An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities 9781350160262, 9781350160255, 9781350160293, 9781350160279

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An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities

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BLOOMSBURY NEO-LATIN SERIES Series editors: William M. Barton, Stephen Harrison, Gesine Manuwald and Bobby Xinyue Early Modern Texts and Anthologies Edited by Stephen Harrison and Gesine Manuwald Volume 3 The ‘Early Modern Texts and Anthologies’ strand of the Bloomsbury NeoLatin Series presents editions of texts with English translations, introductions and notes. Volumes include complete editions of longer single texts and themed anthologies bringing together texts from particular genres, periods or countries and the like. These editions are primarily aimed at students and scholars and intended to be suitable for use in university teaching, with introductions that give authoritative but not exhaustive accounts of the relevant texts and authors, and commentaries that provide sufficient help for the modern reader in noting links with classical Latin texts and bringing out the cultural context of writing. Alongside the series’ ‘Studies in Early Modern Latin Literature’ strand, it is hoped that these editions will help to bring important and interesting NeoLatin texts of the period from 1350 to 1800 to greater prominence in study and scholarship, and make them available for a wider range of academic disciplines as well as for the rapidly growing study of Neo-Latin itself.

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An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities Edited by Gesine Manuwald and Lucy R. Nicholas

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BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2022 Copyright © Gesine Manuwald, Lucy R. Nicholas & Contributors, 2022 Gesine Manuwald and Lucy R. Nicholas have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. Cover design: Terry Woodley Cover image © 1669, a view of Oxford from the surrounding countryside. Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: PB: ePDF: eBook:

978-1-3501-6026-2 978-1-3501-6025-5 978-1-3501-6027-9 978-1-3501-6028-6

Series: Bloomsbury Neo-Latin Series: Early Modern Texts and Anthologies Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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Contents List of Contributors Preface Introduction Lucy R. Nicholas

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Texts 1

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Academic Freedom on Trial in Tudor Times Stephen Gardiner (1483–1555), letter to John Cheke, 15 May 1542 Micha Lazarus

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Why Tudor Cambridge Needs Greek Richard Croke (1489–1558), Orationes duae Aaron J. Kachuck and Benedick C. F. McDougall

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A Professor in Scottish Politics Andrew Melville (1545–1622), Stephaniskion Stephen J. Harrison

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A Distinct Mode of Pastoral in Elizabethan Cambridge Giles Fletcher the Elder (c. 1546–1611), Ecloga Daphnis Sharon van Dijk

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Greek and Latin Poetry from Cambridge on Sixteenth-century Questions of Faith Act and Tripos verses from the 1580s and 1590s William M. Barton

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Happy New Year in Jacobean Oxford: Metamorphosing Ovid into Student Comedy Philip Parsons (1594–1653), Atalanta 155 Elizabeth Sandis

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Contents European Networks and the Reformation of the University of Edinburgh Astronomical disputations from the graduating class of 1612–16. Lecturer: William King David McOmish

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A Prevaricator Speech from Caroline Cambridge James Duport (1606–79), Aurum potest produci per artem chymicam Tommi Alho

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An Irish Panegyric on Henry Cromwell Caesar Williamson (c. 1611–75), Panegyris in Excellentissimum Dominum, Dominum Henricum Cromwellum, Deputatum Hiberniae, Cancellariumque Academiae Dubliniensis Jason Harris

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10 Herrings, Linen and Cheese: Celebrating the Treaty of Westminster in 1654 The Musarum Oxoniensium Elaiophoria (Oxford) and the Oliva Pacis (Cambridge) Caroline Spearing

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11 Political Poetry from Late Stuart Cambridge Cambridge Poems on the peace of 1697 David Money

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Index of Names and Places

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Contributors Tommi Alho is a Marie Skłodowska-Curie Individual Fellow in the Department of Classical Philology and Neo-Latin Studies at the University of Innsbruck. His research focuses on history of science, Latin linguistics and the history of classical education. He has edited (with Jason Finch and Roger D. Sell) the volume Renaissance Man: Essays on Literature and Culture for Anthony W. Johnson (2019). His publications include Classical Education in the Restoration Grammar School: A Case Study of Orationes et Carmina aliaque exercitia (Canterbury Cathedral Archives, Lit. MS E41) (PhD diss., Åbo Akademi University, 2020) and (with Aleksi Mäkilähde and Elizabeth Sandis) ‘Grammar War Plays in Early Modern England: From Entertainment to Pedagogy’, Renaissance Drama 48 (2), 2020. William M. Barton studied Latin and Greek in Britain and Canada before specialising in the early modern literatures in these languages for his doctoral studies. His early research focused on the representation of the natural world in Neo-Latin literature between 1450 and 1750, and the role of the ancient languages in communication between natural philosophers in early modern Europe and the Americas. His current work explores the use of ancient Greek in Western Europe among humanists and later scholars as part of contemporary religio-political discourse and evolving concepts of (phil-) hellenism. In his research at the Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Neo-Latin Studies, Innsbruck, he has concentrated on the uses of humanist Greek in the early modern Austrian, German and English contexts. Jason Harris is Lecturer in the School of History and Director of the Centre for Neo-Latin Studies in University College Cork, Ireland. His research is focused on the intellectual culture of the early modern world with a particular interest in Neo-Latin prose style and its connection to wider cultural debates. He has translated and written about Latin texts emerging from the early modern Irish Catholic diaspora and about the intellectual world of scholars who lived through the Revolt of the Netherlands. Stephen J. Harrison is Professor of Latin Literature at the University of Oxford and Senior Research Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and has published widely on classical Latin literature and its later reception. He is currently working on an edition with commentary of George Buchanan’s Silvae and has ongoing research interests in the Latin poetry of the Baroque

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period. He is co-editor of the texts and anthologies strand of Bloomsbury’s Neo-Latin Series. Aaron J. Kachuck was a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, until 2021, when he took up the chair of Latin Authors and Latin Literature at Université Catholique de Louvain. Working on the intersections of poetry, religion and empire in the age of Augustus and its afterlives, he is the author of The Solitary Sphere in the Age of Virgil (2021) and is currently writing a book on the Latin dream-form in literary history as well as a ‘Green and Yellow’ commentary on the Satires of Persius. Micha Lazarus is Frances A. Yates Research Fellow at the Warburg Institute. He works on the intellectual history of Renaissance Europe, with particular interests in Greek learning in sixteenth-century England, book history and the influence of the Classics on Reformation thought. His work has appeared in journals such as Renaissance Quarterly, Classical Receptions Journal, Renaissance Studies, Studies in Philology, Review of English Studies and Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes as well as in numerous edited collections. Previously a Research Fellow at Trinity College, Cambridge, he has held visiting fellowships at Harry Ransom Center, Dumbarton Oaks, the Folger Shakespeare Library, the Renaissance Society of America and the Herzog August Bibliothek, and is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. Gesine Manuwald is Professor of Latin at University College London (UCL) and President of the Society for Neo-Latin Studies (SNLS). She has published widely on classical Latin authors (including Cicero, Ennius and Valerius Flaccus) as well as on Neo-Latin literature. Publications in the latter field include several articles on Thomas Campion as well as the edited collection Neo-Latin Poetry in the British Isles (with L. B. T. Houghton; 2012). She is coeditor of the texts and anthologies strand of Bloomsbury’s Neo-Latin Series. Benedick C. F. McDougall is a PhD candidate in Classics at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. His thesis explores experimentation with temporalities in ancient collections of poetry, particularly anthologies of Greek epigram and oracular verse. His research focuses on Hellenistic and late-antique epigram and elegy, humanist Greek and the history of classical scholarship. David McOmish is a research fellow at the University of Venice Cà Foscari, in the Department of Philosophy and Cultural Heritage. He works on the epistemological and personal networks of knowledge exchange in Europe, with a special focus on the role played by cosmopolitan communities of scholars in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century intellectual culture (cosmology and philosophy) within early modern universities. He has published on this subject and its broader literary culture.

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David Money studied at Oxford as an undergraduate and received a PhD from Cambridge in 1993. He has been a fellow of Magdalene, Darwin and Wolfson Colleges in Cambridge. Much of his work has been devoted to British Neo-Latin, including verse produced by university students and scholars from the sixteenth century until the 1760s. He has contributed to larger projects, such as The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, The History of Oxford University Press, the correspondences of Robert Boyle and of Archbishop Ussher, and The Paston Treasure (2018). He composes Latin poetry, for example in the online journal Vates; his attempts to encourage others to revive these skills, less popular now than they were in 1500–1700, can be seen in the website ‘Inter Versiculos’ hosted by the University of Michigan. Lucy R. Nicholas is Lecturer in Latin and Ancient Greek at the Warburg Institute and a Teaching Fellow in the Classics department at King’s College London (KCL). She has co-edited two other Neo-Latin anthologies within this series. She has also published extensively on the mid-Tudor humanist Roger Ascham, including a recently co-edited volume with Brill, Roger Ascham and his Sixteenth-Century World (2020), and her edition of his Themata Theologica is forthcoming with Bloomsbury. She is also the Latin editor for the Thomas Nashe Project and a participant in the Baroque Latinity Network. Elizabeth Sandis is a theatre historian specialising in Neo-Latin dramatic traditions of the early modern period. Trained as a Classicist, she moved into English studies to complete a doctorate at Merton College, Oxford, on the place of student drama in the culture of English university life, before taking up a Leverhulme Early Career Fellowship at The Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham. Her monograph, Early Modern Drama at the Universities: Institutions, Intertexts, Individuals, is the first study of university drama to cover the Tudor and Stuart periods (2022). Caroline Spearing currently holds a British Academy Postdoctoral Research Fellowship in the English Department at Exeter University, where she is researching the anthologies of occasional verse produced by the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge between 1625 and 1660. She has also published on the Plantarum Libri Sex of Abraham Cowley. Recent work includes translations of Hadrianus Junius’ pamphlet on the stinkhorn mushroom Phallus Hadriani (1564) and of Johann Faber’s description of the legendary canis Mexicana (1628). Sharon van Dijk is a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Birmingham, where she is working on the Leverhulme-funded project ‘The Correspondence of Huldrych Zwingli and Johannes Oecolampadius:

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Translation and Analysis’. Her background is in Classics and English. Her PhD thesis (UCL, 2021) is the first complete study of the nine Latin eclogues of Giles Fletcher the Elder (1546–1611). Her research interests include NeoLatin pastoral, humanist networks, university verse and the role of humanism in the Reformation.

Preface This book continues the run of anthologies in this new book series, following on from the Anthology of British Neo-Latin Literature and the Anthology of European Neo-Latin Literature. This volume focuses on an important intellectual institution, the university, and its manifestations in the British Isles in the early modern period. A selection of sample texts illustrates the wide range of literary production in Latin and Greek that went on at universities in Britain at this time and its interconnectedness with political, religious and scientific developments. The excerpts, prepared by scholars based in different countries and from a range of academic backgrounds, reflect well the interdisciplinary nature of Neo-Latin studies and the variety of approaches and interests that are possible in the field. Since the book is intended as an introductory volume, each entry offers a fairly literal translation, contextual information and guidance concerning literary and linguistic details. Hopefully, the texts will speak to a wide range of readers, including advanced school pupils and university students, interested lay people and scholars. The editors would like to thank all the contributors for their dedication, cooperation and flexibility throughout the editorial process. Warm thanks are also due to staff at Bloomsbury, especially to Alice Wright, for their early enthusiasm for this project and the energy they have applied in bringing it to fruition. Additionally, the editors wish to extend their gratitude to Sarah Knight and Gareth Williams, both erstwhile (and ongoing) contributors to the Bloomsbury Neo-Latin series, for their invaluable insights and input along the way. London, September 2021

G. M / L R. N.

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Introduction Lucy R. Nicholas

The early modern university and this volume: An exordium The question of what a university is for is central to this volume. It is also one that is perennially raised and is in many ways as pressing today as it was in the early modern era. Fundamental to any review of a university’s role is and always has been a wide spectrum of considerations, ranging from broader social and political concerns to the more obvious business of intellectual formation. Bound up with such a survey is also the extent to which any academic institution should be autonomous or collaborative, wholly aloof from or in service to civic priorities, and hospitable to non-academic jurisdictions and engines of power. Views can vary yet further depending on whether a university is conceived of as a purely physical space or as a collegial community or even as an abstract idea (projected or retrospective). At the individual level, a university’s purpose might be judged by the knowledge, values and personal goals it aspires to inculcate in its members. In short, the ‘university’ is, and always has been, a constantly contested site, and for that reason it constitutes a sensitive measuring instrument for thinking more widely about the culture in which such establishments operate. The modes of investigation outlined here are not new, and there exists a considerable body of scholarship about numerous aspects of the early modern university.1 Rather, the chief – and far less well-trodden – aim of this anthology is to probe these various lines of inquiry through the lens of university Latin and Greek; for together these languages arguably formed the common denominator of all university training and practice during this period. The focus of the present volume is on the Neo-Latin and Neo-Ancient Greek generated in British universities between 1500 and 1700. While, on the face of it, the British remit excludes corresponding seats of learning on the Continent, European developments and events are interwoven in the extracts included. Inevitably, shifts in crown and governmental leadership on the mainland, political movements, and threats of war and hopes of peace 1

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An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities

had an inescapable immediacy for those on British shores. But Latin, in particular, as the international language of the age, ensured a yet closer bond with European neighbours across the channel; via a res publica literaria (or res publica academica)2 and a sustained and compound series of exchanges in a single tongue, a mutual understanding could blossom, as praxis, protocols and ideas were transmitted with remarkable efficiency.3 Many of the university practices and approaches discussed in this volume – of which Latin, and to some extent Greek, formed the substructure – were standardly employed in the universities, gymnasia and academies elsewhere in Europe;4 indeed, the universities were one of the main conduits for exchange between British and European scholars, and many would travel from their home country to study at other centres.5 The widespread use of Latin ensured a form of standardization of thought and convention that is unthinkable even among the bloc of countries that now make up the modern European Union. This volume has been assembled post-Brexit, and whatever one’s views are about formal independence, an exploration of the early modern university scene offers a reminder of a broader European culture that yoked nations historically. Returning to Britain, let us consider in more detail the universities under review in this anthology. Prior to 1700 there existed just seven (often referred to as the ‘Ancient Universities’): Oxford and Cambridge in England, Trinity College Dublin, and St Andrews, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Aberdeen in Scotland.6 Many of these began as medieval, often religious, foundations, and it was only in the fourteenth century that the designation universitas began to be applied to the university structure as a whole, over and above the nucleus guild association of masters and students.7 Over time, universities became communities that would admit any male applicant with the required Latin expertise and supportive finances,8 and increasingly came to service the social needs of an urbanized milieu.9 While an overriding objective of these early British intellectual centres was a contribution to knowledge growth, the impulses for their inauguration outside England were sometimes less straightforward and in turn help nuance what is meant by a ‘British university’. Indeed, the descriptor ‘British’ is not without its own ideological freight, and throughout the early modern period it was a protean and contingent term.10 The establishment of Scottish universities was driven, in particular, through a commitment to independence from England and a retreat by students from an ever-unsettled Continent, where they had until then tended to pursue their studies.11 Conversely, the creation of Trinity College Dublin was a largely colonial enterprise, designed to promote the English state in Ireland as much as it was part of a wider dedication to learning.12 The overwhelming majority of the population of Ireland (even of those loyal to the English

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Crown) were barred from access because of their Catholicism, with the result that Irish Catholics were compelled to seek university education overseas, and it is for this reason that in this volume ‘British’ has been used to encompass ‘Irish’.13 This anthology will present material produced in the majority of these British universities. While there were naturally institutional differences in infrastructure, modes of teaching and areas of expertise, the aim of this volume is to pull together common threads. The bulk of the literary productions surveyed in these pages originated in Oxford and Cambridge,14 where individual colleges often commanded considerable muscle in their own right, but compositions from Trinity College Dublin, Edinburgh and St Andrews point to the diffusion of such centres’ influence across the Isles. It is worth stating that during this period the position of universities (and their personnel) was never wholly assured – the dissolution of the monasteries stood as a potent emblem of wholesale institutional disposability – and that universities were conscious of the sheer need to survive,15 even as they successfully navigated the vicissitudes of a religiously and politically volatile era. Nevertheless, though few in number relative to now, these institutions of higher education came to assume important symbolic capital; the frequency of royal visits to the universities reflects as much. Universities wielded an appreciable sway in the functioning of national life, and their Latinitas, on which all their communications hinged, and also their γλῶσσα Ἑλληνική, form a vital part of their story.

Neo-Latin and early modern universities In each of these British universities Latin was, right through the early modern period, the principal language of instruction and learning.16 It might be argued that the use of Latin in the academic hubs across the British Isles was one way of keeping the union united. In educational terms the tertiary system worked in symbiosis with pre-university instruction. More precisely, it consolidated the Latin-heavy diet that students would have experienced at school level, where it was not simply the case that the Latin language and its literature were the main subject (where they in fact comprised almost the entire curriculum); it was also the medium of education.17 The prevalence of the language was boosted by the rise of print, which helped to formalize and embed the Latinate apparatus, and Latin looms large in accounts of the early printed book in Britain.18 For anyone arriving at university, Latin would already constitute the core of their intellectual DNA and would have seemed like a much more obvious vehicle of expression than their native tongue.

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While there was a certain amount of flux in the educational regimens across the early modern universities, a typical undergraduate took their BA and MA in the Faculty of Arts and would then move to the superior Faculties of Theology, Medicine or Law, or remain in the Faculty of Arts. The BA and MA arts courses were traditionally made up of the seven liberal arts: the trivium (grammar, rhetoric and logic) and the quadrivium (arithmetic, music, geometry and astronomy) as well as the three philosophies (moral, natural and metaphysical), though the trivium provided the core. In the sixteenth century the studia humanitatis, made up of grammar, rhetoric, poetry, history and moral philosophy, absorbed and superseded the trivium and quadrivium.19 Latin was central at each stage: students wrote and spoke in Latin, heard their lectures in Latin, worked through carefully curated reading lists in Latin and even defended their degrees in Latin. Yet Latin was embedded within the university setting to a degree that went well beyond its use in the lecture room. It would have been utilized routinely as part of communal college life from the surge of waking to the benedic, domine of evening Latin prayers, at any level from junior to senior, formally and recreationally, and indeed across all the main faculties. In one sense, the main objective of early modern university training was a qualification in the Latin language, a grounding that would qualify those passing through its halls for a host of respectable careers. Latin was predominant in all the main professions, including law, justice and administration, diplomacy, international relations, medicine, academia and the clergy.20 Latin also opened up avenues for patronage, and there were even certain exalted posts, such as Latin Secretary to a monarch or government, that pivoted on a ready facility with the language. A fluency in Latin was thus, at root, a passport to employment, the equivalent of the trusty degree certificate for a graduating student today. In many ways, however, this Latin rite of passage offered more than the guarantee of emolument. It also formed the bedrock of a community, a ‘uniform’ that secured entry into networks of amicitia and furnished those who had submitted to it with a set of shared assumptions. Latin was an institutionally but also a socially active language.21 Historians have identified the emergence at this time of a new ‘estate’, a milieu of university-trained men, who sought to define themselves primarily by their academic credentials.22 Indeed, the Republic of Letters, which has come to be one of the defining characteristics of the age, was in many ways propped up and powered by the universities.23 A varsity grounding in Latin not only allowed individuals in different regions across Britain and across European borders to initiate contact with each other; it also imbued their exchanges with a sort of ready-made rapport, because underpinning such lines of contact was a tacit understanding about modes of writing, arguing, classical models and

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forms of expression. The Latin-focused programmes of the universities provided an established set of frameworks and methodologies for approaching all aspects of knowledge. These included dialectical modes of argumentation, rhetorical forms of delivery and composition, the metrical schemes of poetical forms and logic-based vectors24 for recording complex scientific and theological developments. In essence, Latin was the world-wide web of its day. While Latin was undoubtedly a ‘living language’ and thus subject to evolution, owing to the sheer longevity of its usage, stability and universality were inherent in Latin, certainly relative to the nascent vernaculars. Its application in the delivery of education right through this period meant that Latinity gave shape to systems of thought and habits of mind that could be shared and accessed equally by anyone moving through the universities of this time, whether in the far reaches of Caledonia or in the fenlands of Cambridgeshire. Thus, the Latin language also came to be infused with ideological value: to use Latin was to have access to an entire system of social and intellectual presuppositions. Just as the memory of certain university rituals stick to people like bindweed well after they have left the alma mater, in the early modern period Latin was a medium through which the future elite of the nation would become not just acquainted with, but also tied to one another. For good or ill, the lingua docta was bound up with representation of the self and with the university community to which one belonged. As Richard Kirwan has recently argued, there was an exceptionally tight connection between the self-fashioning of the individual and that of the institution, as ideals of scholarly individuality were framed within a wider discourse that promoted the image and interests of specific academic groups.25 As pervasive as the use of the language was in the early modern period, it is also impossible to escape a less savoury side of the use of Latin, namely its potential for flaunting and vaunting. Latin might be prized for the pragmatic navigational opportunities it offered, but it also had the capacity to transform culture into a class performance, one that could be cited more to impress than impart. This was a feature of the language which a university-trained man, Thomas Nashe, understood all too well, when he lampooned Gabriel Harvey for his Latinizing swagger in the second half of the sixteenth century.26 Alongside this, we should also consider the emotional hold Latin might additionally entail. Empowered in part by the admittance to the rich literary store of ancient and medieval periods that it facilitated, Latin also stood as the mother tongue of the imagination. It was a language that enabled a full engagement with a multiplicity of ideas, principles and causes, in which the classical past and the present could coalesce and emerge afresh. It was a medium through which messages of gravity, optimism and reform might be garlanded and

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invested with the sanctity of inherited forms, and stirring connections could be made with the bygone muse that ran in the bloodstreams of the early modern authors, who now strung their lyres anew.

Neo-Ancient Greek and early modern universities This anthology incorporates not just readings in Neo-Latin, but also in ‘NeoAncient Greek’ (sometimes referred to as ‘humanist Greek’).27 Moreover, several of the extracts, while composed in Latin, are wholly germane to the study of Greek. Unlike Latin, Greek was a relative arriviste to early modern universities: the utterance of Roger Bacon, the thirteenth-century English philosopher, that ‘there were not five men in Latin Christendom acquainted with ancient Greek grammar’ is often adduced in order to highlight the paucity of Greek learning in the era just prior to the Renaissance.28 There was, however, a significant growth in the teaching of Greek from the early to the mid-fifteenth century,29 assisted in no small part by the influx of an Eastern Mediterranean intelligentsia from Constantinople following its fall to the Ottomans in 1453. They brought with them knowledge of Greek texts and manuscripts, both classical and Christian, pagan and patristic, along with commentaries on them.30 Schools in Britain also began to advance Greek learning, most famously St Paul’s School for boys, founded in 1509, the first school in Europe to institute formally the teaching of Greek; this happened under the leadership of John Colet, whose Hellenizing agenda did much to influence Erasmus.31 Indeed, the scholarship of Erasmus and the output of his boon companion and sounding board, Thomas More, had an immense impact on the revival of Greek in Britain.32 The introduction of Greek into the university curriculum quickly ensued, with the first Greek Praelectorship being established at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in 151733 and the appointment in 1520 of Richard Croke as lecturer of Greek in Cambridge. Even in the early part of the sixteenth century this language quickly gained prestige, and certain college statutes limited linguistic usage intra muros to Latin, Greek or Hebrew. Yet, for all the ostensible equivalence between Greek and Latin at university level, and despite its integration into the university scene, Greek never achieved the full penetration of Latin or its far-reaching acceptance. Greek was a language whose status was hotly disputed right through the period.34 While many regarded it as a subject that promised to unlock momentous new avenues of thought and expression, in other quarters it met with hostility and was even seen as a threat to the sanctity and ascendancy of Latinity. The history of Greek within universities is marked by conflicts that ranged from how it should be disseminated, received and pronounced to

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whether it should even be studied at all. In particular, Greek learning became enmeshed in the campaigns and counter-offensives of the Reformation: Protestant reformers favoured a return to the Greek New Testament and the Septuagint, along with the doctrinal and philological advantages they perceived to reside in Greek language skills and the obvious aptness it had for the reformers’ ad fontes mission. Conservative adherents of Catholicism, on the other hand, often viewed Greek as a form of heretical artificial intelligence that was antithetical to the Roman Church. These opponents of the subject had a point: the tools for studying Greek were by no means officially sanctioned or even readily available, and they varied significantly depending on a given teacher’s own proficiency and resources. It meant that Greek was necessarily granted a latitude that was not nearly as possible in Latin; in Reformation terms such freedom was (understandably) interpreted by some as lack of orthodoxy. While one should be open to the idea that the Latin language became caught up (at least to a degree) in the fractious ideologies of religious schism, Greek was, by contrast, confessionalized to a much greater extent, and through its early life in the university, Greek constituted a key battlefield that was fought over passionately and unremittingly. The modern understanding of the province of Neo-Ancient Greek in the universities of this epoch remains sketchy at best. Any scholarship that pertains to the field is tilted much more towards reception in English literature. Barring a few excellent but discrete case studies,35 very little macroresearch has been undertaken on the composition of Greek within the higher institutions of learning, in printed or in manuscript form, and concerning its circulation. Furthermore, the development of Greek within the early modern period is not unrelated to the evolution of Neo-Latin. Indeed, many publications of the period comprise bilingual pieces that give equal weight to both Latin and Greek, and exhibit both languages side by side.36 One should not discount, either, the vast numbers of Latin translations of Greek texts that abounded during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and the access to Greek learning (albeit mediated via Latin) that these offered. Finally, although the phenomenon is appreciably more difficult to evaluate, one ought to consider the impact of Greek learning on Neo-Latin, in terms both of literary influence and of lexical, grammatical and syntactical configuration. While the relationship between Neo-Latin and the new vernaculars, and the potential for miscegenation between them, are now more widely recognized,37 the impact of Greek on early modern Latin and the scope for synthesis and even tension have barely been broached. It may be that early modern Greek can helpfully expand the vision of Neo-Latin, at a time when languages interacted promiscuously, permissively and persistently with each other in a way that would seem foreign to people now.

