's pen may wander
Through devious paths, by which it ought not stray,
His life is pure, beyond the breath of slander:
So pardon grant; 'tis merely but his way.
Some rugged ruffian makes a hideous rout—
Brandish thy cudgel, threaten him to baste;
The filthy fungus far from thee cast out;
Such noxious banquets never suit my taste.
Yet, calm and cautious moderate thy ire,
Be ever courteous should the case allow—
Sweet malt is ever made by gentle fire:
Warm to thy friends, give all a civil bow.
Even censure sometimes teaches to improve,
Slight frosts have often cured too rank a crop,
So, candid blame my spleen shall never move,
For skilful gard'ners wayward branches lop.
Go then, my book, and bear my words in mind;
Guides safe at once, and pleasant them you'll find.
THE ARGUMENT OF THE FRONTISPIECE.
Ten distinct Squares here seen apart,
Are joined in one by Cutter's art.
I.
Old Democritus under a tree,
Sits on a stone with book on knee;
About him hang there many features,
Of Cats, Dogs and such like creatures,
Of which he makes anatomy,
The seat of black choler to see.
Over his head appears the sky,
And Saturn Lord of melancholy.
II.
To the left a landscape of Jealousy,
Presents itself unto thine eye.
A Kingfisher, a Swan, an Hern,
Two fighting-cocks you may discern,
Two roaring Bulls each other hie,
To assault concerning venery.
Symbols are these; I say no more,
Conceive the rest by that's afore.
III.
The next of solitariness,
A portraiture doth well express,
By sleeping dog, cat: Buck and Doe,
Hares, Conies in the desert go:
Bats, Owls the shady bowers over,
In melancholy darkness hover.
Mark well: If't be not as't should be,
Blame the bad Cutter, and not me.
IV.
I'th' under column there doth stand
Inamorato with folded hand;
Down hangs his head, terse and polite,
Some ditty sure he doth indite.
His lute and books about him lie,
As symptoms of his vanity.
If this do not enough disclose,
To paint him, take thyself by th' nose.
V.
Hypocondriacus leans on his arm,
Wind in his side doth him much harm,
And troubles him full sore, God knows,
Much pain he hath and many woes.
About him pots and glasses lie,
Newly brought from's Apothecary.
This Saturn's aspects signify,
You see them portray'd in the sky.
VI.
Beneath them kneeling on his knee,
A superstitious man you see:
He fasts, prays, on his Idol fixt,
Tormented hope and fear betwixt:
For Hell perhaps he takes more pain,
Than thou dost Heaven itself to gain.
Alas poor soul, I pity thee,
What stars incline thee so to be?
VII.
But see the madman rage downright
With furious looks, a ghastly sight.
Naked in chains bound doth he lie,
And roars amain he knows not why!
Observe him; for as in a glass,
Thine angry portraiture it was.
His picture keeps still in thy presence;
'Twixt him and thee, there's no difference.
VIII, IX.
Borage and Hellebor fill two scenes,
Sovereign plants to purge the veins
Of melancholy, and cheer the heart,
Of those black fumes which make it smart;
To clear the brain of misty fogs,
Which dull our senses, and Soul clogs.
The best medicine that e'er God made
For this malady, if well assay'd.
X.
Now last of all to fill a place,
Presented is the Author's face;
And in that habit which he wears,
His image to the world appears.
His mind no art can well express,
That by his writings you may guess.
It was not pride, nor yet vainglory,
(Though others do it commonly)
Made him do this: if you must know,
The Printer would needs have it so.
Then do not frown or scoff at it,
Deride not, or detract a whit.
For surely as thou dost by him,
He will do the same again.
Then look upon't, behold and see,
As thou lik'st it, so it likes thee.
And I for it will stand in view,
Thine to command, Reader, adieu.
THE AUTHOR'S ABSTRACT OF MELANCHOLY
When I go musing all alone
Thinking of divers things fore-known.
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow and void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie waking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannise,
Fear and sorrow me surprise,
Whether I tarry still or go,
Methinks the time moves very slow.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so mad as melancholy.
When to myself I act and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.
All my joys besides are folly,
None so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan,
In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and Furies then,
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce,
All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so sour as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I see,
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities fine;
Here now, then there; the world is mine,
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine,
Whate'er is lovely or divine.
All other joys to this are folly,
None so sweet as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasy
Presents a thousand ugly shapes,
Headless bears, black men, and apes,
Doleful outcries, and fearful sights,
My sad and dismal soul affrights.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so damn'd as melancholy.
Methinks I court, methinks I kiss,
Methinks I now embrace my mistress.
O blessed days, O sweet content,
In Paradise my time is spent.
Such thoughts may still my fancy move,
So may I ever be in love.
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.
When I recount love's many frights,
My sighs and tears, my waking nights,
My jealous fits; O mine hard fate
I now repent, but 'tis too late.
No torment is so bad as love,
So bitter to my soul can prove.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so harsh as melancholy.
Friends and companions get you gone,
'Tis my desire to be alone;
Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I
No Gem, no treasure like to this,
'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.
'Tis my sole plague to be alone,
I am a beast, a monster grown,
I will no light nor company,
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so fierce as melancholy.
I'll not change life with any king,
I ravisht am: can the world bring
More joy, than still to laugh and smile,
In pleasant toys time to beguile?
Do not, O do not trouble me,
So sweet content I feel and see.
All my joys to this are folly,
None so divine as melancholy.
I'll change my state with any wretch,
Thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch;
My pain's past cure, another hell,
I may not in this torment dwell!
Now desperate I hate my life,
Lend me a halter or a knife;
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so damn'd as melancholy.
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