No More Learning

. multae . . . liturae
. . . una litura potest. "

_Cestius_--_Cicero_--_Heath_--_Taylor_--_Spenser_. --Yet their vices have not
hurt them; nay, a great many they have profited, for they have been loved
for nothing else. And this false opinion grows strong against the best
men, if once it take root with the ignorant. Cestius, in his time, was
preferred to Cicero, so far as the ignorant durst. They learned him
without book, and had him often in their mouths; but a man cannot imagine
that thing so foolish or rude but will find and enjoy an admirer; at
least a reader or spectator. The puppets are seen now in despite of the
players; Heath's epigrams and the Sculler's poems have their applause.
There are never wanting that dare prefer the worst preachers, the worst
pleaders, the worst poets; not that the better have left to write or
speak better, but that they that hear them judge worse; _Non illi pejus
dicunt_, _sed hi corruptius judicant_.
Nay, if it were put to the
question of the water-rhymer's works, against Spenser's, I doubt not but
they would find more suffrages; because the most favour common vices, out
of a prerogative the vulgar have to lose their judgments and like that
which is naught.

Poetry, in this latter age, hath proved but a mean mistress to such as
have wholly addicted themselves to her, or given their names up to her
family. They who have but saluted her on the by, and now and then
tendered their visits, she hath done much for, and advanced in the way of
their own professions (both the law and the gospel) beyond all they could
have hoped or done for themselves without her favour. Wherein she doth
emulate the judicious but preposterous bounty of the time's grandees, who
accumulate all they can upon the parasite or fresh-man in their
friendship; but think an old client or honest servant bound by his place
to write and starve.

Indeed, the multitude commend writers as they do fencers or wrestlers,
who if they come in robustiously and put for it with a deal of violence
are received for the braver fellows; when many times their own rudeness
is a cause of their disgrace, and a slight touch of their adversary gives
all that boisterous force the foil. But in these things the unskilful
are naturally deceived, and judging wholly by the bulk, think rude things
greater than polished, and scattered more numerous than composed; nor
think this only to be true in the sordid multitude, but the neater sort
of our gallants; for all are the multitude, only they differ in clothes,
not in judgment or understanding.

_De Shakspeare nostrat_. --_Augustus in Hat_. --I remember the players have
often mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that in his writing
(whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been,
"Would he had blotted a thousand," which they thought a malevolent
speech. I had not told posterity this but for their ignorance who chose
that circumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and
to justify mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his
memory on this side idolatry as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and
of an open and free nature, had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and
gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that facility that sometimes
it was necessary he should be stopped. "_Sufflaminandus erat_," {47a} as
Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own power; would the rule
of it had been so, too. Many times he fell into those things, could not
escape laughter, as when he said in the person of Caesar, one speaking to
him, "Caesar, thou dost me wrong. " He replied, "Caesar did never wrong but
with just cause;" and such like, which were ridiculous.