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Forms of Latin and Greek in this volume A vast array of Latin was written during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, much of it in the universities. The individual exhibits on display in this volume comprise many of the mainstream types of production that one might typically encounter as part of an early modern university’s yield and dynamic eco-system. The hope, therefore, is that the extracts selected are representative of modes of pedagogy and types of communal procedure and customs that were standard in the universities of the age; and this board encompasses single-authored pieces and those written in concert with others. It also takes account of the exercises that university members might foreseeably participate in as part of their college cursus, the trajectory of which may well extend beyond the award of a BA. Thus, included in the volume is the writing of neophytes and juniors as well as texts penned by more senior and seasoned academics.

(a) Prose (i) Orations Approximately half of the excerpts in this volume are written in prose. The fact that several of these take the form of formal orations should come as no surprise, since speech-making in Latin constituted a core practice in the early modern university.38 During the Renaissance the disciplines of oratory and declamation took root in university curricula, with rhetoric being taught from the first year of the BA onwards, and there was an explicit acknowledgement that rhetorical skills might be nurtured through the classical precedents that were then so vigorously lionized.39 Certain ancient works were considered indispensable for such training, and Ciceronian speeches and manuals on rhetoric by Aristotle, Hermogenes of Tarsus and Quintilian, as well as more modern works by international humanists like Erasmus, became educational staples.40 Despite the continuity with the past that the theory provided, in practice, the rhetorical field underwent change, and the three types of classical oratory or genera causarum, namely judicial, deliberative and demonstrative, that delineated oratory in the ancient world, were refined and augmented with new types of speech, for example, the genus didacticon, the main thrust of which was instructional. Indeed, a number of academic speeches and lectures were often published with the aim of providing stylistic models for others.41 For more senior members within the university the opportunities for speech writing (and delivery) abounded. There were the formal occasions, such as the traditional launching of the academic year with a speech, but also debates, disputations and the more

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routine business of lectures. At the junior end the ability to marshal an oral case was built into their formal tutelage, but individuals were also constantly exposed to spoken oratory and encouraged to model their own endeavours on it. Indeed, several of the contributions call attention to the oral and aural dimensions of texts; and, as Jennifer Richards has powerfully reminded us, in early modern composition, the interaction between speech and print was a dynamic one, the assumption being that the work would be read aloud.42 One index of the standing of rhetoric within university life was the role of ‘Public Orator’. The post was established in the sixteenth century in both Oxford and Cambridge, and some centuries later in Trinity College Dublin. The Public Orator, a person celebrated for their mastery of language and honeyed eloquence, was in effect the mouthpiece of the university and could represent (and thereby also mould) its ideals. The sheer prestige of the role was astutely put into perspective by the now deceased Bernard N. Schilling, who commented that the modern-day President of the United States came to be what the university orator had been.43 Although the rhetorical prowess of more recent American presidents might fall short of their early modern university forebears, the comparison of their respective powers remains helpful. As Peter Mack shows, the apparatus and principles undergirding the political speeches delivered by the Elizabethan elite were those first instilled at university.44 Historians of rhetoric are right to collapse the distinctions between literary history (on the one hand) and statecraft (on the other), not simply because oratory played such an important role in the bear pit of civic life, but also because eloquence was equated with ethics. Taking their cue from ancient handbooks, many early moderns who submitted to a training in rhetoric considered well-formed language as synonymous with morality and one of the most effective ways both to serve and improve society.45 Eloquentia was, in short, viewed as a natural and desirable phenomenon through the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Nowadays, people do not attend to the formal techniques of rhetoric to the same extent, and they are certainly not taught as part of the regular syllabus either at school or at university. The notion that a university student these days might submit to lectures on an entire textbook of classical rhetoric,46 such as Cicero’s Partitiones oratoriae, is unthinkable. For that reason, examples of oratory, including the ones on display in this anthology, can look to modern eyes rather alien. One should also admit that in modern times we tend to recoil from declamation, and rhetorical flourishes are so easily understood as a fig leaf for a lack of substance or a mark of pomposity or artificiality. In this respect C. S. Lewis captures the gulf between us and the past very well: ‘Rhetoric is the greatest barrier between us and our ancestors. . . . The beauties which they chiefly regarded in every composition were those which

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we either dislike or simply do not notice. The change in taste makes an invisible wall between us and them.’47 Despite modern scruples, it can nevertheless be productive to be reminded of the keen eye and ear the early moderns had for verbal manoeuvres, with which they had a ritual familiarity, and of the moral as well as aesthetic qualities such devices were thought to contain. In this volume Jason Harris, does just this, opting in the analysis of a seventeenth-century oration to give prominence to the aural affects at work in Caesar Williamson’s encomium of Henry Cromwell, son of the Roundhead Protector. Three orations in total are included in this anthology, and together they convey well the diversity possible within the form. One just mentioned, Williamson’s panegyric of Cromwell, comprises an example of an ‘epideictic’ speech of praise (Text 9). A second constitutes an oratorical dyad delivered by the first incumbent of a Greek Chair at Cambridge, Richard Croke (Text 2). As discussed by Aaron Kachuck and Benedick C. F. McDougall, Croke’s stirring speeches on the benefits of Greek learning apportion both praise for the Greek language and its champions, and also blame for the Hellenic detractors they identify. While this tour de force might be deemed to fall within the same ‘epideictic’ category as Williamson’s, Croke’s disquisitions may equally be classified as defence speeches (or ‘judicial’) and also exhortatory (or ‘deliberative’) in nature, insofar as they stand both as a formal apologia for Greek at a time when the language still had only a peripheral place in the West and as a call to arms to the students addressed. The third speech, offered by Tommi Alho, is representative of a rather more unorthodox and less classically grounded species of rhetoric, the prevaricator’s address (Text 8). A ‘prevaricator’ (literally, ‘one who walks crookedly’ or ‘a transgressor’) was a sort of satirical word-spinner, whose main function was to deliver a burlesque speech at a university graduation ceremony. As far as we know, such posts were only established in Cambridge and Oxford (where the equivalent was termed terrae filius). The version set out in this volume was made by the gifted and wellknown Cambridge fellow James Duport, who used this speech to parody the central pillar of the degree ceremony, namely the disputations performed by the graduating students.

(ii) Disputational theses If disputations were at the core of any graduation, that merely reflected the fundamental place they were accorded in early modern university life more generally. Disputations were academic exercises, a form of debate or oral defence structured around the principles of formal logic found in the writing of Aristotle (most importantly, his Organon),48 and were conducted almost exclusively in Latin. It was a form of knowledge testing, but also an assessment

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of argumentative skill, whereby students were required to argue a specific suit and defend a series of circumscribed statements (commonly referred to as either theses, ‘positions’, or quaestiones, ‘questions’).49 In that sense the discipline had a strong affinity with rhetoric, but of an adversarial kind, as the initial case advanced by a student (as respondens) would then be countered by an opponent or even more than one (opponens / opponentes), responded to once again by the first respondens, and finally determined upon by a moderator (praeses). The disputation was, in essence, a form of dialectic. The practice took its origins from the Graeco-Roman world and from the ancient disciplines of controversia and suasoria; it had also been at the heart of academic teaching throughout the Middle Ages. The dialectical drill had undergone some important changes over the centuries, whereby the esoteric accretions of scholasticism had been stripped away in favour of a return to the purity of the original texts of Aristotle. Hence the recommendations of reformers like Lorenzo Valla, Rodolphus Agricola, Philip Melanchthon and Petrus Ramus had been implemented,50 while disputation had by no means been discontinued. This tradition of debate – the pith of early modern university instruction – was medieval in character, and such a continuum, despite the various reforms, lent it a time-honoured hallowedness. Dialectic, and indeed rhetoric, were viewed as propaedeutic skills, deemed not only as necessary for the higher university faculties of Theology, Medicine and Law, but also as a sine qua non for success in life. The disputational methodology, which dominated universities Europewide, reveals much about the intellectual culture of the time. Not unlike the sport of jousting, which was hugely popular in regal circles, disputation rested upon a form of agility, a tactical temper, and ultimately penchant for the punch. It was certainly a practice that would have engendered a certain combative cast of mind and competitiveness in students.51 But the process also involved what might equally be viewed as a healthy approach to knowledge, insofar as a topic would be systematically interrogated in utramque partem (‘on both sides’ or ‘from both angles’); terms would be carefully defined and reflexively tested, and a form of ‘truth’ would emerge via the full cognizance both of the complexity and of potential doubtfulness of any proposition. Such a dialogic approach to learning can only have implanted a salutary skepticism about anything presented as ‘fact’. The records for university disputations survive in a variety of formats: notes made in advance of a disputation; the formal log of a disputation written up after the event (these logs were generally termed dissertationes); discursive (and often high partisan) treatises written pursuant to the disputation; paratextual material produced pursuant to a disputation, such as poems or a prevaricator’s raillery. Furthermore, within British universities, it

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was possible to find different types of disputation. Some were more public and ceremonial in nature and might attract influential audiences; indeed, disputations were one of the great attractions when Queen Elizabeth visited the universities of Oxford and Cambridge in the sixteenth century.52 These ‘show-debates’ presented an opportunity for those participating to brandish their individual talents in a sort of early modern milk round. At the less glamorous end, students were obliged to attend and participate in disputation (often alongside their lecturers) as a requirement of the award of their degrees at both BA and MA level; indeed, two sections (Texts 7 and 8) of this Anthology contain material that relates to such occasions. Evidence points to the fact that students submitted to disputations yet more frequently during the course of their studies. David McOmish’s contribution presents Theses Philosophicae, logs of disputations from the University of Edinburgh that constitute the substance of the daily lectures given there on the subject of astronomy (Text 7). These offer a wonderfully immediate insight into the quotidian learning experience of early modern students, whose education was entirely rooted in oral response and reaction, as well as in the ability to persuade. In addition to the window these theses open on the advanced state of scientific theory being expounded in seventeenth-century Edinburgh,53 they also stand as a reminder of the interconnectedness between early modern science and the humanist realm of oratory.54

(iii) Letters Epistolography or letter-writing played a crucial role in the Republic of Letters, but it was also a key mode of communication within the early modern university. In that sense there was a conjunction with modern email, but unlike online messages, letter-writing was wholly bound up with the ars dictaminis (‘the art of writing letters’). Through its close correspondence to rhetoric, there was in fact little to separate oratio from epistola.55 Once again, Latin was very often the main language utilized. The Public Orator would regularly represent the position of the university in Latin official dispatches. There are, for instance (though not included in this volume), the letters of George Herbert written in his capacity as Cambridge Orator to a wide range of prominent figures within the Jacobean State, including Henry Montagu, the Lord Treasurer, and Francis Bacon, the Lord Chancellor. These polished letters acknowledged the latest developments, they flattered, and they gently opined, but – perhaps their most conspicuous feature – they constantly created a bridge between politics and the university. In Herbert’s letter to Bacon, for instance, he expresses gratitude for the presentation of the latter’s Instauratio to the University Library and proclaimed the work, employing an explicitly Ivy League idiom, a progeny deserving of a ‘Master of Arts’.56 Letters

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were also the main mode of exchange across borders between academic counterparts, a good example (again, outside this anthology) being the extensive correspondence between Roger Ascham, long-standing fellow of St John’s College, Cambridge, and Johannes Sturm, founder of the Strasbourg Academy, in which they continually traded educational know-how.57 Both individuals composed their epistles in elegant, Ciceronian Latin, and their letters were as much a respective advertisement for accomplishment in good Latinity and an ability to operate on the international stage as a channel for ideas. That the authors of such letters often opted to publish their letters indicates as much.58 Letters might serve as vehicles for conflict as much as consensus, and in this sense the writing of epistles might be understood as an extension of the disputational scene. Some of the most notorious disputes of the day were fought out in letter form, including the belletristic brawl between a Catholic Portuguese priest by the name of Jerómino Osório, who had urged Elizabeth to return to the Catholic Church and the Pope, declaring that the English were in error, and the Latin epistolist Walter Haddon, appointed by the Queen to counter this broadside.59 Another such contest played out in missives – and one treated in this anthology – concerned the pronunciation of Greek in Cambridge in the early 1540s. On one side was Stephen Gardiner, Chancellor of Cambridge University, who resisted the various calls for reform to respect the separate sounds of long and short letters; on the other side and at the vowel vanguard was John Cheke, the incumbent Regius Professor of Greek. The opening letter in this protracted intellectual turf war is considered by Micha Lazarus (Text 1). This first sally from Gardiner to Cheke was initially intended as a private communication, but the full series of exchanges was subsequently published on the Continent in 1555; there was always scope for early modern letters to go viral and, in this case, for a GardinerCheke leak. This quarrel about Greek pronunciation would prove to be a controversy of vast implications, indeed one that both fed into and fuelled certain religious fault lines within the broader context of the Reformation. That a dispute of this magnitude was played out through the epistolary medium points to the muscularity of this particular written form and its fitness for the nuanced discourse of learning.

(b) Verse Verse output features in equal measure with prose in this anthology. Indeed, the early modern period was an age in which poetry was held dear and even fetishized for its power of expression and design. That notwithstanding, it is difficult for us to embrace its earlier potency, for poetry now simply does not hold the same status as it once did, and it takes considerable powers of

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imagination to conceive of verse as anything more than quaint, recherché, private and marginal, let alone as an art form that was central, public and vital. Historically, Latin poems were written by movers and shakers, by men of action and individuals who enjoyed the highest standing in the realms of education, law, church and court. Indeed, it was such luminaries who were responsible for a large portion of the extant Latin poetry of that epoch, and we might bear in mind the far-famed Latin verse of the Scottish colossus, George Buchanan, and, in the century that followed, the arch-Republican, John Milton. Neo-Latin verse was a widespread European phenomenon, and the quantity of it dwarfs the entire body of literature produced from antiquity through to the Middle Ages. As eye-catching is the diversity of topics invoked in such poetry, ranging from cosmology to divinity, from royal panegyric to political satire. The fact that verse was often prioritized over prose as a vehicle for the exposition of serious topics should likewise alert us to the cachet this literary medium carried. Rather more cynically, Latin poetry also had commercial value. We tend now to think of poetry as an authentic medium unsullied by money, but this was simply not the case in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; a few judicious Latin odes could assist appreciably with career progression. A substantial proportion of the poetry written during this period was produced within the Academy, and it would be legitimate to point to a caste of ‘university poets’ who dazzled, instructed, revamped and jolted with their verse ammunition.

(i) Occasional poetry One type of poetry that burgeoned during the early modern period is what is often termed ‘occasional’ poetry. ‘Occasional’ in this context is a misleading term, for this verse was far from ‘occasional’ in the modern sense and was arguably one of the most popular of the era; the fact that it comprises two thirds of the verse represented in this volume is an indication of its bulk. Occasional verse was writing inspired by specific and significant social moments, such as royal births, anniversaries or high-profile bereavements; indeed, this poetic species might thus be more meaningfully labelled as ‘Events Verse’ or even ‘Rhymes for the Times’. Such output also reflected the outwardlooking character of the early modern university, whereby its members felt both inclined and entitled to put the art of versification to a broader public use. Stephen J. Harrison offers a sumptuous example of such a production (Text 3): a long Latin hexameter poem written by a senior university figure, Andrew Melville, the then Rector of St Andrews University, in honour of and performed at the coronation of Anne, the new consort of James VI, as Queen of Scotland in Edinburgh in 1590. Death offered a different sort of commemorative opportunity, and Sharon van Dijk sets forth a poem entitled Ecloga Daphnis

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(Text 4). This eclogue was composed by Giles Fletcher while still a student at King’s College, Cambridge, to mark the passing of a significant university figure, Professor of Greek and Demosthenic demon, Nicholas Carr; more significantly, there currently exists no transcription or translation for this eclogue, which has been omitted from all previous treatments of Fletcher’s poetic output, and has even been described as a ‘bibliographical phantom’.60 A striking facet of much of the occasional verse composed within the halls of academe was its communal quality. Fletcher was just one of several to pay homage to Carr, and his hexameter donation belonged to a broader Festschrift effort that involved scholars from across the university. Anthology verse collections, although they have garnered little attention in scholarship, were in fact a prominent part of college craft throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Sometimes well over 100 authors might contribute to a single compilation, with poems penned in Latin, but also in other languages (including Greek and Hebrew), and more than one university might marshal its own poetic pool on an individual theme. One such project is considered by Caroline Spearing (Text 10). During the Interregnum of the seventeenth century, both Oxford and Cambridge coordinated their own anthology initiatives to celebrate the Treaty of Westminster signed by Cromwell in 1654 upon the close of the first Anglo-Dutch War of 1652–4. As Spearing demonstrates, there was an interesting divergence of approach to this freshly established peace on the part of each institution. There was also a great variety within each university’s anthology, each encompassing the work of a palisade of participants from the youngest members to college elders. A similarly wide range of personnel contributed to another verse collection, this time one originating in Cambridge University at the close of the century as discussed by David Money (Text 11). The focal point of this verse miscellany was William III’s return to England, following his successful brokering of the Peace of Ryswick in 1697 that ended the Nine Years’ War, which had engulfed all the major European powers since 1688. These verse collections are the opposite of institutionally inward-looking exercises that serve only the specialized interests of the ‘dear old school’ or simply pleasure the senses; rather, they embody an active engagement with some of the most urgent social, religious and political questions of the period.

(ii) Tripos verse Another conventional poetic endeavour pursued within the early modern university, though one that has again attracted surprisingly little historical attention – at least until recently – was ‘Act and Tripos’ verse. This verse form constituted a free-standing poetic genre, and it entailed the composition by students of poems to accompany the disputations to which they standardly

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submitted as part of their university course, most significantly, the degree ceremony. These often evinced a lively alertness and ingenuity of approach, and it has been suggested that some may even have contributed in their own right to the advancement of knowledge in the remit of science in particular.61 Thousands of these verses survive, and while some of this poetry was printed on broadsheets and circulated (or read aloud) at the event for which it was written, much of it remains in (relatively untouched) manuscript form, and, as such, constitutes a field of study ripe for further research.62 The question of quality is an obvious consideration, and according to one modern scholar’s appraisal of the Cambridge collection, despite some dubious quantities and obscurities, the ‘fluency and invention are good’.63 Yet, in many ways, the calibre of the verse is a secondary concern, for the exercises and the topics covered afford invaluable information about what mattered to the universities at the time.64 More illuminating still, perhaps, is the window this body of verse offers into a student’s rite of passage when moving from university into the wider world. The very requirement for this type of verse also raises compelling questions about the institutional expectations at such a launch moment and about the mode of observing academic graduation, the marking of which has been a feature of the university experience ever since. William M. Barton introduces two sets of Act and Tripos verse composed within the Theological Faculty in Cambridge during the late sixteenth century (Text 5). Just as the disputational orations would have been, the poetic versions were also constructed around particular theses, in this case: ‘The Scriptures are Canonical, sovereign and alone to be believed’; and ‘No one should exercise ecclesiastic ministry without external calling’, each a hot topic, at a time when the Elizabethan Settlement, and what would come to be known as the via media (or ‘middle way’), was still being hammered out. While a good portion of such verse would typically have been written in Latin (thereby replicating the language of the debate upon which it was parasitic), many of them were also written in Greek; in this case, each of the Latin poems has been rendered into Greek in a polyglot parade. Given the hot-button nature of the theological issues at stake in this case, it seems likely that these distinctive Hellenic insertions would have functioned not merely as a showy linguistic appendage, but as integral to the overarching religious positions being articulated: Greek was the original language of the Bible. What had the power to bolster a case for the purity of Scripture more forcibly than the actual medium of God’s Word? In Reformation – and indeed debating – terms the application of Greek was the theological extraction of the rabbit from a hat.

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(iii) Drama Academic drama has been included under the subheading of ‘verse’ in this volume because the text chosen is a play in verse inspired by the Roman poet Ovid. Theatrical pieces could just as easily appear in prose, and often did so (e.g. George Ruggle’s Ignoramus, discussed in the Anthology of British NeoLatin Literature of this series).65 The more important point to stress is that, just as with the other literary forms treated in this introduction, drama was a major, not a marginal, part of the university scene in the early modern era. While the significance of the practice within the university has now begun to be seriously appreciated,66 a fuller grasp of its dimensions has been hampered in no small part by a dearth of translations and editions. Indeed, albeit it is only a statistic, some seventy-one British university plays in English, Latin and Greek survive intact from the sixteenth century alone.67 These plays appeared in many guises: some were based on an individual classical playwright, such as Terence or a Greek tragedian; some were more eclectic in their generic arrangement. A dramatic composition might, moreover, be assembled by someone at any juncture in their university career, and they were authored by teachers and pupils alike. While drama at the university was in no way isolated from dramatic trends more generally, it was more academic in tone, though it never lacked a spirit of liberalism.68 The dramatic text included here (Text 6) is a comic playlet, a production of about half the length of a typical drama, but a fashionable format in seventeenth-century Oxford. A student of St John’s College, Philip Parsons, was responsible for it, and he almost certainly composed it for the purpose of parading his talents. University drama often drew a premier-division audience from beyond the institutional walls, and it was not out of the ordinary for senior statesmen and even monarchy to attend such a performance. But university stagecraft entailed so much more than a chance to put on display the talent nurtured there. As Elizabeth Sandis discusses in presenting this entry, the staging of plays had numerous pedagogical advantages. They neatly complemented and buttressed the fundamental disciplines of rhetoric and dialectic: drama meant putting into practice two aspects of rhetorical training – memoria and pronuntiatio – and provided an opportunity both to hear and to perform well-made speeches; and in terms of disputation, the dramatic agon perfectly allowed for the interrogation of many sides of an issue.69 The performances of such plays also gave participants and spectators an immediate exposure to Latin and Greek, and conspicuously sententiae-filled lines delivered by actors had obvious mnemonic value.70 These plays, however, had yet further benefit. Structured around myth or ancient history, as they usually were, they might also yield universal moral

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lessons, and it is noteworthy that plays became a key avenue for moral didacticism in Counter Reformation Jesuit institutions across Europe. As Sandis mentions, academic drama was often a useful locus for commenting on national affairs and might constitute an effectively ‘periphrastic’ means to negotiate and even effect change. Within a broader Reformation backdrop, these plays were often religiously freighted: for example, the main aim of John Foxe’s Christus Triumphans, one of three Latin plays Foxe wrote while a fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, was to deliver an apocalyptic warning concerning overweening papal power rather than simply to recreate a classical comedy.71 Perhaps, and most significantly, university drama offered a wonderfully interactive and imaginative space within which particular types of speech and behaviour might be modelled and where the role-playing and even theatricality that would be such a critical part of Tudor and Stuart career paths might be experienced and simulated.72 It has even been suggested that academic plays acted as a platform for commenting upon and shaping early modern masculinity or for shoring up authorized male offices through the various parts that were assumed.73

What was a university for? We return here to the provocation with which we began: what was a university for? The Latin and Greek texts that were produced in the early modern universities of Britain and that held such a cardinal place in their everyday operations can shed critical light on this complex and composite question. The selections in this anthology present a rich institutional paper trail, revealing some of the most fundamental priorities of the university in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Beyond the more obvious business of academic education, our texts offer a wonderful vantage point from which to survey the scene more broadly, speaking as they do to the larger functions that universities carved out for themselves and the crucial coordinates by which the Academy defined itself, and which we can briefly reprise here. One of these priorities was a university’s relationship with the wider commonwealth. Many of the texts featured in this anthology lie at the intersection of education and politics. Why did King James VI of Scotland commission a hexametrical extravaganza in Latin from Melville, the Rector of St Andrews University, to mark the coronation of his consort Anne, and subsequently oversee its print-run and expeditious circulation within Europe (Text 3)? The obvious answer is that the erudition and verbal mastery of a senior don and Calvinist leader could exalt a Head of State; in turn, through such a high-profile production, a university might validate its own position

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as Head of Scholarship. However, as much of the public-facing panegyric of this volume reveals, the universities of this epoch did not see themselves merely as purveyors of accolades and subject to increasing state control, but also as seminal actors in a two-way negotiation over a hegemonic balance within the body politic. Within the framework of praise, many of these literary contributions simultaneously provide guidance, theory, challenge and even animadversion of and for an intellectual and also moral and philosophical instruction. The speed with which universities responded to events, such as the declaration of treaties (Texts 9 and 10), only reflects the degree of investment universities had within the nation and their regard for what they saw as the ‘common good’. The involvement of early modern universities in broader civic affairs could and did result in clashes of rival ideologies. Nowhere was this tension more acutely felt than in the remit of religion and its reform, areas in which the early modern university took an avid and serious interest. Of course, during this period, the connection between learning and religion was taken as axiomatic, but the Reformation and Counter Reformation only reinvigorated the overlap, with universities often compelled, at least overtly, to declare their religious affiliations.74 This was in large part owing to the fact that the serious business of theology continued to be conducted in Latin (in spite of the broader reformist drive to sponsor the vernacular). While the Latin language, given its widespread use, continued to hover over the religious divide (unlike Greek), one cannot ignore the fact that it was regularly harnessed to particular confessional assaults and to potentially partial agendas. For the entire span of the Reformation there was a close and even incestuous overlap between the provinces of government and university, as the former consulted the latter and the latter counselled the former in an intricately bound interchange of pressure and dependence. Text 5 illustrates the point well with its description of the deliberations that took place in Cambridge concerning the substance of the Elizabethan Articles of Faith. The verses produced pursuant to these topical debates were extremely forthright in their thrust. The fact that Peter Baro, the then Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, who, as part of the related university debates, advanced views that ran contrary to regime-sanctioned policy, promptly lost his Chair at the University (in 1596), following one of many governmental micromanagerial encroachments, speaks volumes about the fine line between gown and crown at this time. Simultaneously, it points to the determination on the part of the universities to speak their minds on matters that impinged on the souls of the nation. The early modern academies prided themselves on being the guardians of ancient learning, and where we are perhaps able to witness the custodial

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drive most strongly is in the preservation of the classical tradition. The Latin produced within their precincts was in many ways the best conduit of that literary legacy. Many of the contributors in this volume discuss the recourse that the university litterateurs had to the Graeco-Roman exemplars, not least through the classically inherited practice of imitatio, which had such a powerful grip on the early modern mind. This happened at the level of generic assimilation, but also in terms of individual ancient authors and even metrical schemes. Yet the universities of the time were also incubators of great innovation, and as several of the contributors comment, the classical legacy was not just embalmed, but underwent radical experimentation: there might be a synthesis of originally discrete genres, and classical forms could be radically blended with other sources of influence, often Scripture, but also other contemporary writers. There was a revolutionary shift in language teaching, in particular as regards the newly emerging language of ancient Greek. Greek was a contentious discipline, not least through its potential to transform attitudes towards long-held beliefs, and, as several of the texts demonstrate, the very soundness of the subject caused deep divisions within humanist faculties. The point was that the early modern university enshrined both continuity and change, and, for the most part, a bamboo-like flexibility that could not just accommodate difference and division, but also render it a virtue. It was in many ways this elasticity of approach and the commitment to the dialectical creed that characterized these institutions’ central function. Freedom of enquiry within the university was a cherished academic prerogative, yet outcomes of a disputation might not always sit comfortably with personal views or, more importantly, official dogma. This intellectual liberty to roam rested in no small part on the foremost mechanism for learning within the universities, namely Latin disputation. Disputations that depended on firm syllogistic structures, that provided precision as well as a sort of objectivity, were considered to be the most effective means not just of testing a proposition, but also of reaching truth and combatting what was false.75 The members of any of the British academies, be it in England, Scotland or Ireland, would have understood forces of conflict, but also the strategies for its resolution, the constant need for debate, divergence and dissent, but also for compromise and the ability to agree to disagree. These critical faculties were, it seems, stretched yet further within the early modern university and extended even to forms of self-reflexivity and introspective parody. This is an aspect of academic life broached in Text 8, which incorporates a prevaricator’s speech that essentially held up to ridicule the eccentricities of a training in Latinity, the academic jargon with all its

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delimitations and subdivisions and the elaborate costume of knowledge generally expected of its members. This type of reflex may have originated in medieval folk traditions of misrule, but it surely also introduced a form of diagnostic (self-)consciousness into anyone passing through the university. It might helpfully generate at one stroke a strong sense of inclusion based on an insider’s understanding and at the same time an ability to critique the basis of such inclusivity. It is precisely this collective experience of belonging to a Latinate culture within the university that forms the final strand of this section. The premodern scholarly world was composed of multiple layers of networks.76 Indeed, the majority of the texts featured in this volume can be set within the larger frame of shared projects: for instance, we might consider the senders of Latin letters, who directly addressed a fellow recipient, and the participants in disputations, who necessarily faced a colleague as adversary. More obviously, there were the various scholars who volunteered pieces for the larger single-themed verse anthologies. Such activities might culminate in individual acclamation, but they conceivably also contributed to a form of esprit de corps and the creation of cohesive social teams. In a sense, all the main communicative and educational access routes to which any member of the university would have to submit – which were, by and large, discharged in Latin and Greek – served to create a closely-knit magic circle, a fraternal unity.77 In this way Latin and Greek were not just arcane academic languages, but vital ingredients in the configuration of a group mentality and a collaborative outlook that might provide a series of connecting tissues of both habit and judgement, as and when one alumnus encountered another in later life. One might even suggest that, although universities partook of a Europe-wide culture, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries they also became (for all their local differences) vehicles for a kind of shared British intellectual world; in some instances, as in Ireland, that was not exactly a benign development, but it was nonetheless significant in the evolution of the British state, and one that arguably still has its reflexes in the post-Brexit world. Today, we boast a myriad of universities through which the young pass in their many thousands each year. For that reason alone, the ability to probe the role(s) of higher education is as pressing a matter as it ever was. Perhaps one aspect of the early modern university that stands out above all, and to which we might profitably look, is the lack of distinction between the university and ‘the real world’; for it is only when there is a meaningful merger between the two that the university retains its true usefulness, relevance and ability to be of service.

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Reading the selections in this volume The entries in this book have been taken from both manuscripts and early modern printed editions, and every contribution details the source of the text. Some of these texts, thanks to the benefits of modern technology, have an online presence. Indeed, we encourage readers to return to the original versions, for the early modern formats often have their own stories to tell. Particular typefaces were of consequence, especially in cases where certain universities opted to manage the printing process themselves, whereby print format might be bound up as much with institutional self-promotion as the words on the page. Early modern practices regarding the presentation of Latin texts are also of interest.78 For the convenience of readers, the texts included in this book have been slightly adjusted and standardized in respect of punctuation and orthography to match modern conventions. The alterations in spelling will for the most part be very obvious; for example, foelix to felix and coelum to caelum. On the other hand, early modern conventions of punctuation, such as diacritical markers that signalled how a given word should be pronounced and some outlandish (to modern eyes) placement of punctuation, pertain to a different framework: the punctuation was often used in order to assist with oral delivery, an indication that even in the case of a printed volume a hardwired default position dictated the rhetorical impact. An additional note of caution needs to be registered concerning the layout of Greek. The appearance of the early modern NeoAncient Greek script diverged considerably from the one used and taught today. It can be a difficult and painstaking process to disentangle the letters and ligatures and identify certain words in the early modern manuscripts and printed works. An example of the Greek typeface typically used in the sixteenth century is set out in Figure 1. For ease of reference, the Greek texts in this volume have been printed in accordance with the linguistic presentation readers are more accustomed to nowadays. While this anthology aims to offer as wide a cross-section as possible, the extracts emphatically do not purport to give a comprehensive overview of Neo-Latin and Neo-Ancient Greek within the early modern university. It is inevitable, given the breadth of activities and fields of study housed within the universities across the regions at that time, that users of this volume will identify many lacunae, for instance the specialized remits of Medicine, Mathematics and Law. We also cannot hope to offer a complete illustration of every form of Latin generated, and we do not purport to do so. This anthology does not, for example, include the many bureaucratic records inscribed in Latin by these institutions; nor does it contain student notes, Latin commonplace materials, reference books, Latin translations, commentaries

Introduction

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Figure 1. Tripos Broadsheet, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Vet. A1 b.5 (15): an example of a Neo-Ancient Greek text.

or syntheses. Moreover, although the volume considers the bilingualism of Latin and Greek, it does not address in any extensive way the relationship between Latin and the vernacular(s) or the important adaptation of Latin patterns of eloquence to, for example, the use of English, which the learned members of the universities undoubtedly assisted in. There are obvious gaps, too, in terms of gender representation. The fact is that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries women, while they might be fortunate to be educated at home at the instigation of an enlightened pater familias, were not admitted to universities. We nevertheless hope to set before readers a range of different categories and styles of Latin, indeed forms that may have been read by women and men beyond the confines of the Academy and that in turn may have influenced their own literary output.79 Ultimately, this volume, unique in its overarching theme of university Latin and Greek, is intended to serve both as a practical resource as well as a springboard for further historical reflection.

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Notes Thanks to my co-editor, Gesine Manuwald, to Sarah Knight, Gareth Williams and to all the contributors of the volume for the expertise and aperçus they generously shared during the drafting of this introduction. 1 Beyond the more obvious histories of individual universities and colleges, the bibliography is too extensive to detail here. 2 For an exploration of this helpful concept, see Waquet 2010. 3 On the vital role of Latin in the defining, shaping and propagating of a European-wide identity, see esp. Walser-Burgler 2021. See also Waquet 2001. 4 For a full review of the European scene, see de Ridder-Symoens 1996: vols. 1 and 2. 5 Green 2013: 193. For the interactions between Scottish and French universities, see Reid, ‘Introduction’, in Reid / McOmish 2016: 1–9. 6 The first university in Wales (Lampeter) was founded in 1822. The putative foundation dates for the universities are as follows: Oxford 1096; Cambridge 1209; St Andrews 1413; Glasgow 1451; Aberdeen 1495; Edinburgh 1583; Trinity College Dublin 1592. Aberdeen technically comprised two universities until 1860; Marischal College was part of Aberdeen University and founded in 1593. 7 Cobban 1998: 1–2 and passim. 8 Cobban 1998: 14–16. 9 O’Day 1982. 10 MacColl 2006. 11 Durkan 1959. 12 See in particular: https://www.tcd.ie/about/history/. 13 Trinity College even became a refuge for English Puritans, whose influence in Cambridge waned over the course of time. 14 During the early modern period the printing in these centres was not in fact done by the university presses of Oxford and Cambridge, which, while they existed in legal terms, only began their operations in earnest very late in the seventeenth century; printing was by and large undertaken by private businesses that would be appointed as ‘printers to the university’. On the situation in Cambridge, see McKitterick 1992–2004; and for Oxford, J. Peacey, ‘Printers to the University – 1584–1658’, in Gadd 2013: 51–78. 15 Many of the universities started life as monastic establishments (Cobban 1998: 19). 16 On the development of Latin and its teaching through the Renaissance more generally, see Waquet 2001; Moss 2003; and K. Jensen, ‘The humanist reform of Latin and Latin teaching’, in Kraye 1996: 63–81. 17 In particular, see S. Knight, ‘How the Young Man Should Study Latin Poetry: Neo-Latin Literature and Early Modern Education’, in Moul 2017: 52–65; R. Black, ‘School’, and S. Knight, ‘University’, in Knight / Tilg 2015: 217–32 and 233–48.

Introduction

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18 Gillespie / Powell 2014: 2–4; and A. Coates ‘The Latin Trade in England and Abroad’, in Gillespie / Powell 2014: 45–60. 19 Jardine / Grafton 1986. In Italy this happened much earlier (see Grendler 2004). 20 P. Burke, ‘Latin: A Language in Search of a Community’, in Burke 2004: 43–60. 21 S. Knight, ‘Latin Rhetoric at the Early Modern Universities’, an unpublished talk delivered at an ‘Active Latin’ workshop in 2021; and ‘Universities,’ in Cox / Richards (forthcoming). 22 For example, R. Kirwan, ‘Scholarly Self-fashioning and the Cultural History of Universities’, in Kirwan 2014: 4. 23 A.-S. Goeing, G. Parry and M. Feingold, ‘Introduction’, in Goeing / Parry / Feingold 2020. 24 For more on the use of logic in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century institutions of learning, see Knight / Wilson 2019. 25 Kirwan, ‘Scholarly Self-fashioning’, 2014: 1–20. 26 For a full account of the quarrel and the texts generated, see McKerrow 1910: vol. 5. 27 The study of Ancient Greek written in the early modern period is currently a nascent field, and, as such, the terminology has yet to be stabilized. ‘Humanist Greek’ helpfully covers the temporal range, but ‘Neo-Ancient Greek’ is perhaps the more serviceable formulation, insofar as it provides greater precision and distinguishes it from, for example, Modern Greek, which calls itself neá elleniká, and also from the Greek spoken by fifteenthcentury emigrés from Constantinople, who would most likely have used a late-medieval demotic Greek (a type of ‘Neo-Greek’) to talk to their households, but who wrote in a revived, purified form of Ancient Greek (another form of ‘Neo-Greek’). 28 As quoted in Allen 1987: 140. 29 For some useful insights into the state of Greek learning in Tudor England, see Rhodes 2018, especially the chapter ‘Pure and Common Greek in Early Tudor England’. 30 For an overview of the return of Greek learning to the West, see J. Kraye, ‘The revival of Greek Studies in the West’, in Cameron 2016: 37–60. See also Ciccolella 2008; Botley 2010. 31 The 1518 statutes of St Paul’s (founded in 1509) stipulated that the master is to be ‘lerned in good and clene Latin literature, and also in Greke, if such may be gotten’ and of the boys ‘I wish them to be taught good literature both Latin and Greke’ (see Adams 2015: 25–6). 32 Goldhill 2002; and J. McConica, ‘Thomas More as Humanist’, in Logan 2011: 22–45. 33 Evidence points to the fact that William Grocyn gave the first lectures in Greek in Oxford in the early 1490s (J. B. Trapp, ‘William Grocyn’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/11650). 34 Discussed at length in Constantinidou / Lamers 2019: 1–30.

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35 See ibid. for details of these. See also Raf Van Rooy’s work: https://www.arts. kuleuven.be/ling/cohistal/english/members/00088685. 36 For example, De Obitu M. Buceri, ed. J. Cheke, 1551, a series of commemorative verses written by Cambridge members on the death of Martin Bucer (not included in this volume); see also Text 1 in this volume. 37 Deneire 2014; Bloemendal 2016; and Winkler / Schaffenrath 2018. 38 It was only in the early eighteenth century that the use of Latin in university orations was replaced with English (Green 2013: 262). 39 For a general overview of the development of Renaissance rhetoric, see Mack 2011. For an excellent assessment of the role of rhetoric within the European university, see S. Knight, ‘Universities,’ in Cox / Richards (forthcoming). 40 Mack 2002: 51–2. 41 M. van der Poel, ‘Oratory and Declamation’, in Moul 2017: 272–88; and ‘Oratory’, in Knight / Tilg 2015: 277. 42 A key argument of Richards is that we should be alive to the ‘vocality’ of the texts and that it is anachronistic to do otherwise (Richards 2019: 1–29). 43 Schilling 1959: 263. 44 Mack 2002: 2–4. 45 See esp. Vickers 1989: 271–6; and, more generally, J. Hankins, ‘Introduction,’ in Hankins 2000. There were some dissenters from this position, for example, Francis Bacon in The Advancement of Learning (1605) suggested that too much fixation on rhetoric might be detrimental. The contentious nature of the issue is captured in a (modern) debate set out in O’Rourke / Abbott / Cogan / Dube / Sloane / Zappen 1996. 46 Mack suggests that there is good evidence for this in 2002: 66. 47 Lewis 1954: 61. 48 The standard collection of Aristotle’s six works on logic. 49 For a general guide to early modern disputation in Europe see Friedenthal / Marti / Seidel 2021. 50 For more detail see P. Mack, ‘Humanist Rhetoric and Dialectic’, in Kraye 2006: 82–99; and Mack 1993. 51 Knight, ‘University’, in Knight / Tilg 2015: 234. 52 Mack 2002: 60. 53 For more on this, see McOmish forthcoming. 54 Burchell / Cummins 2016: introduction. 55 Glomski, ‘Epistolary Writing’, in Moul 2017: 258. 56 Herbert was Public Orator from 1619 to 1627 (Grosart 1874: vol. 3 and 436). 57 As explored in L. R. Nicholas, ‘The Special Relationship’, in Nicholas / Law 2020: 145–64. 58 The inaugural letters of the Ascham–Sturm correspondence were published as Epistolae duae de nobilitate Anglicana (1551). 59 Ryan 1953. 60 Dana Sutton, The Philological Museum (http://www.philological.bham.ac.uk/ fletcher/intro.html).

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61 W. M. Barton, ‘Singing the Study of Sound: Literary Engagement with Natural Philosophy in the Act and Tripos Verses of Oxford and Cambridge’, in Friedenthal / Marti / Seidel 2021: 164–84. 62 Hall 2009; Barton 2021, ‘Singing the Study of Sound’. There is evidence for this type of Tripos verse in Cambridge, Oxford and Trinity College Dublin. 63 See A. Bowen, review of ‘J. J. Hall, Cambridge Act and Tripos Verses 1565– 1894 (Cambridge, 2009)’, Classical Review 61 (2011): 323–4. 64 A point made in Hall 2009: passim. 65 D. Hadas, ‘A Comic Exorcism’, in Houghton / Manuwald / Nicholas 2020: 149–65. 66 See for example, Bloemendal / Norland 2013; and Knight / Sandis 2016. 67 Boas 1914. It is likely that many of these plays were also domesticating aspects of drama produced elsewhere in Europe, for example by the Jesuits. 68 See C. R. Baskerville, review of ‘Frederick S. Boas, University Drama in the Tudor Age, (Oxford, 1914)’, The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 14.4 (1915): 620–4. 69 Ford / Taylor 2013: 7; and Walker / Streufert 2016: introduction. 70 Scholars have identified 150 Latin plays still in existence from the early modern era in England (Ford / Taylor 2013: 14). 71 Blackburn 1971: 106–8. See also D. Blank, ‘Performing Exile: John Foxe’s Christus Triumphans at Magdalen College, Oxford’, in Knight / Sandis 2016: 581–601. 72 Walker / Streufert 2016: introduction. 73 Marlow 2016: introduction and 1–46. 74 See C. Law, ‘Roger Ascham and the Idea of a University in Sixteenth-Century England’, in Nicholas / Law 2020: 23–40. 75 Rodda 2016: 2–3 and 82. 76 M. Feingold, A.-S. Goeing and G. Parry, ‘Introduction’ and ch. 4, in Feingold / Goeing / Parry 2020. 77 See also Ong 2013: 121. 78 For further information about early modern orthography and some recommended lexical resources for early modern Latin, see Houghton / Manuwald / Nicholas 2020: 14–16; and Hadas / Manuwald / Nicholas 2020: 19–20. 79 As James Binns observes, the Latin literature of the Elizabethan and Jacobean ages had its roots in a university training (Binns 1990).

Bibliography Adams, M. (2015), Teaching Classics in English Schools, 1500–1840, Newcastle. Allen, W. S. (1987), Vox Graeca: The Pronunciation of Classical Greek, 3rd edn, Cambridge.

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Binns, J. W. (1990), Intellectual Culture in Elizabethan and Jacobean England: The Latin Writings of the Age, Leeds. Blackburn, R. H. (1971), Biblical Drama under the Tudors, Paris. Bloemendal, J., ed. (2015), Bilingual Europe: Latin and Vernacular Cultures – Examples of Bilingualism and Multiculturalism c. 1300–1800, Leiden / Boston. Bloemendal, J. / Norland, H., eds (2013), Neo-Latin Drama in Early Modern Europe, Leiden / Boston. Boas, F. S. (1914), University Drama in the Tudor Age, Oxford. Botley, P. (2010), Learning Greek in Western Europe, 1396–1529: Grammars, Lexica and Classroom Texts, Philadelphia. Burchell, D. / Cummins, J., eds (2016), Science, Literature and Rhetoric in Early Modern England, Oxford / New York. Burke, P. (2004), Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge. Ciccolella, F. (2008), Donati Graeci: Learning Greek in the Renaissance, Leiden / Boston. Ciccolella, F. / Silvano, L., eds (2018), Teachers, Students, and Schools of Greek in the Renaissance, Leiden / Boston. Cobban, A. (1998), The Medieval English Universities: Oxford and Cambridge to c. 1500, Aldershot. Constantinidou, N. / Lamers, H., eds (2019), Receptions of Hellenism in Early Modern Europe, Leiden / Boston. Cox, V. / Richards, J., eds (forthcoming), Cambridge History of Rhetoric, Cambridge. Deneire, T., ed. (2014), Dynamics of Neo-Latin and the Vernacular. Language and Poetics, Translation and Transfer, Leiden / Boston. Durkan, J. (1959), ‘The Scottish Universities in the Middle Ages 1413–1560’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh). Feingold, M. / Goeing, A.-S. / Parry, G., eds (2020), Early Modern Universities: Networks of Higher Learning, Leiden / Boston. Ford, P. / Taylor A., eds (2013), The Early Modern Cultures of Neo-Latin Drama, Louvain (Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia XXXII). Friedenthal, M. / Marti. H. / Seidel, R., eds (2021), Early Modern Disputations and Dissertations in an Interdisciplinary and European Context, Leiden / Boston. Gillespie, V. / Powell, S., eds (2014), A Companion to the Early Printed Book in Britain, 1476–1558, Cambridge. Goldhill, S. (2002), Who Needs Greek? Contests in the Cultural History of Hellenism, Cambridge. Green, I. (2013), Humanism and Protestantism in Early Modern English Education, Surrey. Grendler, P. F. (2004), The Universities of the Italian Renaissance, Baltimore. Grosart, A. B. (1874), The Complete Works of George Herbert – Prose, vol. 3, London.

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Hadas, D. / Manuwald, G. / Nicholas, L. R., eds (2020), An Anthology of European Neo-Latin Literature, London / New York (Bloomsbury Neo-Latin Series: Early-Modern Texts and Anthologies 2). Hall, J. J. (2009), Cambridge Act and Tripos Verses 1565–1894, Cambridge. Hankins, J. (2000), Renaissance Civic Humanism: Reappraisals and Reflections, Cambridge. Houghton, L. B. T. / Manuwald, G. / Nicholas, L. R., eds (2020), An Anthology of British Neo-Latin Literature, London / New York (Bloomsbury Neo-Latin Series: Early-Modern Texts and Anthologies 1). Jardine, L. / Grafton, A., eds (1986), From Humanism to the Humanities: Education and the Liberal Arts in Fifteenth and Sixteenth Century Europe, Cambridge. Kirwan, R. (2016), Scholarly Self-fashioning and Community in the Early Modern University, London. Knight, S. (forthcoming), ‘Universities’, in: V. Cox / J. Richards (eds.), The Cambridge History of Rhetoric. Knight, S. / Sandis, E., eds (2016), ‘Latin Drama, Religion and Politics in Early Modern Europe’, special issue of Renaissance Studies 30.4. Knight, S. / Tilg, S., eds (2015), The Oxford Handbook of Neo-Latin, Oxford. Knight, S. / Wilson, E. A. (2019), The European Contexts of Ramism, Turnhout. Kraye, J., ed. (1996), The Cambridge Companion to Renaissance Humanism, Cambridge. Kraye, J. (2016), ‘The Revival of Greek Studies in the West’, in: E. Cameron (ed.), The New Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. III, from 1450–1750, 37–60, Cambridge. Lewis, C. S. (1954), English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, Oxford. MacColl, A. (2006), ‘The Meaning of “Britain” in Medieval and Early Modern England’, Journal of British Studies, 45.2: 248–69. Mack, P. (1993), Renaissance Argument: Valla and Agricola in the Traditions of Rhetoric and Dialectic, Leiden / New York. Mack, P. (2002), Elizabethan Rhetoric: Theory and Practice, Cambridge. Mack, P. (2011), A History of Renaissance Rhetoric 1380–1620, Oxford. Marlow, C. (2016), Performing Masculinity in English University Drama, 1598–1636, London / New York. McConica, J. (2011), ‘Thomas More as Humanist’, in G. M. Logan (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Thomas More, 22–45, Cambridge. McKerrow, R. B. (1910), The Works of Thomas Nashe, vol. 5, Oxford. McKitterick, D. (1992–2004), A History of Cambridge University Press, 3 vols. Cambridge. McOmish, D. (forthcoming), Expanding Horizons: European Networks and the New Sciences in Edinburgh 1589–1660, Venice. Moss, A. (2003), Renaissance Truth and the Latin Language Turn, Oxford. Moul, V., ed. (2017), A Guide to Neo-Latin Literature, Cambridge. Nicholas, L. R. / Law, C., eds. (2020), Roger Ascham and his Sixteenth-Century World, Leiden / Boston.

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O’Day, R. (1982), Education and Society 1500–1800: The Social Foundations of Education in Early Modern Britain, London. Ong, W. J. (2013), Rhetoric, Romance, and Technology: Studies in the Interaction of Expression and Culture, Ithaca / London. O’Rourke, S. P. / Abbott, D. A. / Cogan, M. / Dube, R. / Sloane, T. O. / Zappen, J. P. (1996), ‘The Most Significant Passage on Rhetoric in the Works of Francis Bacon’, Rhetoric Society Quarterly, 26.3: 31–55. Peacey, J. (2013), ‘Printers to the University – 1584–1658’, in I. Gadd (ed.), The History of the Oxford University Press, vol. 1, 51–78, Oxford. Reid, S. / McOmish, D., eds (2016), Neo-Latin Literature and Literary Culture in Early Modern Scotland, Leiden / Boston. Rhodes, N. (2018), Common: The Development of Literary Culture in SixteenthCentury England, Oxford. Richards, J. (2019), Voices and Books in the English Renaissance: A New History of Reading, Oxford. de Ridder-Symoens, H., ed. (1996), A History of the University in Europe, 2 vols., Cambridge. Rodda, J. (2016), Public Religious Disputation in England, 1558–1626, London / New York. Ryan, L. V. (1953), ‘The Haddon-Osorio Controversy (1563–1583)’, Church History, 22.2: 142–54. Schilling, B. N. (1959), ‘The Public Orator and Gradum Honoris Causa’, AAUP Bulletin, 45.2: 260–71. Vickers. B. (1989), In Defence of Rhetoric, Oxford. Walker, J. / Streufert, P. D., eds (2016), Early Modern Academic Drama, New York. Walser-Burgler, I. (2021), Europe and Europeanness in Early Modern Latin Literature, Leiden / Boston. Waquet, F. (2001), Latin or the Empire of a Sign: From the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries, London / New York. Waquet, F. (2010), Respublica academica: Rituels universitaires et genres du savoir XVI e–XX e siècle, Paris. Winkler, A. / Schaffenrath, F., eds (2018), Neo-Latin and the Vernaculars, Leiden / Boston.

1

Academic Freedom on Trial in Tudor Times Stephen Gardiner (1483–1555), letter to John Cheke, 15 May 1542 Micha Lazarus

Introduction The political career of Stephen Gardiner (1483–1555), Bishop of Winchester and one of the most powerful conservatives at court, spanned the reign of three English monarchs. He served as Secretary of State under Henry VIII, lost his titles and his freedom under Edward VI, and was finally restored and appointed Lord Chancellor by Mary I. Gardiner also served as Chancellor of the University of Cambridge from 1540 to 1547 and again from 1553 to 1555. His correspondence around this time with Sir John Cheke, Regius Professor of Greek at Cambridge, illustrates the high political stakes that attached, in this turbulent period, to even the most academic of controversies. Cambridge was the crucible of the English Reformation, training the bishops, preachers, writers, teachers and civil servants who championed the evangelical movement to its victories of the 1530s (Hudson 1980; Ryrie 2003). Education was one of their most powerful weapons. In 1535 Thomas Cromwell used his position as Lord Chancellor to promulgate curricular reforms that replaced textbooks of scholastic logic and grammar with the new learning: humanist dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geography, music, philosophy and – most important of all – Greek. Greek may seem an unlikely focus of revolutionary fervour, but it was the rallying cry of reformers and humanists alike. Greek was the language of the New Testament as well as many of the early writings of the Church Fathers. With Greek, Christians could read their holy texts in the original, vaulting over the Latin authorities of the Roman Church. Northern humanists, meanwhile, angled for jobs and status by marketing Greek as both ancient and novel, a rediscovered archive unaffected by the darkness they 31

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attributed to the intervening centuries. Greek sat at the confluence of the shifting tides of both sacred and secular thought, the purer and more classical the better. Even as Cromwell was reforming the curriculum in 1535, two Greek lecturers – Thomas Smith at Queens’ College and Cheke at St John’s – set about reconstructing ancient Greek pronunciation (the story is told in Smith 1978). It was well known that the Greek passed on by Byzantine émigrés to their Western students sounded very different from the Greek spoken by Plato and Aristotle (Bywater 1908; Hesseling and Pernot 1919; Allen 1987: 140–9). The ‘modern’ pronunciation made no distinction between the length of long and short vowels, such as ο and ω or ε and η, and collapsed ι, η and υ as well as the diphthongs ει, οι and υι into the single sound ‘i’. ‘All the Greek letters now sound one and the same’, complained Roger Ascham in October 1542; students could barely distinguish between different words in lectures, ‘stripped of the aid of our ears’ (Ascham 1864: 1.25–7). Drawing on ancient treatises on pronunciation, on the pioneering work of Continental scholars such as Girolamo Aleandro and Erasmus, and on his and Cheke’s linguistic observations, Smith snuck the revised scheme into his lectures on the Odyssey. It was a great success. The new pronunciation was quickly adopted in their colleague John Redman’s divinity lectures and in a performance of Aristophanes’ Ploutos at St John’s College in 1536. Attendance at Cheke’s Greek lectures swelled to 200. For some, however, the nova pronuntiatio was an innovation too far, and Cromwell’s execution in 1540 marked the swing of the political pendulum. Gardiner’s appointment brought the University under conservative leadership, and when complaints about a new-fangled pronunciation reached him in early 1542, he seized the opportunity to bring the agitators into line. On 15 May he wrote a private letter to Cheke, demanding an end to the new pronunciation, and followed it with an official edict, threatening those who used it with expulsion from the academic senate, loss of scholarships, denial of degrees or caning. Gardiner’s letter turned out to be only the opening salvo in a conflict that escalated over the next six months into a major conflict between the university administration and its faculty. All the combatants recognized that this ostensibly trivial debate held the seismic politics of the Reformation in nuce, and Gardiner’s letter reflects the fact that religious conscience, academic freedom and state authority were all at stake. His argument rests on two grounds, corresponding to the two personae, private and public, that he adopts in the letter. Firstly, as a ‘private man’ with his own learning to draw on, Gardiner argued that norms in language are by nature conventional, not fixed; all

Text 1: Stephen Gardiner

33

mortal things change, and language is no exception. No doubt, modern pronunciation has diverged from the ancient. But that is no reason to revive the ancient pronunciation, even if such a revival were possible. ‘They spoke one way, we another; but each of us speaks truly.’ In response to Cheke’s claim that he was motivated by love for the truth, Gardiner asserted that ‘truth’ in language is not judged by a fixed measure: ‘judgements concerning sounds derive their authority from usage and not from reason’. The language Gardiner uses here – usus, ‘usage’ or ‘custom’ – gestures towards the broader stakes of the argument. The notion of usus or consuetudo had a long and distinguished history in writings on language, stretching back to Aristotle, but was also a key term in the anti-Catholic polemics of Cheke’s generation (McDiarmid 2012; Nicholas 2017: 76–7). There were practical arguments, too, against Cheke’s programme. Right or wrong, a new pronunciation would make English orators incomprehensible abroad, where Latin and Greek served as the international language of scholarly communication. Still worse, confusion over the proper pronunciation of Greek words in the liturgy was disrupting religious services. But even in the absence of such practical problems, Gardiner’s theoretical objections had force. He scores a palpable hit when he criticizes the circularity of Cheke’s method. Texts can only be read, not listened to; as a reference point for sounds, Cheke’s own writings were no more ‘fixed’ than the ancient works he consulted, since all of them used written characters whose pronunciation was continually changing. Gardiner invoked the skeptical philosophy of Cicero’s Academy to warn Cheke not to attribute too much certainty to mere possibilities. Amid ‘the perpetual alteration of all things’, Gardiner objected, Cheke’s arguments could claim no authority beyond his alone. The second ground of Gardiner’s argument flowed from his legal authority as Chancellor. Though Gardiner frames the letter rhetorically by setting aside his ‘judicial authority’, the terms in which he puts his arguments are those of court procedure, not university disputation. When he opposes Cheke’s and Erasmus’ argument, he does so by ‘remitting the case’ back to them (litem remitto). He appeals to Cheke’s ‘equity’; argues that Cheke must ‘grant possessions to their true possessors’; quotes a legal maxim, melius est recurrere quam male currere (‘it is better to run back than to run on badly’). ‘Through the office of which court do you [Cheke] claim this right for yourself ’, Gardiner wrote, ‘sitting as judge and arbiter appointed over us, to restore the proper and native sound of letters as though by edict?’ Authority: that was the rub. Gardiner’s principled arguments about language use and his practical ones about the bureaucratic chain of command orbit the notion of authority and the obedience it was due. The theme of obedience ran deep with Gardiner. Despite his staunch opposition to religious reform,

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Gardiner had dutifully supported the annulment of Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon with a text, De vera obedientia (‘On True Obedience’), which was among the most powerful defences of the absolute authority of his King. Cheke’s position as Regius Professor, meanwhile, with its handsome stipend of £40 per annum, was a royal dispensation, part of a scheme that Gardiner had been involved in drawing up (Logan 1977). If Gardiner’s pugilistic letter seems almost personal at times, it is because Cheke’s intransigence on such a trivial matter could only have enraged a man whose overriding deference to hierarchy had led him to compromise even the fate of his eternal soul. Cheke was brought to heel by October, but the skirmish became legendary. Eight years later Ascham wrote to Cheke from Germany that ‘the Christian religion flourishes at Augsburg despite the Emperor’s presence, just as your pronunciation flourished at Cambridge despite Gardiner’s raging’ (Ascham 1864: 1.108). Publication of the letters, too, was fuelled by religious controversy. In spring 1554, passing briefly through Basel on his flight from Marian persecution, Cheke left his manuscript copies with the evangelical Italian humanist Celio Secondo Curione, who proceeded to publish them, without Cheke’s knowledge and apparently prior to Gardiner’s death that year, in 1555 (Cheke 1555: a5r–a6r). Yet there is evidence that Cheke had intended the works for the London press as early as 1550 (Needham 1971: I.374–6, II.180n33), and Curione’s elaborate apologia as he dedicated the work to Sir Anthony Cooke – another evangelical lion of learning and one of Cheke’s companions on the trek south – may have been an attempt to provide Cheke with plausible deniability. Whatever the motives of its original publication, Cheke’s correspondence with Gardiner combined with Thomas Smith’s memoir of the period to constitute one of the richest bodies of work on Greek phonetics in the sixteenth century. Cheke’s counter-arguments prevailed for centuries, while Gardiner’s pompous thundering about obedience overshadowed the genuine strength of his linguistic arguments. Modern historians have declared him ‘outmatched in scholarship’ and rallied instead – perhaps not disinterestedly – around Cheke and Smith’s clarion defence of academic freedom: ‘if there is any place where it is lawful to disagree with others with impunity, and to express divergent opinions, such freedom should be greatest in Academies’ (Smith 1978: 117). Such sentiments have made the controversy a signal episode in the history of academic freedom. Yet the questions raised by this strange controversy have hardly been settled. By the standards of modern linguistics, Gardiner probably had the right of it, and the circularity he identified in the reformers’ findings came back to bite them. Talking about pronunciation was one thing, but in writing

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Cheke and Smith had to anchor their system in the sounds that surrounded them in the 1540s, making it a ‘sub-dialect of English’ (Allen 1987: 146). As English pronunciation itself continued to change, that sub-dialect changed with it, diverging further and further from the sounds Cheke had reconstructed, and attempts to restore them in the early twentieth century only began the cycle again. Indeed, there is an irony in the notes to the text below that explain how Gardiner’s Latin differs from the linguistic norms familiar to students today. As this anthology attests, the classical period on which those norms are based represents only a fraction of Latin’s long history as a living language. Gardiner was simply writing freely in a language in which he was fluent. The only rule, as he insisted, is change.

Bibliography Allen, W. S. (1987), Vox Graeca: A Guide to the Pronunciation of Classical Greek, 3rd edn, Cambridge. Ascham, R. (1864), The Whole Works of Roger Ascham, ed. J. A. Giles, 4 vols., London. Bywater, I. (1908), The Erasmian Pronunciation of Greek and Its Precursors: Jerome Aleander, Aldus Manutius, Antonio of Lebrixa, Oxford. Cheke, J. / Gardiner, S. (1555), De pronuntiatione Graecae potissimum linguae disputationes cum Stephano Vuintoniensi Episcopo, Basel. Hesseling, D.-C. / Pernot, H. (1919), ‘Érasme et les origines de la prononciation érasmienne’, Revue des études grecques, 32: 278–301. Hudson, W. S. (1980), The Cambridge Connection and the Elizabethan Settlement of 1559, Durham, NC. Logan, F. D. (1977), ‘The Origins of the So-Called Regius Professorships: An Aspect of the Renaissance in Oxford and Cambridge’, in D. Baker (ed.), Renaissance and Renewal in Christian History, 271–8, Oxford. McDiarmid, J. F. (2012), ‘Recovering Republican Eloquence: John Cheke versus Stephen Gardiner on the Pronunciation of Greek’, History of European Ideas, 38.3: 338–51. Needham, P. S. (1971), ‘Sir John Cheke at Cambridge and at Court’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Harvard University, 2 vols, Cambridge, MA). Nicholas, L. R. (2017), Roger Ascham’s ‘A Defence of the Lord’s Supper’, Leiden. Ryrie, A. (2003), The Gospel and Henry VIII: Evangelicals in the Early English Reformation, Cambridge. Simpson, R. (2022), ‘Disputed Sounds: Thomas Smith on the Pronunciation of Ancient Greek – Representing the Evanescent in Sound and Image’, in J. F. McDiarmid / S. Wabuda (eds), The Cambridge Connection in Tudor England: Humanism, Reform, Rhetoric, Politics, 51–102, Leiden / Boston.

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Smith, T. (1978), De recta et emendata linguae graecae pronuntiatione (1568), trans. Bror Danielsson, Stockholm.

Source of the Latin text Gardiner’s letter is presented, with minor adjustments to spelling and punctuation, as it appears in Cheke 1555: 1–17. The full correspondence was edited, along with other writings on the topic, in Siwart Haverkamp, Sylloge altera scriptorum qui de linguae Graecae vera et recta pronunciatione commentarios reliquerunt (Leiden 1740). With the exception of the exchange with Cheke, Gardiner’s letters are edited and translated in The Letters of Stephen Gardiner, ed. James Arthur Muller (Cambridge 1933).

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Latin text Stephanus Vintoniensis Episcopus, Cantabrigiensis Academiae Cancellarius, Ioanni Cheko S. D. [1] Quod pro suo iure Cancellarius ageret, ut lascivientem in re literaria inconsultam temeritatem ipsius magistratus auctoritate, retundat et comprimat, id ego per amicitiam tentandum putavi, ut quod a rudibus ac barbaris imperium exigeret, hoc a miti ingenio, et humanioribus literis mansuefacto impetrem per gratiam. Agam itaque tecum his literis non ut Cancellarius cum scholare, sed homo in literis nonnihil versatus cum homine literarum perstudioso, et ut minimum dicam, optimae certe spei adolescente,1 si modo fervor aetatis luxuriem non addiderit, noxiam illam dico, quam multi in te improbant, et nimium audacem.

Moliris enim, ut audio, omnium fere non dico cum irrisione, sed cum indignatione etiam, novum cum in Graeca, tum in Latina [2] lingua literarum sonum inducere, et apud iuventutem confirmare. Quique tradendae linguae munus Regia munificentia es assecutus, idem ipsius linguae usum novo sono extinguis. Atqui huius tui conatus gloriam (si quam expectas) praeripuit Erasmus, edito libello de Pronuntiatione,2 et ante eum alii, qui multis argumentis ostendere conati sunt, alium fuisse veteribus literarum sonum, quam qui hodie obtineat vel apud Graecos, vel apud Latinos.

Qua in re et tibi et illis litem remitto. Sed ut sonum in multis literis usu iam receptum a vetustioris saeculi pronuntiatione omnino alienum esse, ac bis per omnia, ut aiunt, distare,3 illis et testibus et auctoribus, docere queas, illum tamen verum, si ita vis, et genuinum, ac cum ipsis literis nativum sonum, quo pacto nobis queas referre, ut eundem omnes et sequamur, et retineamus, omnino non video. Sane quidem in υ, in η, in ipsis denique diphthongis alium fuisse sonum primorum literarum parentum, alium hodie nostrum, ipsa ratio indicat, et summorum virorum auctoritas clarissime confirmat. [3] Sed neque in ea re aliqua ingenii laus esse poterit, ut in perpetua rerum fere omnium mutatione sonos etiam probes non eosdem manere.

‘Ergo’, inquies, ‘restituatur quod verum est’. Hic te rogo per literas, Cheke, cuius munere decuriae hoc tibi arrogas, ut sedeas nobis praetor et arbiter

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English translation Stephen, Bishop of Winchester, Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, bids greetings to John Cheke. [1] Whatever a Chancellor may do in his own right to quell and suppress, by his own judicial authority, the rash temerity that now runs riot in literary matters, I thought that ought to be attempted amicably, so that the authority which he wrests from ignorant and uncultivated men, I might obtain – through co-operation – from a gentle intellect and one civilized through humane letters. And so I will deal with you in these letters not as a Chancellor deals with a scholar, but as a man modestly versed in letters deals with a man deeply learned in letters and, to say the least, with a young man undoubtedly developing very great promise,1 provided that the fervour of age does not add self-indulgence, I mean that fault that many disapprove in you, and an excessive presumption. For you strive, as I hear – and I say this not with mockery but [rather] with the indignation of almost all – to introduce a new sound to the letters of the Greek as well as the Latin [2] tongue and to encourage this among the youth. You of all people, who procured the office of teaching the language by the King’s generosity, are extinguishing the use of this very tongue with the new sound. Yet if glory is what you expected from this attempt of yours, Erasmus snatched it away with the publication of his little book De pronuntiatione,2 and others before him, who have tried to show with numerous arguments that the sound of letters for the ancients, whether among the Greeks or Latins, was different from what holds today. In this matter I remit the case back to you and to them. But even if you are able to teach from those witnesses and authors that in many letters the sound accepted today by custom is altogether alien to the pronunciation of an older age and that they stand, as the saying goes, ‘a double diapason’ apart,3 I still cannot see at all how you are able to restore for us that sound, however true (if you will it thus) and genuine and native to the letters themselves, in such a way that we may all follow the same one and retain it. Certainly, regarding upsilon and eta and indeed the diphthongs themselves, the first letters of our forefathers made one sound and ours another: reason itself demonstrates that, and the authority of the best men very clearly confirms it. [3] But there can be no praise of your intelligence in that matter, since you also accept that, amid the perpetual alteration of almost all things, sounds do not remain the same. ‘Well,’ you will say, ‘let what is true be restored.’ Here I ask you in writing, Cheke, through the office of which court do you claim this right for yourself,

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honorarius, qui tanquam ex edicto sonum restituas literarum proprium et nativum? Sed sit hominum consensu prorogata iurisdictio. Hic etiam atque etiam videndum est tibi, ne litem facias tuam. Et quandoquidem tibi nunc tanquam iudici loquor, sententiae illius admonebo, quam tradunt iurisconsulti: videlicet, non si probo rem tuam non esse, sequitur continuo esse meam, cum possit neutrius4 esse. ut simili modo, cum receptam improbaveris pronuntiationem, nihilo magis statuis et confirmas tuam, cum possit primus et genuinus literarum sonus, longe alius et diversus ab eo fuisse, quem superiores, quos nos legimus, et quos tu habes auctores, tradiderunt. Ut ubique valeat quod Academici docuerunt,5 susceptam quacunque de re opinionem [4] convellere non paulo sit facilius, quam statuere verum.6

Concedo itaque tibi, sed dialectico more, ut mihi fas sit repetere errorem nostrum in pronuntiatione esse manifestarium. Hunc tu corrige, si potes: interim tamen illius Horatiani memor, In vitium culpae fuga ducit, si caret arte.7 Et quis unquam sonorum artem literis descripsit tam exacte et dilucide, ut unam et eandem imitationem, quod artis et naturae est proprium, omnes assequantur. Nam ridiculum est quod ad oves et boves confugias, ac pecora campi, ut doceas nos quo pacto, βλήχω,8 βοάω, et κόκκυξ a nobis pronuntientur: praesertim cum ovis, verbi causa, quae sua voce tuis auribus insonat βλε, aliis omnino non blere, sed balare videtur.9

At vero error, si quis est, non nisi vero corrigitur. Nam alioqui error non tollitur, sed mutatur. Etsi in tanta rerum caligine omnino errandum sit, longe tolerabilius est, veterem errorem cum reliquis omnibus retinere, quam te uno auctore, novo errore admisso, omnibus nos deridendos obiicere. Atque hactenus tecum ago, quasi in linguae pronuntiatione [5] omnes hodie erraverimus, et in vero restituendo tu navaveris operam. Sed vide, quaeso, ne quem tu putaveris errorem, non omnino sit error, sed ipsum verum. Neque enim quod ab antiquitate alienum, et omnino dissentaneum est, continuo falsum est, aut minus verum, praesertim in lingua, in qua verum ab usu petitur, non ab origine aut ratione. Recte locutus est Ennius saeculo suo: a quo tamen nos in verbis rectissime dissidemus.10 Quin et in structura quoque et casuum varietate, quod apud veteres obtinuit, nos citra errorem reiicimus ac reprobamus. Itaque aliter illi locuti sunt, aliter nos, sed uterque vere. Ut restituere antiquitatem linguae11 non sit verum repetere quod desiit esse, sed quod esse iam coepit abrogare. Verum enimvero in lingua illud est, non quod prima inventio rudius eduxit, sed quod doctorum

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sitting as judge and arbiter appointed over us, to restore the proper and native sound of letters as though by edict? Rather let your legal authority defer to the consensus of men. It ought here to be clear to you again and again that you do not make your case. And since I speak to you now as though to a judge, I will remind you of that phrase that legal advisers hand down: namely, ‘if I prove that the case is not yours, it necessarily follows that it is mine, even though it might be neither’.4 In similar fashion, even should you disprove the received pronunciation, you no more establish and confirm your own – for the first and genuine sound of the letters could be very different and unlike that which our predecessors, whom we read and whom you have as authorities, handed down. If what the Academics have taught5 is everywhere valid, do not overthrow received opinion on any given subject [4] one bit more easily than you establish the truth.6 And so I grant you, albeit for the sake of argument, that I am permitted to claim that our error in pronunciation is manifest. Correct it if you can! In the meantime, however, I recall that [line of] Horace: ‘Flight from fault leads to vice if it lacks art.’7 And who has ever described the art of sound in letters so precisely and lucidly that everyone followed one and the same imitation, which is proper to art and nature? For it is ridiculous that you appeal to sheep and cows and the herds in the field, to teach us how βλήχω [blēchō, ‘bleat’],8 βοάω [boaō, ‘shout/roar’], and κόκκυξ [kokkux, ‘cuckoo’] ought to be pronounced by us; especially since a sheep, thanks to a word that in its enunciation sounds like βλε [ble] to your ears, to others seems by no means to ‘bleat’ [blere], but to ‘baa’ [balare].9 But truly error, if anything, is never corrected except by the truth. For otherwise error is not destroyed, but altered. Even if, in the great uncertainty of things one must err completely, it is far more tolerable to preserve the old error along with everyone else than to expose us to the laughter of them all, a new error having been admitted on your sole authority. And I am with you thus far: all of us today err, as it were, in the pronunciation of language, [5] and you are doing your best to restore the truth. But see, I ask you, that what you think of as error is not error at all, but the truth itself. For that which is alien to antiquity and wholly dissents from it is not necessarily false or any less true – especially in language, where the truth is sought from usage, not from origin or reason. Ennius spoke correctly in his own time, and yet we differ from him in words most correctly.10 Why, then, do we not also refuse and reject, without error, what was held among the ancients regarding the structure and variety of cases? They spoke one way, we another, but each of us [speaks] truly – such that11 to restore the antiquity of language is not, truly, to return to what has ceased to be, but to abolish what has since come about. Moreover, ‘truth’ in language is not what

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usus perpolivit et tenet. Quod si in verbis obtinet, quorum praecipua sit ratio, quanto magis in sono, qui in verbis sedem et stabilimentum habet. Quod te oro, Cheke, ne auctor esse velis iuventuti, ut linguae Latinae Graecaeve, alium sonum affingat [6] sua coniectura quam a maioribus recepit, aut quam docti hodie retinent.

At inquies, ‘Quem sequar, aut quos? cum nec Germanus cum Gallo, nec cum alterutro eorum Italus omnino consentiat’. Hic appello aequitatem tuam, ut cum omnibus per omnia consentire nequeas, ne ab omnibus per omnia velis dissentire.12 Ne confugias, oro, ad illud quod Graeci vocant τὸ ἀκριβής,13 ut aut omnia probes, aut reiicias omnia. Quisquis soluta ancora, in alterutrum litus illidit, mirum ni naufragium faciat. Ne sis in excutiendis sonis nimium Stoicus. Atque illud memineris, ut verborum, sic etiam sonorum arbitrium ab usu auctoritatem non a ratione accipere.14

Iam exspecto ut15 tu mihi obiicias proximi saeculi barbariem, quae et literas et sonos, ut tibi quidem videtur, foedissime contaminavit, quam purgare praestiterit, quam imitari. Hoc si negavero, et statum reddidero coniecturalem, Erasmum sat scio provocabis, et doctorum gregem. At vero ii non contaminationem in literarum sonis, sed mutationem ostendunt. Quod equidem non eo inficias. Sed non omnis [7] mutatio improbanda est, et literarum sonus a doctis verisimilius, qui magnam euphoniae rationem solent habere, quam a crassis et illiteraris coepit immutari. Itaque in suo Oratore Cicero refert, mulieres Romanas indoctas illas, et quae intra parietes domi continebantur, veram et genuinam latinae linguae pronuntiationem solas retinuisse: cum iam inter doctos et eruditos non maneret perinde integra et naturalis.16 Et si quaeras, nihil fere relinquunt in profanis immotum maiora ingenia. Aedes, vestes, lingua, et musica denique tota a vetere illo rudiore et agrestiore schemate defecerunt, et cultu hominum in novam fere faciem transformantur omnia.17 Quae utcunque ab antiquorum austeritate, sive mavis gravitate, dissentiant: hoc uno tamen constant et valent, quod cum18 praesentis aetatis ingenio consentiant, et politicae urbanitatis delicias referant.19

Congressum hominum, collocutionem, sermonem quotidianum, familiarem appellationem, quam subtiliter hodie concinnavit et perpolivit hominum ad summum fere perducta civilitas. [8] Et quibus aurium deliciis, o

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the first discovery more rudely produced, but what the usage of learned men has polished and preserves. And if this [argument] applies to words, to which this principle applies in particular, how much more [does it apply] to sound, which has its seat and support in words. I beseech you, Cheke, do not seek to be to the young an authority who attaches to the Latin or Greek languages, by his own conjecture, a sound different from [6] that which he received from his forefathers or what the learned today preserve. But you will ask: ‘What man or men should I follow, when neither a German agrees entirely with a Frenchman, nor an Italian with either of them?’ Here I appeal to your equity, so that just because you cannot consent to all men in all particulars, you should not seek to dissent from all men in all particulars.12 Do not take refuge, I pray, in what the Greeks call τὸ ἀκριβής [‘hair-splitting’],13 with the result that you either approve everything or reject everything. Once the anchor has been weighed, behold if any man who runs aground on either shore does not cause a shipwreck. And don’t be too Stoic in investigating sounds. And remember that, as with words, so too opinion concerning sounds derives its authority from usage and not from reason.14 Now I expect that15 you will throw in my way the barbarism of the previous age, which (as indeed it seems to you) contaminated both letters and sounds most abominably, [and] which it is preferable to purge rather imitate. If I deny this and respond with a conjectural position, I know well enough that you will call forth Erasmus and a herd of learned men. But what these men demonstrate regarding the sounds of letters is not contamination, but change. Now this you cannot taint in the same way. For not all [7] change is to be condemned, and it is more likely that the sound of letters began to be altered by the learned, who tend to have great concern for euphony, than by the crass and illiterate. Thus, in his De oratore Cicero says that it was those Roman women, uneducated and kept within the walls of their houses, who alone retained the true and genuine pronunciation of the Latin tongue, while it no longer endured equally whole and natural, even among learned and erudite men.16 And if you should ask, greater minds leave almost nothing unchanged in profane matters. Houses, clothes, language and, finally, the whole of music have defected from that ancient, ruder, and more rustic form, and almost all things are transformed by human civilization into new shapes.17 In whatever way they diverge from the austerity or, if you prefer the gravity of the ancients, nevertheless in this one respect they stand firm and prevail: that they18 accord with the spirit of the present age and reflect the tastes of metropolitan urbanity.19 How subtly these days does civility shape and polish the people’s engagement, their conversation, their daily speech, their familiar labels, once it has been introduced to nigh the greatest of them. [8] And for these

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vocali alicubi reiecta, quod vastus videretur sonus et rudis, u substituta est.20 Nec amplius ‘sont’, sed ‘sunt’: et ‘servus’, non ‘servos’ dicimus.21 Verisimilius est eiusdem aetatis homines delicatiores, quo tenuiorem et exiliorem sonum efficerent, diphthongi sonos pronuntiatione confudisse, et in unum coegisse. Ut quemadmodum apud Hebraeos scribae Care habebant, et Catheb, ut aliud scriberent, aliud legerent:22 sic etiam tum apud Graecos, tum apud Latinos, diphthongos quidem scriptas retinere placuit, ad internoscenda vocabula: nec scriptas tamen pronuntiare, ne aures offenderent. Quid, quod apud Latinos etiam simile quiddam videmus observatum ab eo qui carmine id testatum reliquit: Scribe Dii, lege Di, si vis urbanus haberi.23 Hoc carmen si minus ad praeiudicium valeat editum ab infimae classis homine, valebit certe ad testimonium, homines omni saeculo urbanitatis rationem semper habuisse. Neque ignorantia lapsos, aliud pro [9] alio induxisse: sed scienteis ac prudenteis24 ad saeculi sui rationem ut caetera fere omnia, sic etiam et numeros, et modos, et sonos attemperasse, ac eos a priscorum austeritate nonnihil data opera, deflexisse.

Hunc hominem barbarum, cuius carmen modo citavi hac quidem in parte scientia haud superas Cheke. Quod ideo dico, ne omnino spernas et contemnas auctorem. Novit enim duas in dii esse vocaleis, ac proinde re ipsa duos sonos: hoc uno superas, quod ille modestia quadam, scientiam reticendam censuit, nec intempestive proferendam, cum aures soni diductione offenderet. Tu nulla urbanitatis ratione habita, ridicula de usu scripturae collectione persuasus, enuntianda censes omnia, quae scribuntur, et nostri saeculi auribus sonum ingeris absurdum et absonum illum, videlicet quem priscis olim placuisse fallacibus coniecturis vis videri comprehendisse.

At enim dices, ‘veritatis amore ducor, et trahor’. Postulas ergo ut credamus tibi te verum reperisse. At vero in sonis non verum est quod olim fuit, sed quod nunc est, ut idem tibi saepius repetam. [10] Una est Dei veritas, quae nunquam esse desinet. Mortalia facta peribunt, nedum Sermonis stet honos et gratia vivax. Utere moribus antiquis, inquit ille, verbis vero praesentibus, et multo magis sonis.25 Vide quaeso apud nos in nostra διαλέκτῳ, utrum ‘osculum’ iam ‘kusse’ dices, vel ‘kysse’. Quod exemplum ideo tibi propono, ut videas apud nos sonum literae υ Graecae, quae antiquioribus et rudibus sonabat u, urbanitate quadam

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pleasures of the ears, the vowel u has been substituted for o, which is occasionally rejected on the grounds that it seems a vast and rude sound.20 So we no longer say sont, but sunt [‘they are’]; servus, not servos [‘slave’].21 It is more likely that the daintier men of the same age, in order to make the sound thinner and weaker, merged the sounds of the diphthong in pronunciation and combined them into one. Just as the scribes of the Hebrews had Care and Catheb, with the result that they wrote one way and read another:22 so too it pleased the Greeks, and likewise the Latins, to retain the diphthongs in writing, the better to distinguish between words, and yet not to pronounce them as written, lest they offend the ears. We see that a similar thing was also observed among the Latins from one who left this testimony in a poem: Write Dii, read Di, if urbane you want to be.23 If this poem is less valuable as a precedent for having been composed by an individual of the lowest class, it will at least serve as testimony that people in every age have always had the excuse of urbanity. Nor [is it the case] that those who have fallen into ignorance introduced one [sound] for [9] another, but that knowledgeable and prudent men24 even tailored numbers, modes and sounds to the fashion of their own age, just as [they do] with almost everything else; and they modified these from the austerity of their ancestors with no little effort. By no means, Cheke, do you surpass in knowledge this barbarous man whose poem I just cited in my behalf. I say this so that you do not contemn and spurn the author outright. For he knew that there were two vowels in dii, and hence, indeed, two sounds. But you do surpass him in this one respect, which is that he, with a kind of modesty, judged that his knowledge ought to be left unspoken and not offered out of season, since he might offend the ear by his division of the sound. But you, having no excuse of urbanity and persuaded by a ridiculous collection of writings on usage, you think every bit of what is written ought to be enunciated, and you stuff into the ears of our age that absurd and discordant sound; that is, you want, by false conjectures, to be seen to embrace [a sound] which [seems to have] once pleased our forebears. But you will say, ‘I am led and drawn on by the love of truth’. Therefore you ask us to believe you [when you say] that you have discovered the truth. But truly, when it comes to sounds, the truth is not what once was, but what is now – as I would repeat the same point to you again and again. [10] The only truth is God’s, which will never cease. Mortal deeds will perish; still less might the honour and grace of Speech remain alive. Enjoy ancient customs, that man says, but [use] current words and, much more, [current] sounds.25 Look, I ask whether among us, in our διάλεκτος [‘dialect’], for ‘kiss’ you will say kusse or kysse. I thus put this example to you so that you might see that among us the sound of the Greek letter upsilon, which made the sound

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loquendi in sonum ι literae extenuatum. Sed et huius η literae vastitatem notavit olim per iocum aequalis meus, homo doctus et facetus, atque ingenio admodum amoeno et urbano, humanioribus etiam literis instructo, Nicolaus Rovule, cum ego adhuc essem Cantabrigiae.26 Hic enim inter congerrones, cum de virgine deformi sermo incideret, lusit hoc carmine ‘Si pulchra est virgo, sin turpis, vurgo vocetur’; nimirum ut rei significatae deformitatem, vocabuli sonus vastior aliqua ex parte referret atque exprimeret.27 Adeo quidem sonorum mutatio, non temere, aut ignorantia, ut tu putas, sed iudicio quodam et urbanitatis causa [11] facta videatur: scilicet ut mitioribus et mansuetioribus ingeniis, sonus verborum aliqua ex parte responderet.28 Habet lingua suam musicam, in numeris, cantu, et sonis. Quorum numerus quidem et cantus, syllabae videlicet depressio vel elevatio, notis et literis exprimi possunt, sonus non potest. Quod si potest arte et literis tradi sonus, age artem sonorum suscipe tibi verbis explicandam, ut certam normam omnes habeamus quam sequamur et imitemur. Explica dilucide quid soni intersit inter ε et η iudicio tuo. Primum autem utriusque literae sonum seorsum definias suis regionibus, ne quis oberret. Deinde si quid sit cognati, illud adde. Postremum demonstra, quantulum intersit. Hoc si praestare non potes, noli iactare te ex literis mutis didicisse, quod mutis literis nequeas exprimere.

‘Non sonat’, inquies, ‘η ut nostrum ι’; non pugnabo. Sed tu mihi non quid η sonet, sed quid non sonet, conaris ostendere. At ego a te peto, ut non quid non sonet, sed quid sonet, doceas. Hic haerebis, et confugies ad ovium balatum. Ergo te relicto praeceptore, [12] quaeram oves. Ego definitionem volo, et tu coniecturam affers, incertam quidem illam, et plane ridiculam. Hic vero prae indignitate exclamare subit, quod habet proverbium, Lingua quo vadis?29 Video morbum30 invalescere quem divus Gregorius concinno vocabulo γλωσσαλγίαν vocat:31 et exitum expecto brevi, ni succurratur, tristem et gravem, ut ex Cantabrigia nobis deflenda μεταμορφώσει Babyloniam reddas, aut si quid est Babylonia confusius.32

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‘u’ for more ancient and primitive men, has been stretched thin by a certain urbanity of speaking into the sound of the letter iota. The vastness of this letter eta, however, was once noted through a joke by a fellow of mine, Nicholas Rovule, a learned and clever man with an exceedingly charming wit, urbane and versed in humane letters, when I was still at Cambridge.26 Indeed when among the lads conversation turned to a disgraced virgin, this fellow joked with this poem: If she be noble, let her be called ‘virgin’ [virgo], but if she be disgraced, ‘vurgin’ [vurgo]. So, evidently, the vaster sound of the word to some extent refers to and expresses the deformity of the thing signified.27 To that extent, at least, the mutation of sounds seems to occur not blindly or through ignorance, as you imagine, but by means of a certain judgement and for the sake of urbanity. [11] That is to say (for the benefit of meeker and tamer minds): so that the sound of the words corresponds in some respect.28 Language has its own music, in numbers, song and sounds. Of these, number and also song (which is to say the lowering and raising of the syllable) can be expressed in notes and letters, but sound cannot. Now, if it is possible to communicate sound in art and letters, go ahead, burden yourself with explaining the art of sound in words, so that we might all have a fixed standard to follow and imitate. Explain clearly what sound lies, in your judgement, between epsilon and eta. First, however, you ought to delimit the sound of each of these letters within their separate regions, lest anyone should go astray. Then, if there is any similarity, mention it. Finally, demonstrate the minute differences among them. If you cannot prevail in this, do not boast that you have learned from mute letters what you are unable to express with mute letters. ‘Eta’, you will say, ‘does not sound like our iota’; I will not fight [you]. Yet you purport to show me not how eta sounds, but how it does not sound. And I entreat you to teach me not how it does not sound, but how it sounds. Here you meet a sticking point, and you will flee to your bleating sheep. Very well: since you, their teacher, have been rendered superfluous, [12] I will ask the sheep. I want a definition, and you offer conjecture, and indeed an uncertain and obviously ridiculous one. But here it comes to mind to exclaim in view of your shamelessness, as the proverb has it, ‘Tongue, whither wouldst thou?’29 I see that disease30 worsening, which the blessed Gregory refers to with the elegant expression γλωσσαλγία [glōssalgia, ‘loose tongue’];31 and unless it is treated I expect all too soon a sad and grave end, such that in place of a Cambridge which we ought to lament, you render by metamorphosis [μεταμόρφωσις ] a Babel, or if anything, something even more confused than Babel.32

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Et tamen quo movearis ut contra doctorum virorum, qui tecum hac de re egerunt, sententiam obstinate pergas, non possum deprehendere. Siquidem gloria in re tam inani quae potest esse? Utilitas certe nulla est. Sed quid non mortalia pectora cogis veri quaerendi fames?33 ‘Caetera’, inquies, ‘nihil moror.34 Sed cum Fabii partes iam suscepero, et non cunctando, sed audendo rem, id est, ipsum verum restituere conor. Quod Fabius etiam fecit, non ponam rumores ante salutem’.35 Exemplum placet. Sed cunctationem desidero in constituendo vero, ne nimium praeceps, pro vero arripias [13] quod est obscurum. Hoc unum disce ab Academicis, ex sua luce et propriis notis distingui et comprehendi verum, unde scientia nascitur.36 Quod ideo dico, ut si quod temere aggressus sis usque tuendum putaveris, ne frustra in eo labores, ut potius convellas nostra, quam ut confirmes tua. Nam quod ad me attinet, non contendam vel de origine soni, quae antiquata est: vel de oratione, quae nulla est. Alius est sonus nunc quam qui olim fuit. Equidem non diffiteor. Habet diphthongus sonos duos duabus vocalibus convenienteis.37 Accedo. At ego, qua modulatione illos concinnarant38 veteres, omnino haereo. Et hic ab ore pendemus tuo, ut aliquanto clarius distinguas λοιμός et λιμός, quam apud Aristophanem Apollo, ut pronuntiationem39 clare audiamus verbis propriis et sonantibus a te expressam.40 Deinde cum sonos eviceris et statueris antiquos, illa inter nos manebit controversia, an euphoniae causa, eas posteris aut tollere licuerit aut variare.

Quod si cum nostros improbaveris, tuos adhuc ambiguos et incertos reliqueris, desine (quaeso) nobis [14] negotium facessere, et suas possessoribus permitte possessiones, ut ne aliis quam veris dominis cedere cogantur. Noli committere, ut te auctore malum bene positum de loco moveatur: praesertim cum hoc sublato quod tu malum vocas, boni nihil habeas quod reponas. Nam bonum nulla ex parte attingit, quod nec auctoritatem habet, qualia tua in sonis sunt omnia, videlicet ex te primum nata: nec etiam veritatem, cum sint incerta.41 Auctoritas praesentis seculi tota a nobis est: et, ut ego aio, etiam veritas. Quam non in sonorum continua et certa observatione pono, cuiusmodi nec ulla est, nec esse aut potest, aut debet: sed in doctorum hominum tum iudicio, tum placito collocatam affirmo. Sit omnibus rebus suum senium, sua iuventus: et ut verba verbis, sic etiam sonis sonos succedere permittamus.

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And, nevertheless, I cannot fathom what provokes you to press on obstinately, contrary to the counsel of learned men who have acted with you in this matter. Is it possible that there can be glory in such an inane matter? Certainly, there is no utility. But to what lengths will you not drive the hearts of men, o thirst for seeking truth?33 ‘I pay no attention to other matters’,34 you will say; ‘but although I now take the side of Fabius, I attempt to restore the matter, that is, truth itself, not by delaying but by daring. As Fabius also did, so do I place safety before popular acclaim.’35 A fine example. But I desire delay in constituting the truth, lest in place of the truth you seize too precipitously [13] on what is obscure. Learn this alone from the Academics: truth is understood and distinguished by its own light and its proper grounds, from which knowledge is born.36 I say this for the following reason: if you believe that something you have approached blindly should still be defended, do not work on it in vain, such that you would rather uproot our [arguments] than support your own. For as far as I am concerned, I will not argue about the origin of sound, which is ancient, nor about speech, which is not. Sound is now something other than what it once was. Truly I do not deny it. The diphthong has two sounds, corresponding to two vowels:37 I accept it. But I stick absolutely at the inflection that the ancients gave them.38 And here we hang on your word in the hope that you may distinguish λοιμός [loimos, ‘plague’] and λιμός [limos, ‘famine’] somewhat more clearly than Apollo does in Aristophanes, so that we may clearly hear its pronunciation39 expressed by you in appropriate words and sounds.40 And in the end, once you have vindicated and established the ancient sounds, that controversy will persist between us, whether, for the sake of euphony, it was permitted among the ancients to remove or vary them. For if you end up abandoning your own [arguments], which so far are ambiguous and uncertain, in the course of rejecting ours, desist (I ask) [14] from creating work for us and grant possessions to their true possessors, so that they are not forced to yield to anyone other than their true lords. Do not give occasion for a well-situated evil to be moved from its place by your initiative, especially since, having removed what you call evil, you have nothing good to replace it with. For there is nothing good in that which has neither authority (such as all your [arguments] concerning sounds, which are clearly conceived by you for the first time), nor even truth (since they are doubtful).41 In the present age all authority flows from us. And truth, too, as I say, which I do not find in the continuous and determined observation of sounds of a kind that none exists nor could exist nor should: rather, I assert that this is gathered as often out of the judgement as of the belief of learned men. Let all things have their old age and their youth: and as words [succeed] words, let us also permit sounds to succeed sounds.

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Certe quidem inter legendum42 nihil prohibeo, quominus tuos, ut de verbis antiquis, sic etiam de sonis priscorum diligenter admoneas: videlicet ut sciant tantum, non etiam utantur, ne ridiculi omnibus fiant, [15] et cum sibi ipsis, tum et amicis et patriae prorsus inutiles. Egregii sane oratores nobis prodibunt, quos nemo intelliget. Et quam non facile dediscunt quae imbiberunt pueri. An tu hoc fato nobis natus es, ut usum literarum auferas, tanquam male meritis aut indignis? Nihil te commovet patrium solum, in quo genitus, altus et educatus es, parentibus probis, atque adeo optimis? Considera tecum fabulae quam aggressus es et ἐπίτασιν et καταστροφήν.43 De epitasi hoc videmus, contentiones et querelas inhumanas oriri. Sic est ingenium humanum, ut delectet aenigmatis ac paradoxis, immaturo praesertim iudicio, et nullo rerum usu confirmato. Insultant, ut audio, in senes pueri, exotica pronuntiatione gloriantes et efferentes sese, ac pro delectamento fere habent a maioribus nata44 non intelligi. Inter sacra chorus perstrepit, sono quodam novo et obsoleto. Iuventuti accrescit arrogantia et contemptus. Senes iuvenilem temeritatem non ferunt. Et prout quisque doctissimus est, ita maxime indignatur verum a falso tam valide impugnari, tanta [16] cum pertinacia, ut si vera sunt quae feruntur, tu ipse olim cum de eo apud te agerent viri docti et probi, ratione tandem destitutus ad illud tyrannicum confugeris: ‘Sic volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas’.

Haec me coegerunt ut ad te scriberem, omniaque per literas obsecrationibus et obtestationibus apud te experirer, si quo modo possem hoc obstinatum animi tui propositum frangere et retardare. Itaque deposita persona magistratus, tanquam privatus cum privato sic causam tractavi, ut nihil veritus sim, etiam infirmiora quaedam et persona quam sustineo indigna admiscere: sed hoc ago, ut si quid reliqui sit in animo tuo molle et tenerum, illud commoveam, ut aliqua saltem pateat persuasioni accessus. Audi paulisper Cheke: Melius est, ut habet proverbium, de media via recurrere, quam semper currere male.45 Me clamitante, saltem siste gradum. Atque illud tecum cogita, si tibi homini privato aequum videatur cum pertinacia insistere in eo quod aggressus sis vel hoc solum nomine, quod id putes esse verum, quanto magis mihi incumbendum [17] sit, ut pro iure magistratus omnino impediam et coerceam, quod ad perniciem literarum spectare videam. Idque nulla firma

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In lectures,42 by all means, I do not prohibit you from diligently advising your [students] as about ancient words, so too about the sounds of our forebears: as long as it is only for their knowledge, not their use, lest they [the students] be made ridiculous to all, [15] and as utterly useless to their friends and their country as they are to themselves. We will produce exceptional orators, to be sure, whom nobody can understand. And how difficult it is for people to forget what they imbibed as boys! Can it be that you were born to us with this fate, that you would steal away our use of letters, as though we were unworthy or merited ill? Does your country’s soil not concern you, on which you have been born, raised and educated, by good parents or even the best? Consider for yourself both the ἐπίτασις [epitasis, ‘complication’] and the καταστροφή [catastrophē, ‘denouement’] of the play you have attempted.43 Concerning the epitasis we see that it gives rise to inhuman quarrels and contentions. Such is the human mind that it delights in enigmas and paradoxes, most of all when the judgement is immature and not at all assured by the experience of things. Boys are scoffing at old men, I hear, puffing themselves up and glorying in exotic pronunciation, and offspring44 generally take delight in not being understood by their parents. In the middle of religious services the chorus bellows confusedly with some new and obsolete sound. Arrogance and contempt swell among the youth. Old men do not tolerate juvenile temerity. And the more deeply learned someone is, the more he resents seeing truth assailed by false [arguments], so strongly [16] and with such pertinacity; for if the reports are true, on one occasion, when honest and learned men were pleading the case before you, you yourself fled, deserted at last by reason, to that tyrannical statement: ‘Thus I wish, thus I command, let desire take the place of reason.’ These things have compelled me to write to you and to put them all to the test, by means of supplications and entreaties in a letter to you, in case I might in some way discourage and delay this obstinate cast of mind of yours. Accordingly, having set aside a magistrate’s persona, I have dealt thus with the case as one private man to another, so that I am in no way afraid to add even certain matters that are more trivial, and unworthy of the role which I play. But I do this so that, if anything peaceful and tender remains in your heart, I may move it, so that a path at least may somehow lie open to persuasion. Listen for a moment, Cheke: it is better (as the proverb has it) to run back from the middle of the road than to run on badly.45 As I am declaring loudly: at all events, abandon this course. And think about this: if it seems reasonable to you, a private man, to persevere obstinately with what you have attempted on the sole basis that you think it is truth, how much more does it fall to me, [17] in my rights as a magistrate, to hinder and curb utterly what I see regarding the ruin of letters, and that born of no firm

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ratione, sed temeritate natum. Nam hoc tibi persuasissimum cupio, si admonitione amica nihil profecero, non defuturum me officio meo, ut hanc temeritatem comprimam, qua licet auctoritate, ne malum hoc latius serpat et evagetur. Tibi in manu est ut amicum me habeas, aut tuae pertinaciae Cancellarium insensum. Bene vale.

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argument, but of temerity. For I want you to be in no doubt whatsoever that, if I can accomplish nothing with a friendly warning, I will not fail in my office to suppress this temerity by lawful authority, so that this evil will not slither abroad and spread. It is in your hands whether you have me as a friend or a Chancellor enraged at your pertinacity. Farewell.

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Commentary 1 Though Cheke was already Regius Professor, at the time of this letter he was still just twenty-seven years old. By calling him adolescens Gardiner (aged fifty-eight) finds another way to pull rank. 2 Desiderius Erasmus, De recta Latini Graecique sermonis pronuntiatione (Paris: Simon de Colines, 1528). 3 Desiderius Erasmus, Adagia, trans. by Margaret Mann Phillips et al., Collected Works of Erasmus 31–6 (Toronto 1982), 1.2.63: ‘Δὶς διὰ πασῶν, Double diapason. By this proverb was signified a great difference or very long interval.’ 4 neutrius is genitive singular, an alternative to neutri. 5 docuerunt is perfect, but functions in this maxim almost as a Latin gnomic aorist. 6 One of two idiosyncratic but recognizable references to the Ciceronian school of Academic skepticism, which held that one must suspend judgement given that certain knowledge is impossible. Gardiner also draws on Cicero when he warns Cheke not to be ‘too Stoic’, criticizing his reliance on certainty derived from reason. 7 Horace, Ars poetica 31. 8 βλήχω usually appears in the form βληχάομαι. 9 The best evidence of ancient pronunciation included surviving transcriptions of animal sounds; Cheke and Smith relied on many examples of this kind, as did Erasmus in De recta . . . pronuntiatione. Gardiner’s point is that those transcriptions were pronounced differently by different users of the Greek language. 10 Quintus Ennius (239–169 bce), an early Roman poet, is invoked because his Latin looked old even by the time of Cicero, let alone by the Renaissance. 11 In this unusual formulation ut technically introduces a result clause and the infinitive restituere is acting as a verbal noun in the nominative. 12 It is possible to have both ut and ne each governed by appello, the ut clause being necessary, as it carries a concessive cum-clause. 13 Corrected from ἀκριβές.

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14 The Stoics took Cratylism to an extreme; their etymological contortions in search of rational foundations for the sound of words are mocked in Cicero, De natura deorum 3.24.63, and Augustine, De dialectica 6. 15 Gardiner uses exspecto with ut and a subjunctive, rather than the usual accusative and infinitive construction. 16 In Cicero, De oratore 3.45, Crassus explains that women could retain older forms of speech because, confined to the home, they had limited exposure to the evolution of the language in society at large. On this passage and Roman writing on female speech see Joseph Farrell, Latin Language and Latin Culture From Ancient to Modern Times (Cambridge 2001), 65–9. 17 Perhaps a literary allusion to the opening lines of Ovid’s Metamorphoses 1.1–2: in nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas | corpora (‘my spirit moves to speak of forms changed into new bodies’). – Gardiner uses the Greek form of the word (schema, schemata) in preference to the Latin (schema, schemae). 18 Reading cum for cum cum in the original. 19 Gardiner’s ideas about the effects of urbanitas on language derive from Roman rhetorical writings such as Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 6.3.17, 103– 12; see E. S. Ramage, Urbanitas: Ancient Sophistication and Refinement (Norman, OK, 1973), 52–76. 20 By vastus Gardiner means, here and later in the letter, a gaping or cavernous sound. 21 The older forms of these words can be found in early Latin writers such as Ennius and Plautus. 22 Gardiner transcribes Hebrew koreh and k’tiv, denoting the oral and the written Torah respectively. 23 A popular mnemonic since at least the thirteenth century. 24 Gardiner employs the post-classical substitution of -eis for -es endings of third declension plural nouns/adjectives (scienteis, prudenteis, and a little later vocaleis [‘voicings’]), perhaps provocatively: first, to prove his point that orthography of the classical languages changes (and has changed) over time, and second, that those changes may take place independent of parallel changes in pronunciation. 25 Adapted from Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 1.10.4. 26 The surname as written is hard to construe in English. Possibly Nicholas Rowley, a scholar of Queens’ College from 1502 to 1510, who appears to have

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remained in Cambridge through the next decade, while Gardiner was at Trinity Hall. 27 A crude joke, though it offers Gardiner a sophisticated argument: the narrow ‘i’ of virgo is ‘deformed’ by sexual intercourse into the gaping ‘u’ of vurgo. 28 Gardiner presents the polemical consequences of Rovule’s (or Rowley’s) poem, in two result clauses, as its syntactical consequences. The first coyly explains the poem’s innuendo (ut rei significatae . . . exprimeret); the second provides a bowdlerized version for the easily scandalized (ut mitioribus . . . responderet). In both cases the point is that the pronunciation of virgo was altered through intentional witticism, and to that extent (adeo) counters Cheke’s argument that the new pronunciation is the result of ignorance or error. 29 Erasmus, Adagia 2.2.39: ‘Its message is that the tongue can be the greatest benefit to mortals and again can bring on them the greatest disasters, although as a member of the body it is very small indeed’. 30 Gardiner develops his reference to Erasmus by depicting linguistic obsession as a ‘disease’ (morbum), just as Erasmus did in his Ciceronianus of 1528. 31 The most likely source is line 1 of Gregory of Nazianzus, De dogmate et constitutione episcoporum (oratio 20), in Patrologiae graecae, ed. by J.-P. Migne, 161 vols (Paris 1857–66), 35.1065; another possibility is Gregory of Nyssa, In sanctum pascha (oratio 3), in Patrologiae graecae 46.653B. Neither Gregory was responsible for coining the term, which already appears in Euripides, Medea 525. 32 Gardiner contrasts uniformity with correctness: if Cheke persists in his reforms, he will transform a Cambridge united in its modern pronunciation of Greek (even if that pronunciation, lamentably, differs from ancient practice) into a Babel of multiple pronunciations. 33 Adapted from Virgil, Aeneid 3.56–7: quid non mortalia pectora cogis, | auri sacra fames? (‘to what lengths will you not drive the hearts of men, accursed thirst for gold?’): Gardiner has substituted veri quaerendi (‘seeking the truth’) for Virgil’s auri (‘gold’). 34 moror also means ‘I delay’, anticipating the discussion of ‘delaying’ in the quotation that follows. 35 Fabius Maximus ‘Cunctator’ (‘the delayer’), a Roman general of the third century bce, who adopted novel guerrilla tactics to great effect against

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Hannibal in the Second Punic War. Cicero, De officiis 1.84, attributes to Ennius the lines adapted here: unus homo nobis cunctando restituit rem. | noenum rumores ponebat ante salutem. | ergo postque magisque viri nunc gloria claret (‘One man by delaying restored the state to us. He did not put popular opinion above safety: so now the man’s glory shines ever brighter with passing time’). 36 For Gardiner’s appeal to the ‘Academics’, see n. 6. 37 See n. 24 on the unusual -eis form. 38 Contracted from pluperfect concinnaverant (similarly attemperasse). 39 Reading pronuntiationem for pronuntiatione in the original, to agree with expressam. 40 An ancient oracle, ambiguous on account of its pronunciation, attributed the cause of an impending Dorian war to either plague (λοιμός) or famine (λιμός). The ambiguity is noted in the scholia on Aristophanes, Knights 729, and most famously discussed in Thucydides, Peloponnesian War 2.54. 41 nata and incerta are both in agreement with omnia. 42 By this period the verb legere encompassed ‘lectures’ in the academic sense: the teacher, who owned the book, would literally ‘read’ from it to his students, commenting on issues of language and meaning as he went. 43 These terms for the parts of a drama derive from Donatus’ commentaries on Terence, though by 1542 they were also associated with Aristotle’s Poetics, as, for example, in Sophoclis tragoediae septem, ed. by Joachim Camerarius (Haguenau 1534), 6v. See T. W. Baldwin, Shakspere’s Five-Act Structure (Urbana 1947), 198. 44 The form nata (from natus, ‘child, offspring’) is unusual; the plural would normally be nati. 45 Melius est recurrere quam male currere, a legal maxim.

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Why Tudor Cambridge Needs Greek Richard Croke (1489–1558), Orationes duae Aaron J. Kachuck and Benedick C. F. McDougall

Introduction The English apostle of Hellenism, Richard Croke (1489–1558), studied at Eton College before proceeding as a scholar to King’s College, Cambridge (BA 1510). Thereafter William Grocyn introduced him to the study of Greek in Oxford or London, and in 1511 he studied in Paris under Erasmus and Girolamo Aleandro. Erasmus proved a role model for Croke and provided much support throughout his early career. When Croke came to teach Greek himself, he followed Erasmus’ example by using Plutarch and Lucian as model authors and Theodore of Gaza’s grammar (whose ‘notoriously difficult fourth book’, on syntax, he translated in 1516).1 Croke’s writing, including the Orationes duae, is peppered with Erasmian expressions that attest to his close study of the Adagia (1500–36). In 1515 Croke began teaching Greek at Cologne, where he faced considerable resistance to Greek (a small dedicated class, including Petrus Mosellanus, excepted). He then moved to a post at Leipzig, where he distinguished himself: Crocus regnat in academia Lipsicensi (‘Croke reigns in the academic world at Leipzig’), wrote Erasmus to Linacre in June 1516 (Allen 2.247). Here Croke completed his edition of Ausonius, whose bilingualism made him an appropriate project for a young humanist as accomplished in Greek as in Latin. As the dedicatory epistle to his edition of Ausonius advertises, he was the first Greek lecturer at these institutions and had to defend the study of the language against significant opposition. After a brief spell teaching in Dresden, in the spring of 1517, with the help of Bishop John Fisher, Croke returned to Cambridge to receive an MA and succeed Erasmus as the University’s foremost reader in Greek.2 Croke’s Orationes duae (‘Two orations’) were written within a short time of each other (in 1519) and published in 1520 against a broader backdrop of 59

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conflicts and competitions over the introduction of Greek studies to universities across Europe and in England.3 Yet, although Greek was a major battlefield for Catholics and Reformers, Croke toes a delicate line by emphasizing the importance of Greek for reading both Scripture (hence satisfying Reformers’ call for a return ad fontes, ‘to the sources’) and for reading patristic literature. Keeping a low profile on doctrinal questions, Croke focuses, instead, on intramural competition. In Oxford, Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester, had founded Corpus Christi College in 1516, establishing a public reader in Greek. In 1518 tensions there escalated into the crisis known as the ‘Trojan War’; Thomas More’s letter of 29 March 1519 attacked these anti-Greek Trojans and defended the study of Greek as essential to, among other things, theological study.4 More also went on to stoke the traditional rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford, urging the Oxonians to continue to outshine their rivals, not least their rivals’ ‘large individual contributions to the salary of the Greek professor’.5 For his side, Croke’s first oration warns that scholars at the rival university are already devoted to the study of Greek and have a veritable army of humanists among their ranks. Both universities’ claims amount to provocative hyperbole, as each institution had influential supporters and detractors of Greek learning.6 Both, too, were viewed in Europe as behind the Hellenizing times, as is suggested by a remark on Croke in one of the Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum, a collection of satirical letters written by humanists targeting their opponents in Cologne; the comically parochial ‘Irus Perlirus’ expresses his incredulity that an eminent humanist could emerge among the Britons, penitus toto divisos orbe (‘completely separated from the entire world’): ‘There is also another who lectureth on Greek, Richard Croke by name, and he cometh from England; and just now I said, “Cometh he from England? The devil he doth! I believe that if there dwelt a Poet where the pepper groweth, he would straightway come to Leipsic!” ’7 The Orationes duae represent a stirring defence of humanistic study, and of Greek in particular. So persuasive was Croke’s case that Henry VIII began studying Greek under his tutelage around 15198 and in the following year paid his stipend as lecturer, with the Royal Household accounts listing a payment of £5 to ‘Mr Croke, reading Greek at Cambridge’ (Brewer 1867: 409; cf. Diggle 1994: xviii). The Orationes were published in Paris by Simon de Colines in 1520, graced significantly with a dedicatory letter from Gilbert Ducher, an important Hellenist and poet of the Lyon School in France.9 Excerpts below come from both orations. In the first oration Croke outlines a broad canon of study available to students of Greek, including theological and philosophical works from throughout the ancient world and works fundamental to the Christian faith. He highlights Greek’s lofty patrons

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(including Emperor Maximilian I and Pope Leo X) and, in turn, their defence of embattled scholars. He concludes by emphasizing the discipline required to master Greek and by promising to support his students in this arduous, but rewarding, course of study. The second oration rebukes tutors wary of Greek study. In this short address Croke emphasizes Greek’s fundamental contribution to the Christian faith and links Cambridge’s future reputation with the cutting-edge science of contemporary Europe: Greek literature. Taking over from the Continental Erasmus, Croke, a son of Cambridge who returned home having won glory in Germany, helped mark the beginning of an institutionalized English tradition of Greek teaching and paved the way for the future work at Cambridge of John Cheke, Roger Ascham and the Protestant martyr Nicholas Ridley. His Orations marked the beginning of this institutionalization, and it is therefore no surprise to find Croke’s Orations relied heavily on two established Roman authors who were at the heart of humanistic curricula: Quintilian and Aulus Gellius.10 Citation and adaptation of the former suffuse both speeches, in ways often (but not invariably) flagged by Croke, while the latter was an especially fitting source for orations about Greek’s value: in fact, Gellius had joined Lucian, Plutarch and Herodian as a Greek text [sic!] enjoyed by an Oxford graduate whom Roger Ascham met at court.11 Indeed, contemporary volumes of Gellius often put Greek epigraphs at their opening, a practice more common for Greek-language texts. Interestingly, Greek citations, which serve as frontispiece and which abound in Croke’s 1515 Leipzig oration, are rare in the Orationes duae: the goal of these lectures was to attract students to the study of Greek, not to presuppose its mastery.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6

Jayne 1995: 86; Botley 2010: 22–4. For further on Croke’s life see Woolfson 2008. Goldhill 2002: 14–59; Nelson 2004: 19–48; Saladin 2000. Scott-Craig 1948: 20. Scott-Craig 1948: 23. However, Erasmus’ comparison of the two universities in a letter of 1519 (Allen 3.546) also favoured Cambridge, citing Bishop Fisher’s support (cf. Mayor 1863: 245). Croke goes yet further in the second oration (sig fpas. d. ir), where his teasing description of Oxford as a colony of Cambridge apparently originated with John Caius, who observed that William Smyth (co-founder of Brasenose College), Thomas Rotherham (who built part of Lincoln College) and Richard Fox (founder of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in 1517) had all been educated at Cambridge (see à Wood 1796: 7). Croke takes it, if only rhetorically, as fact.

62 7 8 9 10 11

An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities Stokes 1909: 508. Scarisbrick 1968: 15. On Ducher see Laigneau-Fontaine and Langlois-Pézeret 2015. On Gellius see Hexter 1998; on Quintilian see Grafton 2004. Vos 1989: 166.

Bibliography Bauch, G. (1896), ‘Die Anfänge des Studiums der griechischen Sprache und Litteratur in Norddeutschland’, in Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für deutsche Erziehungs- und Schulgeschichte, 6: 47–74, 75–98, 163–93. Bishop, C. (2016), ‘How to Make a Roman Demosthenes: Self-Fashioning in Cicero’s Brutus and Orator’, CJ , 111.2: 167–92. Blair, A. (2013), ‘Revisiting Renaissance Encyclopaedism’, in J. König / G. Woolf (eds), Encyclopaedism from Antiquity to the Renaissance, 379–97, Cambridge. Brewer, J. S. (1967), Letters and Paper, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII , 3.1, London. Cummings, B. A. (2004), ‘Pliny’s Literate Elephant and the Idea of Animal Language in Renaissance Thought’, in E. Fudge (ed.), Renaissance Beasts: Of Animals, Humans, and Other Wonderful Creatures, 164–85, Champaign (IL). De Rijk, L. M. (1965), ‘Ἐγκύκλιος Παιδεία: A Study of Its Original Meaning’, Vivarium, 3: 24–93. Diggle, J. (1994), Cambridge Orations 1982–1993: A Selection, Cambridge. Grendler, P. F. (2002), The Universities of the Italian Renaissance, Baltimore. Grendler, P. F. (2004), ‘The Universities of the Renaissance and Reformation’, RQ , 57.1: 1–42. Hexter, R. (1998), ‘Aldus, Greek, and the Shape of the “Classical Corpus” ’, in D. Zeidberg / F. Superbi Gioffredi (eds), Aldus Manutius and Renaissance Culture: Essays in Memory of Franklin D. Murphy, 143–60, Florence. Holeczek, H. (1983), Erasmus Deutsch: Die volkssprachliche Rezeption des Erasmus von Rotterdam in der reformatorischen Öffentlichkeit, Stuttgart. Horbury, W. (1999), ‘The Hebrew Matthew and Hebrew Study’, in W. Horbury (ed.), Hebrew Study from Ezra to Ben-Yehuda, 122–34, Edinburgh. Jayne, S. (1995), Plato in Renaissance England, Dordrecht. Kachuck, A. J. (2020), ‘When Rome’s Elephants Weep: Humane Monsters from Pompey’s Theatre to Virgil’s Trojan Horse’, in G. M. Chesi / F. Spiegel (eds), Classical Literature and Posthumanism, 157–66, London. Kittredge, G. L. (1893), ‘ “To Take Time by the Forelock” ’, MLN , 8.8: 230–5. Laigneau-Fontaine, S. / Langlois-Pézeret, C., eds (2015). Gilbert Ducher, Epigrammes, Paris (Textes littéraires de la Renaissance 18). Mayor, J. E. B., ed. (1863), The Scholemaster, by Roger Ascham, edited with notes, London.

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McDonald, W. (1976), ‘Maximilian I of Habsburg and the Veneration of Hercules: On the Revival of Myth and the German Renaissance’, JMRS , 6.1 (1976): 139–71. More, T. (1986), ‘Letter to Oxford’, in D. Kinney (ed.), The Complete Works of St. Thomas More 15, 130–49, New Haven. Nelson, E. (2004), The Greek Tradition in Republican Thought, Cambridge. Novikoff, A. J. (2013), The Medieval Culture of Disputation: Pedagogy, Practice, and Performance, Philadelphia. Pace, R. (1967), De fructu qui ex doctrina percipitur. Ed. and trans. by F. Manley and Richard S. Sylvester, New York. Rummel, E. (2002), The Case against Johann Reuchlin: Religious and Social Controversy in Sixteenth-century Germany, Toronto. Saladin, J.-C. (2000), La bataille du grec à la Renaissance, Paris. Scarisbrick, J. J. (1968), Henry VIII , Berkeley / Los Angeles. Scott-Craig, T. S. K. (1948), ‘Thomas More’s 1518 Letter to the University of Oxford’, Renaissance News, 1.2: 17–24. Sedley, D. (1999), ‘Lucretius’ Use and Avoidance of Greek’, PBA , 93: 227–46. Stevens, B. (2006), ‘Aeolism: Latin as a Dialect of Greek’, CJ , 102.2: 115–44. Stokes, F. G. (1909), Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum: The Latin Text with an English Rendering, Notes, and an Historical Introduction, London. Vallese, G. (1964), Erasmo e Reuchlin, 3rd ed., Naples. Warden, J. (2019), ‘Orpheus and Ficino’, in J. Warden (ed.), Orpheus: the Metamorphosis of a Myth, 85–110, Toronto. à Wood, A. (1796), History and Antiquities of the University of Oxford in Two Books, Oxford. Woolfson, J. (2008), ‘Croke, Richard (1489–1558), Greek Scholar’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. (https://www.oxforddnb.com/ view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb9780198614128-e-6734).

Source of the Latin text Croke, Richard, Orationes duae: altera a cura qua utilitatem laudemque graecae linguae tractat, altera a tempore qua hortatus est Cantabrigienses, ne desertores essent eiusdem, Paris 1520 (with minor amendments in respect of punctuation and orthography). The text of the first Oratio has been paraphrased (with occasional translation) in: J. B. Mullinger, The University of Cambridge: From the Earliest Times to the Royal Injunctions of 1535, Cambridge 1873, 529–37.

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Latin text First Oration Passage 1: Superiority of Greek [sig. [a.viiir]–b.ir] Following a lengthy captatio benevolentiae, Croke, demonstrating the strengths of the Greek language as a tool for science, philosophy and literature, points to non-Greek authors of antiquity who preferred writing in Greek to their native language. Quid quo Galli, Phoenices, Syri, Aegyptii, Phryges, Thraces, Hebraei, Romani, aliique multi non Graeci, de Philosophia, de Theologia, deque ceteris artibus (quas Cyclicas vocant) scripturi,1 Graeco potius, quam patrio uti sermone voluerunt. Vis aliquos tibi commemorem?2 Gallum dico Phavorinum,3 Phoenicem Porphyrium,4 Syrum Iamblicum,5 Aegyptios Philoponum6 et Amonium,7 Phryges Symphlicium8 et Thracem,9 et quem hii commentati sunt, Aristotelem, quem merito dubitavit Cicero scientiane rerum an scriptorum copia, an eloquendi suavitate, an varietate operum putaret clariorem.10 Sed et Philon Iudaeus,11 et ex Vulsino proxima Romae urbe Musonius,12 de Philosophia Graece scripsere. Non praetereundum puto Trimegistum13 omnis (iudice Lactantio) veritatis investigatorem. Non Musaeum et Orpheum14 theologos, et hos quidem Thraces, qui sui ingenii monumenta, huic sermoni credidere.

... Occurrunt etiam historiae graecae, ab Hebraeo Iosepho,15 a Romanis, Aeliano,16 Arriano17 Attico18 et Albino19 conscriptae, cui veniam ob id deprecanti, ignoscere non potuit Catoniana severitas, ut manifestissimum sit latinam linguam, Graecae comparatam, evanescere prorsus et emori, haud secus, quam lanam suco tinctam commissam purpurae.20 Improbe forsan et temere hoc abs me dictum est. Quid ni? Nam Cicero eloquentiae Romanae princeps Demosthenem quidem conari verba, se autem dicere iactitabat.21 Sed et Maro Pyndaricam Ethnam,22 felicissime expressit et Homericam Nausicam in suam Didonem prosperrime vertit. Quis enim non videt multum habere similitudines reginam in urbe media ingredientem inter Tyrios principes, instantem operi regnisque (ut ait ipse) futuris,23 cum lusibus Nausicae, et Dianae venatibus?24 Paene me fugit, quod ait Gellius de comediis. Cuius de utraque lingua iudicium, quoniam ad hunc locum mire facit. Ex

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That is why Gauls, Phoenicians, Syrians, Egyptians, Phrygians, Thracians, Hebrews, Romans and many other non-Greek nations, when they were to write about philosophy or theology and about those other arts (that are called ‘encyclopaedic’)1 preferred to speak in Greek rather than in their own language. Shall I remind you of some of these? I might note that Favorinus was Gaulish,3 Porphyry Phoenician,4 Iamblichus Syrian,5 Philoponus6 and Ammonius7 Egyptian, Simplicius Phrygian,8 and Aristotle Thracian9 – even him [Aristotle] on whom these [previously mentioned] wrote commentaries, whom Cicero was rightly uncertain whether to think more glorious in the wisdom of his thought, the abundance of his writings, the sweetness of his speaking or the variety of his works.10 Philo the Jew11 also and Musonius, from Volsinii the city near Rome,12 wrote about philosophy in Greek. Nor, do I think, must one forget Trismegistus, an investigator of truth in its entirety (according to the judgement of Lactantius),13 or the theologians Musaeus and Orpheus:14 they indeed were Thracian, but entrusted the testaments of their talent to this language. ... Greek histories come to mind as well, written by the Hebrew Josephus,15 by the Romans Aelian,16 Arrian,17 Atticus18 and Albinus19 – when this last man begged for indulgence for this, the severity of Cato was unable to forgive him for saying that it was abundantly clear that the Latin language, compared with the Greek language, would at once disappear and die away, just like wool dyed with colour that is then brought into contact with purple.20 Perhaps what I have said seems reckless and rash. Why did Cicero, the prince of Roman eloquence, not boast that Demosthenes would attempt words that he himself would speak?!21 And did Virgil not most fruitfully translate Pindar’s Aetna22 and most profitably transform Homer’s Nausicaa into his Dido?! For who could fail to see the close similarities between the queen entering the centre of the city among the Tyrian princes ‘while getting on with the work of her future kingdom’ (as Virgil says),23 and the games of Nausicaa and the hunts of Diana?24 What Gellius said of comedies nearly escaped me, that is,

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ipsius verbis putavi recitandum25 in libro noctium Atticarum secundo capitulo vigesimo tertio. Ita scriptum est.26 ... Haec ille, ut plane verissime appareat, quod dixit Fabius, vix habere mutationis locum Romanam facundiam, circa rationem eloquentiae, quae in inventione, dispositione, consilio tam similis Graecae, et prorsus eius discipula esse videtur.27

Passage 2: Greek’s patrons and enemies [sig. b.iiv–b.iiir] Having noted the Hellenism of Roman emperors from Augustus to Theodosius, Croke praises Greek’s illustrious supporters in his own day and recounts the trials faced by his peers, including Erasmus, in promoting its study. Sed amovent me, et plane advocant principes nostri huius saeculi. Imprimis Leo pontifex maximus Graeci sermonis extra omnem aleam doctus,28 et imperator Maximilianus qui tot usquequaque pulcherrimam locutionem beneficiis prosequuntur, ut ipsius29 studiosos non privilegiis modo condonent, verumetiam ab omni iniuriarum specie adfirment. Testantur hoc et Erasmica et Reuclina opera, cuius innocentia ab dibaphis istis Gigantum fraterculis toties afflicta,30 tandem succubuisset, nisi fessis doctissimi et optimi hominis rebus sanctitas Leonis et Maximiliani pietas31 succurrissent.32

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his judgment of each language. He puts it wonderfully, so I thought I should recite in his own words what he has written at Noctes Atticae 2.23.26 ... Thus Gellius; and so, what Fabius said seems strikingly true, that Roman oratory has barely the status of translation, as far as the style of its eloquence is concerned, being so similar in invention, arrangement and planning to Greek rhetoric; in a word, Latin seems Greek’s pupil.27

The leaders of our own time certainly motivate and inspire me as well, especially Pope Leo [X], learned in the language of the Greeks beyond all doubt,28 and Emperor Maximilian; they reward everywhere the most beautiful speaking [of Greek] with such generosity as not only to confer privileges on its29 scholars, but truly to protect them from any form of injury. This is demonstrated by the works of both Erasmus and Reuchlin, whose blamelessness, so often afflicted by those twice-dyed little brothers of the Giants,30 would at last have succumbed if the sanctity of Leo and the piety of Maximilian31 had not come to the aid of this most learned and excellent man in his exhausted circumstances.32

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Passage 3: Greek and theology [sig. c.iv] Outlining Greek’s usefulness to the major parts of the medieval curriculum (quadrivium and trivium), Croke turns from mathematicians like Euclid to the theologians. Quae omnia non idcirco dico, quo sic utrique linguae viro Theologo credam indulgendum,33 ut disputandi exercitationes omittat, sed ne ipsarum specie consenescat.34 Nihil enim obstant huiusmodi argutiae per illas euntibus, sed circa illas haerentibus.35 Quandoquidem dum ad extremas anxietates descenditur, ingenia comminuuntur concidunturque, et animus ab utilioribus plerumque separatur. Nempe a Paulinis epistolis, ab Evangeliis, a Bibliis, quae omnino ediscenda sunt Theologo, formandae enim illi hominum mentes, avocandae a terrenis, erigendae ad caelestia.36

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I am not saying all this because I believe that the theologian should indulge33 in both languages as a substitute for exercises in disputation, but rather that he should not grow old in such disputations.34 Such subtleties are no impediment to those who pass through them, but can be to those who cleave to them;35 for when anxious attention goes to such extremes, genius is eroded and perishes, and the mind is often kept from more useful ends – [I refer,] of course, to the Pauline Epistles, to the Gospels, to the Bible, those works which a theologian must study in their entirety. Indeed, it is his job to form the minds of men, to call them from earthly and raise them to celestial life.36

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Passage 4: Greek at Oxford versus Cambridge [sig. c.iiiv–ivv] Having discussed Greek’s usefulness to a broad range of figures from Roman antiquity and noted that merchants are able to learn multiple modern languages, Croke urges his Cambridge students to learn Greek in a spirit of competition with Oxford. Oxonienses, quos antehac in omni scientiarum genere vicistis, ad literas Graecas perfugere, vigilant, ieiunant, sudant et algent : nihil non faciunt, ut eas occupent. Quod si contingat, actum est de fama vestra. Erigent enim de vobis trophaeum nunquam succumbuturi. Habent duces praeter cardinalem Canuariensem, Wintoniensem, ceteros omnes Angliae episcopos, exceptis uno Rossensi summo semper fautore vestro et Eliensi37 . . .

... Favet praeterea ipsis sancta Grocini,38 et theologo digna severitas, Linacri39 πολυμαθέια,40 et acre iudicium, Tunstali41 non legibus magis quam utriusque linguae familiaris facundia, Stopleii42 triplex lingua, Mori43 candida et eloquentissima urbanitas, Pacei44 mores, doctrina et ingenium, ab ipso Erasmo, optimo eruditionis censore commendata: quem vos olim habuistis Graecarum literarum professorem, utinamque potuissetis retinere. Succedo in Erasmi locum ego, bone deus quam infra illum, et doctrina et fama, quanquam me, ne omnino nihil fiam, principes viri, Theologiae doctores, Iurium etiam et Medicinae, Artium praeterea professores innumeri, et praeceptorem agnovere, et quod plus est, a scholis ad aedes, ab aedibus ad scholas honorificentissime comitati perduxere. Dii me perdant, viri Cantabrigienses, si ipsi Oxonienses stipendio multorum nobilium praeter victum, me non invitavere. Sed ego pro mea in hanc academiam et fide et observantia, praecipueque in illud maximum doctorum virorum Musaeum45 Regium collegium, cui meae eloquentiae rudimenta debeo non potui vobis meam operam non prius offerre.

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The Oxonians, whom before now you have vanquished in every form of knowledge, have rushed to Greek literature – they stay up at night, they fast, they sweat, they freeze: there is nothing they neglect that they might claim the subject [as their own]. If that should happen, your own renown [as Cantabrigians] is at an end. They will erect a trophy over you and never surrender their victory. They have as leaders, alongside the cardinals of Canterbury and Winchester, all the other English bishops, with the exceptions of Rochester, always your greatest patron, and of Ely37 . . . ... Besides these, the holy severity of Grocyn,38 worthy of a theologian, favours them; the wide learning40 and keen judgement of Linacre;39 the eloquence of Tunstal,41 no less acquainted with both languages than with laws; the trilingualism of Stokesley;42 the shining and most eloquent wit of More;43 the manners, learning and genius of Pace,44 praised by Erasmus himself, the best judge of learning, the man whom you yourselves once had as professor of Greek literature – would that you could have him still! I succeed to Erasmus’ position – good God, how beneath him in both learning and renown! However, lest I seem of no worth, princes, doctors of theology, of laws and also medicine, alongside innumerable professors of the arts, have both recognized me as a teacher and, what is more, have induced me [to go] most honourably from schools to churches, from churches to schools and followed me there themselves. Let the gods strike me down, gentlemen of Cambridge, if the gentlemen of Oxford did not offer a great salary in addition to my subsistence. But I could not not first offer you my services, in view of my loyalty and solicitousness towards this University, and especially to that greatest Museum45 of scholars, King’s College, to which I owe the foundations of my own eloquence.

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Passage 5: Overcoming Greek’s difficulty [sig. c.ivv–[c.vr]] Now established at Cambridge (and not Oxford!), Croke promises to aid his students and urges them to rise to the challenge of learning Greek. Submittam enim me ad mensuram discentium: nec ultra unquam progrediar, quam comes possit. Si qui sint, quibus hae literae videbuntur difficiliores, cogitent (quod in proverbio est) Pulchra esse quae difficilia,46 nihilque rerum naturam voluisse magnum effici cito. Quippe quae nascendi quoque (authore Fabio) haec fecerit legem, ut maiora animalia diutius parentum visceribus continerentur.47 Cogitent inquam nihil vitam magno sine labore dedisse mortalibus. Proinde vigilandae vobis noctes sunt, viri Cantabrigienses, imbibenda lucubrationum fuligo.48 Dura quidem haec in principio. Ast haec tam dura consuetudine mollientur.

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I shall adapt myself to the standard of my students, never going beyond where one might be my fellow-traveller. If some find this learning especially difficult, let them consider that (in the words of the proverb) ‘what is difficult is beautiful’46 and that Nature never wishes to produce anything great quickly. To be sure, she has also made it a rule of generation (as per Fabius) that the larger the animal the longer it should remain in the mother’s wombs.47 Let them consider, I say, that no life [worth living] is given to mortals without great labour. Therefore, gentlemen of Cambridge, let your nights be given to vigils: relish the soot of [midnight] lucubrations.48 True, this is hard at first but, however hard, will grow softer with practice.

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Passage 6: Time enough for Greek [sig. [c.vv]–[c.vir]] In his closing peroration Croke advises his students on managing their time in order to make room for study of Greek and again urges them to persevere through its difficulties – if only to equal the educational achievements of a Greek-literate elephant in Germany. Inopiam temporis quis vestrum tam erit impudens ut causetur? Abunde enim longa ad discendum spatia nacti sumus,49 si quod somnis, ludis, spectaculis, otiosis denique sermonibus inutiliter terimus, id totum literarum studiis impenderemus. Immo detrahe ex singulis minimum quippiam, supererit otii, quantum ad Graecas ediscendas literas sufficiet. Quod si qui sint, qui se ad hunc sermonem ineptos et indociles fateri non erubescant, ablegentur in deserta, vivantque inter feras, nec ipsarum quidem societate satis digni. Nam elephantes et manu50 et pede non elementa solum, verumetiam solidas sententias Graecas,51 in harena depinxisse nuperrime in Germania visum est. Quisquis igitur adeo hebes es, ut nihil Graecarum literarum imbibere queas,52 scias te magis hominem esse,53 sed ne secundum quidem naturam editum magis humanam, quam imperfectissima quaeque animalia. Videtis, viri Cantabrigienses, ut nullus excusationis locus vobis relinquitur. Neque enim ingenia vobis desunt, superest otium, praeceptoris adest diligentia candoris, simplicitatis et officii plena. Nolite igitur causis indulgere desidiae, quin arripite potius oblatam discendi occasionem. Alioqui (mihi credite) futurum est, ut vel ego frustra apud vos hodie videar orasse, vel vos credamini illud ignorasse Catonis : Fronte capillata post haec Occasio calva.54

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Who among you would be so impudent as to complain of lack of time? Just think how much time we gain for learning if we were to spend all the time on literary pursuits that we waste uselessly on sleep, sports, plays and, what’s more, idle chatter: indeed, take from each of these a little bit – there will remain leisure time enough as will suffice for studying Greek literature! But if there is anyone who would not blush to be called ignoramus, unlearned in the Greek language, let them be sent off to the wilderness to live among beasts – though they are not even worthy of their society. For elephants have very recently in Germany been seen to depict in the sand both by trunk50 and by foot not only the letters, but indeed whole sentences in Greek.51 Whoever among you is so dense as to fail to absorb [anything of] Greek literature,52 know that, although more human, you were born less humane in nature than the most imperfect of animals. You see, gentlemen of Cambridge, that there are no excuses left to you: there is for you no shortage of intellectual capacity, there is an abundance of leisure time, and there is before you a teacher abounding in candour, simplicity and duty. Do not indulge lazy excuses, but rather take advantage of this opportunity to learn. Otherwise, believe me, it is the case either that I shall be deemed to have pleaded vainly before you today, or you will be thought ignorant of Cato’s saying: ‘Longhaired in front, from behind, Chance is bald.’54

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Second Oration Passage 1: Against Greek’s sceptics [sig. [c.viiv]–[c.viiir]] Having emphasized his commitment to his students – to the point of endangering his own health – and having issued a veiled threat to move to Oxford, Croke attacks those teachers at Cambridge who have dissuaded their students from studying Greek and re-affirms Greek’s value to theology. Audio ego plerosque vos a literis Graecis dehortatos. Sed vos diligenter expendite, qui sint : et plane non alios fore comperietis, quam qui igitur linguam oderunt Graecam, quia Romanam non norunt. Verentur enim ne prodita tandem barbarie sua, pro qua tanquam pro focis et aris55 dimicant : quaque una apud pullatum circulum56 famam aucupantur, aut hominibus fabulae57 sint, aut elegantiora ingenia in stuporem agant. Cur tam impudenter talia laceraverant, qualia ipsi nunquam magis viderunt, quam talpae solem. . . . Ceterum iam deprehendo quid facturi sint, qui nostras literas odio prosequuntur, confugiunt videlicet ad religionem, cui uni dicent omnia postponenda. Sentio ego cum illis, sed unde quaeso orta religio, nisi e Graecia? Quid enim novum testamentum? Excepto Matthaeo.58 Nunquid totum Graece conscriptum est?59 Quid item vetus? Numquid deo auspice a septuaginta Graece redditum? Ut interim taceam Athanasium,60 Nissos,61 Nazianzenum,62 Origenem,63 Chrysostomum,64 quos Graecos nobis peperisse proxima oratione uberius docuimus, quam ut anxie ea de re hoc tempore sit disputandum.

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I hear that many of you have been discouraged from studying Greek literature. But think carefully about who has been doing this, and you will assuredly find they are going to be none other than those who hate the Greek language because they do not know the Roman [language]. With their ignorance at last exposed – for which they fight as though before hearth and home55 and through which they snatch at fame among the groundlings56 all together – they are afraid of becoming either a by-word57 among men or reducing [their] more elegant geniuses to confusion. As a result, they have been abusing things so shamelessly of which they know less than moles the sun. . . . Besides, I already recognize what they are up to, those who hatefully persecute our literature – evidently, they are seeking refuge in religion; to this one thing they will dismiss all other things as secondary. I sympathize with these men, but where, I ask, does religion come from, if not from Greece? What of the New Testament: with the exception of Matthew,58 was it not all written in Greek?59 What, likewise, of the Old Testament? Was it not translated into Greek with God’s guidance by the Seventy? – not to mention Athanasius,60 [Gregory] of Nyssa,61 [Gregory] of Nazianzus,62 Origen,63 Chrysostom,64 those Greeks whom I showed in my first oration provided us more richly than I can go into meticulously at this time.

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Passage 2: Greek and the world [sig. d.iv–d.iir] In his closing peroration Croke emphasizes the personal sacrifices he has made to bring Greek studies to Cambridge, and he urges Cambridge students to rise to the challenge of the international study of Greek. Nos viri Cantabrigienses patrimonium, uxores, liberos, parentes, patriam, nos terrarum marisque pericula, postremo vitam ipsam contempsimus, ut vos a barbarie vindicaremus, ut animos vestros bonis institutis formaremus. Quorsum enim literae et Philosophia, quas huc adveximus : vos nomina quidem nostra agnoscitis, literas vero nostras non agnoscitis, quibus solis effectum est, ut per tot saecula nomen Cantabrigiensium duraret venerabile. Haec loquentes si audiretis, non parum (opinor) animos vestros ad Graecum sermonem incenderent, maximeque hoc tempore, quo omnia Gymnasia Atticismis scatent.65 Scio ego quid per universam Germaniam fiat, quid per Galliam alii, quid per Italiam omnes. Nolim vos committere, ut soli Coloniensibus similes videremini, hoc est digni quorum egregia fama perpetuo obscuretur.66 Nihil enim perinde teterrimam istam notam ipsis inussit, ac humaniorum studiorum contemptus, ac doctorum virorum insectatio. Qua ignominia priusquam Cantabrigiensem Academiam viderem afflictam, non hanc dextram, non hoc corpus, sed hanc etiam animam devoverem. Utinam quo animo haec a me dicta sunt, eo vos dicta interpretemini: crederitisque quod est verissimum, si quoslibet alios, certe Cantabrigienses, minime decere literarum Graecarum esse desertores.67

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Gentlemen of Cambridge, I have disdained inheritance, marriage, children, parents, fatherland, the dangers of lands and sea and finally life itself that I might free you from barbarousness, that I might shape your souls with good education. What is the purpose of the literature and philosophy that I have brought here? You know my name, but you do not know my literature: only by this might the name of Cantabrigians remain revered throughout the ages. If you heard me lecturing about this literature, it would, I believe, propel your spirits towards the study of Greek speech – and most of all just now, when all universities are teeming with Atticisms.65 I know what is happening throughout all of Germany, what some [are doing] in France, what everyone [is doing] in Italy. I hesitate to make the comparison, lest you alone resemble the scholars in Cologne, that is, worthy of having your exceptional reputation wiped out forever. For nothing has branded them with the most hideous blame so much as their contempt for humanistic study and their professors’ railing.66 So as never to see the University of Cambridge afflicted with such infamy, I should not spare to sacrifice my right hand, my body, my very life. May you understand my words in the spirit in which I speak them and acknowledge what is plainly true, that if it is improper for anyone, it is certainly most improper for the men of Cambridge to desert Greek literature.67

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Commentary First Oration: Passage 1 1 Cf. Quintilian, Inst. 1.10.1: nunc de ceteris artibus quibus instituendos priusquam rhetori tradantur pueros existimo strictim subiungam, ut efficiatur orbis ille doctrinae quem Graeci encyclion paedian vocant (‘Now let me speak about those other arts in which I believe boys should be instructed before they are handed over to the teacher of rhetoric, so that the course of learning that the Greeks call encyclopaedic learning might be brought to completion.’). On ancient developments of ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία (lit. ‘encyclopaedic learning’) see De Rijk 1965; on its Renaissance uses Blair 2013. 2 vis . . . commemorem: clauses dependent on verbs of wishing (e.g. volo) may have their verb in the subjunctive with or without ut / ne. 3 Favorinus (c. 80–150 ce): skeptic philosopher born in Arelate (present-day Arles, France). Croke uses a Graecising spelling of his name. 4 Porphyry (c. 234–310 ce): Neoplatonist philosopher born in Tyre in the Roman province of Syria (in modern-day Lebanon). 5 Iamblichus (c. 240–325 ce): Neoplatonist philosopher born in Chalcis (present-day Qinnasrīn, Syria). 6 Philoponus (c. 490–575 ce): Christian polymath born in Alexandria, known for commentaries (often critical) on Aristotle. 7 Ammonius (fl. early 6th cent. ce): Neoplatonist teacher in Alexandria who aimed to harmonize Plato’s and Aristotle’s philosophies. 8 Simplicius (c. 490–560 ce): Neoplatonist philosopher from Cilicia, east of Phrygia. Croke is misled by the Suda’s entry on Damascius (δ 39): Σιμπλικίου καὶ Εὐλαλίου τῶν Φρυγῶν ὁμιλητής (‘Disciple of Simplicius and Eulalius the Phrygians’). Either Eulalius’ name has been omitted, or Phrygem should be printed for Phryges. 9 Aristotle (c. 384–322 bce): Peripatetic philosopher born in Stagira in Chalcidice (near Thrace). 10 Croke’s source is not, in fact, Cicero, but Quintilian (Inst. 10.1.83), who claims that Cicero credited Greek philosophy for his eloquence (cf. Cic. Top. 3: sed dicendi quoque incredibili quadam cum copia tum etiam suavitate, ‘but also by that wondrous abundance and agreeableness of his eloquence’).

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11 Philo Judaeus (c. 15 bce–50 ce): Middle Platonist born in Alexandria, author of influential Platonic allegorizations of the Septuagint, a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. 12 Gaius Musonius Rufus (fl. 1st cent. ce): Stoic philosopher, teacher of Epictetus. His philosophy was recorded in Greek by two of his students, Lucius and Pollio; he seems not to have published anything himself. Ignoring that Gellius quoted Musonius extensively in Latin (Gell. NA 5.1), Croke seems to build on Gellius’ comparison of Musonius’ Greek aphorism and a speech of Cato the Elder’s (Gell. NA 16.1). 13 Hermes Trismegistus: mythical Egyptian philosopher, to whom several metaphysical treatises were ascribed in late antiquity; this attribution was dismantled by Isaac Casaubon in 1614. Croke cites Lactantius (Div. inst. 4.9.3: Trismegistus, qui veritatem paene universam nescio quo modo investigavit, ‘Trismegistus, who looked into almost every truth in one way or another’). It is relevant that the context of Lactantius’ citation is a discussion of the superiority of Greek λόγος over Latin verbum or sermo to denote ‘both the voice and the wisdom of God’. 14 Musaeus and Orpheus: legendary inventors of Greek song, with Musaeus credited with the authorship of the late antique epyllion, Hero and Leander, fittingly the first Greek work published by Aldus Manutius (1495); on Orpheus as theologus poeta for the Renaissance (especially Marsilio Ficino) see Warden 1982. 15 L. Flavius Josephus (37/8 – c. 100 ce): Jewish Hellenistic historian, author of historical works in Greek, including the Bellum Iudaicum (c. 79–81 ce) and The Jewish Antiquities (c. 93/4 ce); a likely interpolation in the latter work (the Testimonium Flavianum) concerns Jesus’ mission and execution. 16 Claudius Aelianus (c. 175–235 ce): Italian-born Greek author of On the Nature of Animals, the Miscellany (= Varia Historia) and the Rustic Letters. 17 L. Flavius Arrianus (c. 85–160 ce): Roman philosopher and historian of whom eight works survive; his Anabasis is considered one of the best sources for the campaigns of Alexander the Great. 18 T. Pomponius Atticus (110–32 bce): friend and correspondent of Cicero. He composed a description of Cicero’s consulship in Greek, which does not survive; Cicero described its style as horridula atque incompta, ‘rather rough and unkempt’ (Cic. Att. 2.1.1).

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19 According to Gellius (Gell. NA 11.8), Aulus Postumius Albinus (cos. 151 bce) begged forgiveness for his errors in Greek, to which Cato the Elder quipped that only triflers prefer ‘to apologize for a fault rather than avoid it’. 20 suco should probably be fuco through common s/f confusion, owing to the similarity of ‘long s’ (ſ ) and ‘f ’ in form. fucus, an inferior red dye derived from orchella-weed, would naturally give way to purple. Croke verbally adapts Quintilian’s comparison of weak vs. strong rhetoric to fucus vs. purpura: sed evanescunt hac atque emoriuntur comparatione meliorum, ut lana tincta fuco citra purpuras placet (Quint. Inst. 12.10.75, ‘yet they fade and die away in this comparison with their betters, just as wool dyed with orchil pales in comparison with purple fabrics’). Perhaps building on the association of fucus and ‘deceit’ (OLD s.v. 4) and ‘artificial embellishment of style’ (OLD s.v. 5), Croke’s adaptation of the context of the Quintilian quote is subtle: while Latin may be special compared to the language of our inferior times, respect for Latin’s quality must be tempered when Latin is at last compared with Greek. suco, retained, would echo Juvenal’s sucida lana (OLD s.v. sucidus, a ‘wool so fresh that it retains its natural grease’, or sucus; cf. Varr. Rust. 2.11.6, Plin. HN 8.191): the joke is that Latin remains rustic compared with Greek sophistication. 21 Croke emphasizes Latin authors’ admission of Greek’s superiority through misquotation, beginning with Cicero’s comparison of himself to Demosthenes (Cic. Orat. 105): in fact, Cicero claimed the opposite of what Croke intimates. 22 Croke’s misquotation continues, this time from the as yet unnamed Aulus Gellius (Gell. NA 17.10.8–9): he has Favorinus criticize Virgil’s adaptation of Pindar’s description of Aetna (Pyth. 1.21–6). 23 The reference (based on Gell. NA 9.9) is to Dido’s first appearance in the Aeneid (1.503–4): talis erat Dido, talem se laeta ferebat | per medios, instans operi regnisque futuris (‘just so was Dido, just so she bore herself cheerfully in the midst of them, encouraging their work and the kingdom to come’). 24 Croke’s misquotation from Gellius continues: this passage (Gell. NA 9.9), concerning the proper translation of Greek expressions (vertendi verba in Graecis sententiis), first praises Virgil for not attempting to translate into Latin phrases that in Greek possessed a ‘certain native sweetness’ (cuiusdam nativae dulcedinis), then faults him (following Valerius Probus, Neronian grammarian) for never having ‘less successfully translated’ (tam inprospere . . . vertisse) Homer than in his adaptation of Homer’s Nausicaa (Hom. Od. 6.102–8): where Nausicaa is reasonably compared to ‘Diana hunting’ (Diana venante) as she engages in play (ludibunda) in ‘deserted places’, this cannot,

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says Probus, be said of Dido in her decidedly urban setting (citing Virg. Aen. 1.503). Croke thus borrows the Virgilian citation from Gellius along with his vocabulary of comparison (inprospere . . . vertisse > prosperrime vertit). 25 recitandum: a gerundive of necessity, with succeeding esse + id quod assumed. 26 Croke proceeds to quote Gellius’ analysis of the striking difference between Menander’s comedy Plocium and the early Roman comedian Caecilius’ adaptation; the latter proves ‘dumb and stiff ’ in the comparison according to him. 27 Quint. Inst. 12.10.27.

First Oration: Passage 2 28 ipsius should be taken with pulcherrimam locutionem: although ipse might seem odd, it better fits the context given that the discussion concerns both Maximilian and Leo X (condonent, adfirment). 29 extra omnem aleam doctus: adapts an expression from Pliny’s preface (Plin. HN praef. 7, of Cicero), meaning to be beyond chance or doubt’s control (cf. Erasm. Adagia 771). – fessis . . . rebus: extreme hyperbaton encloses Reuchlin in exhausted circumstances. 30 dibaphus: characterizes the twice-dyed robes of Roman magistrates, but also splendid facades without substance: Croke gamely contrasts synecdochic connotations of authority with the Juvenalian allusion Gigantum fraterculi (Iuv. 4.98), i.e. ‘born from the Earth’ and thus without inherited status. The phrase recalls Erasm. Adag. 4044: strumam dibapho tegere (‘dressing up a scrofulous tumour’). 31 On Maximilian see Wiesflecker 1991; Benecke 1982. On his court humanists see McDonald 1976. 32 The ‘Reuchlin Affair’ saw Johannes Reuchlin (1455–1522), most important of the Christian kabbalists, prosecuted for Judaizing; in 1516, Pope Leo X ruled in Reuchlin’s favour. On the trial see Rummel 2002; on Erasmus and Reuchlin see Valesse 1964.

First Oration: Passage 3 33 sic . . . credam indulgendum: this comprises an impersonal passive gerundive (with esse omitted) that governs the dative utrique linguae and

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dative agent viro Theologo, followed by a consecutive clause and then a negative purpose clause. 34 Croke is not proposing the abolition of the disputation for the sake of Greek philology, but a reduction in time devoted to them; the disputation, a major aspect of contemporary university exercises at Cambridge as throughout Europe, was a formal debate, in Latin, in front of an audience, with roots in medieval practice (Novikoff 2013). For disputation in Renaissance universities see Grendler 2002: 152–157; 2004. 35 argutiae: ‘cleverness in the use of words’ (OLD s.v. 1) and ‘verbal trickery, sophistry’ (OLD s.v. 2), characteristic of the practice of disputation. 36 Cf. Erasmus (Allen 2.53), of Seneca: Solus hic animum avocat ad res coelestes, erigit ad rerum vulgarium contemptum, &ec. (‘This man alone diverts our attention to the affairs of heaven and excites our contempt for earthly matters, etc.’).

First Oration: Passage 4 37 John Fisher (Cambridge BA 1488, MA 1491) was appointed Bishop of Rochester in 1504; he was instrumental in founding Christ’s and St John’s Colleges and luring Erasmus to Cambridge as lecturer in Greek and theology in 1511, and was Chancellor of the University of Cambridge from 1504 to 1516. Nicholas West (d. 1533), dedicatee of Orationes duae, was Bishop of Ely, Fellow of King’s College. 38 William Grocyn (c. 1446–1519): English humanist in Erasmus’ circle; having studied Greek under Angelo Poliziano in the 1480s, he later tutored Croke himself in the language (see Introduction). 39 Thomas Linacre (c. 1460–1524): English humanist and physician, elected to a fellowship at All Souls, Oxford, in 1484; he studied Greek in Oxford and Florence, and went on to found London’s College of Physicians. 40 πολυμαθέια = πολυμαθεία (note the accent change). 41 Cuthbert Tunstal (1474–1559): Bishop of Durham and diplomat, admitted to Balliol College, Oxford, in 1491, and friend to Thomas More, John Colet, Thomas Linacre and William Grocyn. No doubt for rhetorical effect, Croke omits that Tunstal became a scholar of King’s Hall, Cambridge, in 1496. 42 Stopleius = Stokleius, i.e. John Stokesley (1475–1539), bishop of London and principal of Magdalen Hall, whom Erasmus (Opera 3.402) called ‘trilingual’ (see Mullinger 1873: 535 n. 1).

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43 Sir Thomas More (1478–1535): Lord Chancellor under Henry VIII and one of the most famous English humanists. 44 Richard Pace (c. 1483–1536): diplomat under Henry VII and VIII and noted humanist, best known for the rhetorical textbook De fructu qui ex doctrina percipitur (1518). – commendata is nominative neuter plural, picking up mores, doctrina and ingenium of Pace taken collectively. 45 Μουσεῖον: ancient name of the library at Alexandria (Strabo 17.1.8). In 1518, Erasmus praised Henry VIII’s court as verius μουσεῖον quam aula (Allen 3.357, ‘more μουσεῖον [shrine of the Muses] than court’).

First Oration: Passage 5 46 Pulchra esse quae difficilia adapts Erasmus, Adagia 1012, translating Greek χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά. 47 From Quintilian, Inst. 10.3.4, likely adapting Aristotle (De generatione animalium 777b). 48 Cf. Quint. Inst. 11.3.24: vigilandae noctes et fuligo lucubrationum bibenda et in sudata veste durandum (‘nights must be spent awake, the soot of lamplight study relished, and wearing sweat-soaked clothing endured’).

First Oration: Passage 6 49 nacti sumus: Croke uses the indicative for the expected subjunctive in the apodosis to highlight the certainty of the outcome. 50 For manus (‘hand’) as elephant-trunk see OLD s.v. manus 2a. 51 For Pliny, elephants write Greek (Plin. HN 8.6), for Aelian Latin (Ael. NA 2.11). On elephants and animal language in Renaissance thought see Cummings 2004; on humane elephants in classical literature see Kachuck 2020. Croke’s source for his Hellenized elephant remains a mystery, but clearly plays on competition between German and English universities. 52 imbibere: used of Greek learning, echoes Croke’s injunction regarding imbibenda lucubrationum fuligo. 53 scias te . . . esse: indirect statement with verb of knowing. 54 Dicta Catonis 26. Erasmus quotes it approvingly (Adagia 670: Nosce tempus), but questions the attribution to Cato (see Kittredge 1893). – orasse and ignorasse are contracted forms of the perfect infinitive.

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Second Oration: Passage 1 55 pro focis et aris: lit. ‘before hearths and altars’, used proverbially by Antonio Bonfini (Rerum Ungaricarum decades 3.3.7.161) and Erasmus (cf. Allen 2.95, 540). 56 pullatum circulum: lit. ‘drab-dressed audience’, borrowed from Quint. Inst. 2.12.10, referring derisively to performances geared to impress lower classes. 57 fabulae: pejoratively, ‘the subject of conversation or gossip, “the talk of the town” ’ (OLD s.v. 1d). 58 On the Hebrew Matthew see Horbury 1999. 59 On Erasmus’ Greek New Testament (published 1516) see Holeczek 1983. 60 Athanasius of Alexandria (c. 296–373 ce): a Church Father instrumental in the Council of Niceaea (325 ce). 61 Nissos puzzles: one expects Nissenum for Gregory of Nyssa, Nissenos in plural, perhaps (inappropriately) to add the omitted third member of the Cappadocian Fathers, Gregory’s brother Basil of Caesarea. Otherwise, Nissos could result from anticipatory assimilation to quos Graecos printed immediately below. 62 The two brothers Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335–394 ce) and Gregory of Nazianzus (c. 329–389 ce), along with Basil of Caesarea (c. 330–379 ce), are collectively known as the Cappadocian Fathers, instrumental in the First Council of Constantinople (381 ce), which confirmed the Nicene Creed. 63 Origen (185/6–254 ce): early Christian theologian from Alexandria, perhaps best known for his Hexapla, a collation of the Hebrew Old Testament with its Greek translation, the Septuagint. 64 John Chrysostom (349–407 ce): Greek Church Father and bishop of Constantinople (397–404), whose homilies and treatises survive.

Second Oration: Passage 2 65 Atticismis: with this word Croke refers not so much to the ancient debate between Asiatic and Attic rhetoric, but more broadly to post-classical efforts to recover the best ‘pure’ attested forms of Greek as represented by the best classical authors (cf. Cic. Brut. 325; Quint. Inst. 12.10.16). Croke may recall Quintilian (Inst. 1.8.9: quidam velut atticismos, ‘a certain ‘Atticism’, as it were’, attributed to Roman comedy), but Erasmus uses the term regularly, connoting

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either urbane use of Greek or linguistic over-refinement (delicatae illae et meris atticismis assuetae aures, Adagia 1801, ‘those dainty ears, spoiled with pure Atticisms’). – scateo is a favourite term of Erasmus in such contexts (cf. Allen 10.209: epistola tua salibus Atticis undique scatens, &c., ‘that letter of yours, teeming in every corner with Attic wit, etc.’). 66 The University of Cologne became notorious as a site of scholastic opposition to humanism in the Reuchlin Affair. Croke had personal experience of the institution’s hostility to Greek scholarship; Johann Musler, among his few loyal students, recalled: Crocus . . . non admodum frequenti praelegebat auditorio (Bauch 1896: 177, ‘Croke would lecture to a hall that was far from full’). Croke’s egregia fama perpetuo obscuretur may allude to the Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum (1515–19), which targeted the Cologne theologians; Croke himself is mentioned more than once – one fictitious scholastic (‘Philippus Schlauraff ’, 2.9) even takes credit for his dismissal from Leipzig. See Rummel 2002: 14–25, 109–27. 67 desertores: frequently used by Tertullian and the Church Fathers for those who leave the true Christian Church (see TLL s.v. desertor), here adapted to humanist ends.

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A Professor in Scottish Politics Andrew Melville (1545–1622), Stephaniskion Stephen J. Harrison

Introduction A Latin poem in 215 hexameters, the Stephaniskion (meaning ‘little crown / garland’ in Greek) was written for and performed at the coronation of Anne, daughter of Frederick II of Denmark and newly married consort of James VI, as Queen of Scotland in Edinburgh on 17 May 1590.1 The title would thus seem to reflect both the occasion of a coronation and the idea that the poem is a modest garland-like gift (note the Greek diminutive). Its author was the distinguished Presbyterian cleric, academic, humanist and poet Andrew Melville (1545–1622),2 who had spent the previous fifteen years in senior church and university roles, acting several times as the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, reforming Scottish higher education after his experience of Continental humanism in the Universities of Paris, Poitiers and Geneva, and moving in and out of favour with James VI and his ministers because of his outspoken religious and political views. By 1590 he had served as Principal of the University of Glasgow (1574–80), had been Principal of St Mary’s College, St Andrews, since 1580 (with a period in exile in England 1584–5) and had become Rector of St Andrews shortly before the Queen’s coronation (March 1590). He was subsequently deprived of that office by a royal visitation in 1597; in 1606 he was called to England by James, now on the throne there, and imprisoned again for his outspokenness in 1607. He was released in 1611 and left for France and the chair of biblical theology at the Protestant University of Sédan, where he died in 1622. In 1590 Melville was thus a major university leader as well as one of the leading voices of the Scottish Reformation, and enjoying a period of royal favour. The Stephaniskion is in effect a practical demonstration of one of the strands of contemporary educational practice at Melville’s St Andrews, the 89

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composition of classicizing essays and poems in Latin for public performance.3 The poem praises James and Anne lavishly, but its main focus is on the theory of monarchy; it also shows Melville as a talented Latin poet of high humanistic learning anxious to communicate kingly virtues to his young monarch.4 The poem pleased the King, who had commissioned it at only two days’ notice; it was printed at his order and circulated widely in Europe, where it was praised by such scholars as Joseph Justus Scaliger and Justus Lipsius5 (the latter’s political work was clearly alluded to in it). It was followed in these years of good relations for Melville and the Presbyterians with the monarchy (1589–96)6 by another substantial royal Latin poem by Melville in 1594, the Genethliakon, twenty-three Alcaic stanzas that celebrated the birth of James’ son and heir, Prince Henry, and prophesied a great future role for him as the international champion of Protestantism against the CounterReformation.7 Such Latin poems had been composed by humanists for the crowning of British monarchs and their consorts since Thomas More’s long elegy for the coronation of Henry VIII in 1509;8 John Leland had written sapphics and elegiacs for Anne Boleyn’s coronation in 1533,9 and Walter Haddon had written elegiacs for that of her daughter Elizabeth I in 1558,10 while in Scotland the anointing of the infant James VI as King in 1567 had been celebrated in 346 hexameters by Thomas Maitland.11 Though composed for and delivered at the Queen’s coronation, the poem only mentions her at its beginning and end (35–40, 204–7), and it is mainly a meditation on good kingship and directed primarily at James; its epigraph in its 1590 first publication is the biblical iustitia stabilitat thronum Regis, literally ‘justice gives stability to the throne of the king’, more familiarly ‘the throne is established by righteousness’ [KJV] (Proverbs 16.12 = Vulgate 16.13). Modern scholars have been largely concerned with the poem’s political content; its classicizing literary texture (especially rich in its opening sections) has been less closely studied, but is also of real interest and would have been appreciated by learned contemporary readers; it is the key focus of the analysis here.12 When written in hexameters by learned humanists, such occasional but substantial pieces for monarchs recall the Roman imperial court poetry of Statius and Claudian. Claudian’s poem (8) on the fourth consulship of the Emperor Honorius (398 ce) has substantial precepts on ruling (8.214–352), voiced by the Emperor’s dead father and predecessor Theodosius, which were cited in Buchanan’s 1579 De Iure Regni and share with that work and with Melville’s poem (lines 144–54) the idea that the ruler should be subject to the laws of the state (8.296–9). In celebrating the recent marriage of James and

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Anne in November 1589 as well as the coronation six months later, the poem echoes Claudian’s hexameter epithalamium (10) for the wedding of Honorius and his wife Maria, also written in 398 ce. Another Latin hexameter genre at issue in the Stephaniskion is the didactic poem.13 Melville’s work is in effect a set of instructions on monarchy and begins by using the recognizable syntax of the opening of Virgil’s Georgics; the dedicatory addresses to God and James that follow similarly recall those to Maecenas and Augustus in the Georgics, and there are also echoes of Lucretius’ De rerum natura (see lines 76–82). A further kind of writing relevant here is the prose work of advice to a young monarch, the traditional ‘mirror for princes’, going back to Seneca’s De clementia for the youthful Nero and including Erasmus’ Institutio Principis Christiani for the young Charles V (1516), which set the fashion for humanist writers. A decade or so before, Melville’s friend and James’ former tutor, George Buchanan, had published an uncompromising dialogue De Iure Regni Apud Scotos (1579), dedicated to the twelve-year-old James. Buchanan stressed the contractual nature of the Scottish monarchy (the King was entitled to rule only if he showed the appropriate virtues and was fully subject to the law) and justified tyrannicide in extreme circumstances. Even more recently, in the previous year (1589) the great Flemish scholar Justus Lipsius had published his Politica, which argued that a just and prudent monarchy was the best form of polity. Melville’s poem is something of a moderate reaction to Buchanan’s dialogue, of which it is evidently aware (see lines 144–96),14 and makes clear verbal and thematic use of the elegant preface to Lipsius’ work, which was expressly dedicated to imperator, reges, principes (see lines 44–75, 98–133, 114–43, 144–96).15 In 1590 Lipsius was still a Protestant and a professor at the Calvinist University of Leiden (where he had been Rector Magnificus in 1579–81) and was thus a highly appropriate source for his Calvinist academic peer Melville (Lipsius would leave Leiden and return to the Catholicism of his birth in the following year). The Stephaniskion is thus a practical demonstration of its author’s humanistic learning, also shown in his intellectual leadership and attempted reforms of Scottish universities, and presents a poem that skilfully mixes various literary kinds in order to provide a framework for both praise of the monarchy and serious discussion of the basis and obligations of kingship. It is a fascinating example of a ‘professor in politics’ and of the prominence of university-generated verse in Scottish public life and wider European literary culture of the period.

Metre: dactylic hexameter

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Notes 1 See Meikle 2008. 2 For Melville’s career and its context, see Reid 2011; Holloway 2011; Mason and Reid 2014. 3 See Reid 2011: 145–72. 4 For estimates of Melville as Latin poet, see Holloway 2011: 3, 22–3 and McOmish 2014 (I am most grateful to David McOmish for providing me with a copy of this chapter), and for a good selection of his poems, see https://www.dps.gla.ac.uk/delitiae/ (the text prepared for the AHRC-project ‘Bridging the Continental divide: neo-Latin and its cultural role in Jacobean Scotland, as seen in the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum (1637)’ at the University of Glasgow), henceforward ‘Glasgow Delitiae’. 5 See Pitcairn 1842: 279. 6 For Melville’s success in these years, see McGinnis and Williamson 2010. 7 For a modern edition and brief notes, see Glasgow Delitiae (n. 4) and McOmish in Reid and McOmish 2020. 8 See Wiegener 2011: 88–103 for an account of its political context, and for the text of the poem, see Miller et al. 1984: 100–13. 9 See http://www.philological.bham.ac.uk/boleyn/. 10 See Nicholas 2020. 11 For Maitland, see Reid 2018. 12 The editions for Glasgow Delitiae (n. 4), and by Reid in Reid and McOmish 2020, assembled a number of the parallels discussed below, but had no space to quote or discuss them. 13 See McOmish 2019. 14 See Reid 2014. For a text and translation of De Iure Regni, see Buchanan 1680, and for a modern account, McFarlane 1981: 392–415. 15 For a text and translation of Lipsius’ work, an account of its influence and a convenient account of its author’s life), see Waszink 2004.

Bibliography Texts and prose translations of the Stephaniskion, and brief notes on it, are available at https://www.dps.gla.ac.uk/delitiae/ (the text prepared for the AHRC-project ‘Bridging the Continental divide: neo-Latin and its cultural role in Jacobean Scotland, as seen in the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum (1637)’ at the University of Glasgow) and (especially) in Reid and McOmish 2020 (213–35, by Steven Reid). I am indebted to both of these editions in the commentary and to David McOmish for help in accessing the last item at a difficult time. Buchanan, G. (1680), De jure regni apud Scotos . . . translated . . . by Philalethes [no place of publication].

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Green, R. P. H. (2014), ‘Poetic Psalm Paraphrases’, in P. Ford / J. Bloemendal / C. Fantuzzi (eds), Brill’s Encyclopedia of the Neo-Latin World, 461–9, Leiden / Boston. Holloway, E. R. (2011), Andrew Melville and Humanism in Renaissance Scotland 1545–1622, Leiden. Johnston, A., ed. (1637), Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum huius aevi illustrium, Amsterdam. Mason, R. A. and Reid, S. J., eds (2014), Andrew Melville (1545–1622): Writings, Reception and Reputation, Farnham. McFarlane, I. D. (1981), Buchanan, London. McGinnis, P. J. and Williamson, A. H., eds (2000), George Buchanan: The Political Poetry, Edinburgh. McGinnis, P. J. and Williamson, A. H. (2010), ‘Politics, Prophecy, Poetry: The Melvillian Moment, 1589–96, and its Aftermath’, The Scottish Historical Review, 89: 1–18. McOmish, D. (2014), ‘The Poet and his Art: Andrew Melville and Latin Literature’, in R. A. Mason / S. J. Reid (eds), Andrew Melville (1545–1622): Writings, Reception, and Reputation, 177–99, Farnham. McOmish, D. (2019), ‘Scientia Demands the Latin Muse: the Authority of Didactic Poetry in Early-modern Scotland’, in L. G. Canevaro / D. O’Rourke (eds), Didactic Poetry of Greece, Rome and Beyond: Knowledge, Power, Tradition, 249–74, Swansea. Meikle, M. M. (2008), ‘Anna of Denmark’s Coronation and Entry into Edinburgh, 1590: Cultural, Religious and Diplomatic Perspectives’, in J. Goodare / A. A. MacDonald (eds), Sixteenth-Century Scotland: Essays in Honour of Michael Lynch, 277–94, Leiden. Melville, A. (1590), Stephaniskion: Ad Scotiae Regem, habitum in coronatione Reginae. 17. Maij. 1590, Edinburgh. Miller, C. H. / Bradner, L. / Lynch, C. A. / Oliver, R. P., eds (1984), The Complete Works of St. Thomas More. Volume 3.2: Latin Poems, 100–13, New Haven. Nicholas, L. R. (2020), ‘A Celebration of Queen Elizabeth I’s Coronation in Verse. Walter Haddon (1515–1572)’, In . . . Elisabethae regimen’, in L. B. T. Houghton / G. Manuwald / L. R. Nicholas (eds), An Anthology of British Neo-Latin Literature, 61–72, London. Pitcairn, R., ed. (1842), The Autobiography and Diary of Mr. James Melvill, with a Continuation of the Diary, Edinburgh. Reid, S. J. (2011), Humanism and Calvinism: Andrew Melville and the Universities of Scotland 1560–1625, London. Reid, S. J. (2014), ‘Andrew Melville and the Law of Kingship’, in R. A. Mason / S. J. Reid (eds), Andrew Melville (1545–1622): Writings, Reception and Reputation, 47–74, Farnham. Reid, S. J. (2018), ‘Classical Reception and Erotic Latin Poetry in SixteenthCentury Scotland: the Case of Thomas Maitland (ca. 1548–1572)’, in: A. Petrina / I. Johnston (eds), The Impact of Latin Culture on Medieval and Early Modern Scottish Writing, 3–40, Kalamazoo, MI.

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Reid, S. J. / McOmish, D., eds (2016), Neo-Latin Literature and Literary Culture in Early Modern Scotland, Leiden. Reid, S. J. / McOmish, D., eds (2020), Corona Borealis: Scottish Neo-Latin Poets on King James VI and his Reign, 1566–1603, Edinburgh. Waszink, J., ed. (2004), Justus Lipsius, Politica – Six Books of Politics or Political Instruction, Assen. Wegemer, G. B. (2011), Young Thomas More and the Arts of Liberty, Cambridge.

Source of the Latin text I have used the text of Johnston 1637, online with facsimile at https://www .dps.gla.ac.uk/delitiae/, as the basis for the text, with some modernizing of spelling, format and punctuation. I have adopted a conjecture at line 41 and readings of the first edition (= Melville 1590) at lines 53, 162 and 190.

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Latin text

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Qua regnum quis recta adeat, quo iusta regantur sceptra modo, quae pacem artes, quae bella gubernent, nunc canerem, ni me terreret limine in ipso argumentum ingens et onus cervicibus impar. Quamquam o! si nostrum annuerit mihi numen amicum, suscipiam hisce umeris: et me labor iste iuvabit cunctantem et rerum iniusto sub fasce labantem. Quippe ego (cui nec parva queunt et magna recusant ferre umeri) indubitemne meis, si numen amicum, viribus? Et tanto cessabo hoc cardine rerum? Non ita me sanctae primis docuere sub annis Pierides: audendum adeo et praeludia parva tanti operis temptanda mihi. Si carmina regi nostra placent, pergendum etiam tanto auspice rege et regis caelestis ope. Ergo o maxime regum, caelicolum rex alme, tuo qui numine reges das regnis haud indecores, et regibus addis incluta regna bonus, rerum et successibus auges: atque alios contra, haud necquiquam iratus avito exturbas solio, dum recti in lancibus aequis fas versum atque nefas aequato examine pensas: te veniam, te pacem oro tam grandibus ausis, et velis mare tranquillum et tractabile caelum sulcanti remis regni imperiosius aequor; da remos et vela rati; da stringere litus extremamque oram, et scopulos vitare sonantes; aspira facilemque auram lucemque serenam, donec laeta suo condatur cumbula portu. Tuque adeo quem septem arces et moenia Romae iam dirum hostem horrent, fataliaque arma tremiscunt, Ferguso generate, poli certissima proles: quot reges tulit olim orbis, quot regna Britannus, tot regnis augende haeres, tot regibus orte, tot reges geniture olim felicibus astris, laetus in optatae sanctis amplexibus Annae, Annae, cuius amor te tot vada caerula mensum, tot scopulos, tot praeruptas saxa ardua rupes, tantam hiemem, tot feta feris et inhospita tesqua

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English translation By what right route one should approach kingship, How just rule should be directed, which skills govern peace and which war, I would now be singing, were it not that on the very threshold My mighty topic deterred me and a burden beyond my neck to bear. And yet, o, if our divine power is friendly and approves my project, I will take it upon these shoulders of mine, and this task will give me pleasure Though I hesitate and totter under the difficult load of my subject. For should I, whose shoulders cannot bear Even small weights and refuse those of great size, Doubt my own strength if divinity is on my side? And shall I hold back at this crucial crossroads in affairs? Not such was the training I had in my earliest years From the holy Muses. I must be bold then and attempt a small prelude To so great a work. If my songs please the king, I must also proceed With such a great king as my patron and with help of the king of heaven. And so, o greatest of kings, sweet king of those who dwell above, You who with your power assign fit kings to kingdoms and add Illustrious realms to kings in your goodness and foster them With success in their affairs, and you who on the other hand Thrust others from their ancestral thrones in effective wrath While in the fair scales of justice you weigh Right and wrong turned upside down with equal balance, You I ask for pardon, you for peace for such a mighty enterprise, For a calm sea for my sails and a heaven I can handle, As I cleave with oars the rather imperious ocean of kingship, Grant oars and sails to my ship, grant that I may scrape the shore And the edge of the coast and avoid the roaring rocks: Breathe on me a favourable breeze and give calm light Until my small bark is happily lodged in its harbour. And you too, before whom the seven citadels and walls of Rome Shudder as a dire enemy and tremble at your deadly arms, Descendant of Fergus, most certain issue of heaven, For all the kings and kingdoms that the British world has ever brought forth, Heir to be increased by all those kingdoms, born from all those kings, Soon to beget just so many kings with the stars set fair, Happy in the hallowed embrace of your longed-for Anne, Anne, whose love carried you off as you traversed so many blue waves, So many rocks, so many cliffs steep with sheer crags, So great a storm, so many inhospitable wildernesses teeming with beasts,

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raptavit gelidisque morantem distulit oris:

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Iam propior1 Phoebo, Musis lucem annue nostris, dum canimus decus omne tuum, decus omne tuorum, Rex Iacobe, decus Musarum et Apollinis ingens. Amplum, augustum, ingens decus, alta ab sede verendum omnibus unum aliis dare iussa, imponere leges, et maria et terras et pacem et bella tueri. Tam laus digna Deo quam divinae aemula laudis, fraudem arcere bonis, cladem importare profanis, et sanctos servare tuo sub numine. Sed quo maior honos, hoc maius onus. Res ardua quam sit, regnare et sceptris gentes frenare superbas, cum ratio, tum exempla docent. Illam inspicis? Arte qua fas, quanta mole coerceri2 a capite uno tot capita ac vulgum infrenem discordibus armis atque animis, numeroque ferocem et viribus acrem, in gyrum rationis agi, cogique sub orbem imperii iurisque manu legisque flagello ferre iugum frenosque pati et mansuescere habena? Exemplis te facta movent? Volve, atque revolve aevi omnis memores longis anfractibus annos, omnia regna, omnes longo demum ordine reges: quam paucos tandem invenias, qui munere tanto defuncti cum laude, omni sine labe reperti, qui meriti nomen regis, vel nominis umbram. Fama est regem Asiae quondam dixisse potentem una omnes inscribi uno posse anulo, et una includi gemma, fulvum quae dividit aurum. Undoso hoc cursum in pelago rectum usque tenere, per brevia et syrtes caecasque sub aequore cautes, paene nefas, ni multa ratem firma ancora fundet virtus, et varios rerum experientia ventos exploret, fluctusque feros clementia caeli mulcere, et clarum puppi praetendere lumen alma velit, clavumque regat, velisque ministret. Tantae molis opus regnandi innare per aequor. Vis arcana tamen naturae et conscia fati semina scintillaeque novus quibus emicat ignis,

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And slowed you up as you delayed on frozen shores: How far from your country, your people and kingdom left behind! Now [returned] closer to Phoebus, consent to give light to our Muses As we sing of the whole of your glory and the glory of your family, King James, mighty glory of the Muses and of Apollo. It is an ample, august and mighty distinction that one revered man From his lofty seat should give orders to all others, impose laws And control the seas, the land, peace and war. It is a glory equally worthy of God and a rival to divine distinction To ward off harm from the virtuous, to bring disaster to sinners And to keep the saints safe under your power. But the greater The honour, the greater the burden. How hard a thing it is To reign and rein in proud peoples with rule, Both reason and example demonstrate. Do you want to consider the former, The skill and great effort by which it is right that so many heads Should be constrained by one head, and that the mob, with its fractious weapons And will unrestrained, fierce in numbers and bold in strength, Should be led into the taming circuit of reason and compelled Under the circle of control, both by the might of right and by the whip of the law, To bear the yoke, endure the bridle and grow tame with the rein? Do actual instances move you by their example? Consider and reconsider The years rich in memory of every age in their winding courses, All kingdoms, indeed all kings in their long-stretching order: How few can you find in the end, who have executed So great a role with distinction and are found free from any stain, Who have deserved the name of king – or [even] the shadow of the name? The story goes that a mighty king of Asia once said That [the names of] all of them could be inscribed together on one ring And contained within one gemstone set in the midst of tawny gold. To hold a straight course continually in this stormy ocean, Through shallows and sandbanks and invisible rocks under the surface, Is almost uncanny, were it not that a multitude of virtues secure the ship As a firm anchor, and experience of events scrutinises the various winds, And the mercy of heaven is willing to soothe the fierce waves And hold out a bright light over the vessel in its kindness And directs the keel and attends to the sails. It is a task of such great effort to voyage through the sea of sovereignty. Yet a secret force of nature and seeds conscious of their destiny And sparks by which a new fire flashes out,

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lucis inardescens radiis genitalibus almae nunc reliquis, nec prorsum alta caligine mersis, succendunt ardore novo mortalia corda. Hinc flammata virum vis densa per ardua rerum fertur ovans, regumque sibi deposcit honores. Quin facilis pro laude labor: levat alta laborem gloria, celsi animi pennis sublimibus apta. Quid studium humani generis? Quid vivida virtus, ignavae impatiens umbrae atque ignobilis oti? Quid proavi? Quid sanguis? Amor quid coniugis aureae? Et dulces nimium dilecta e coniuge nati? Et praedulce decus patriae: populique patrumque vel bello quaerenda salus, per mille pericla, mille neces, et morte ipsa quod durius usquam est? Quo patriae non raptet amor caelestis et aulae aetheriae, aeterna regem quae luce coronat? Quo summi genitoris honos? Quo gloria nati? Quae rapere una potest humiles super aethera mentes sidereo invectas curru et caelestibus alis: quis Pietas petit astra viamque affectat Olympo. Nos etiam quot, quanta trahunt! O quam sumus una coniuncti qui regnamur cum rege catena? Virtutis secat ille viam dux praevius, ultro nos comites. Fertur praeceps per devia? Iam nos praecipites. Vernat Zephyris felicibus? Et nos floremus. Lapsum urget hiems? Nos flore caduci defluimus ruimusque. Ita nodo adstringimur arto devincti: commune bonum, commune periclum. Qualis ab aethereo Phoebus molitur Olympo sive poli pulsu celeres seu sponte quadrigas, nunc revehens cum luce diem, nunc noctis opacas obducens tenebras mortali rebus in orbe: talis agens celsa princeps sublimis ab aula seu procerum impulsu seu sponte volubilis, infert laetitiae lucem populo luctusque tenebras et recti pravique vices luxumque modumque. Quisquis es ergo hominum qui rex moliris habenas

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Burning with the birth-giving rays of nourishing light, Now, in the remainder [of men] who are not wholly sunk in deep darkness, Kindle mortal hearts with new ardour. From this source a flaming force in men is borne along in triumph Through the dense heights of creation and demands for itself the honour of kingship. Indeed, the labour is easy in return for laudation: high glory Makes the labour light when fitted with the lofty wings of the soaring soul. What of [the ruler’s] affection for the human race? What of his lively courage, Impatient of the coward’s shade and ignoble leisure? What of ancestors? What of bloodline? What of the love of a wife of golden attractions? And of sweet sons born from that wife much-beloved And of the supremely sweet glory of the nation, the security Of the people and senate that must be sought even by war – through a thousand perils, A thousand slayings, and whatever in the end is crueller than death itself? Where should the love of his heavenly country not take him, And of the celestial court, which crowns its king with everlasting light? Where the glory of the supreme father? Where the glory of the son, Which alone can carry humble minds above the heavens Riding on an astral chariot and heavenly wings, On which Piety seeks the stars and makes its way to Olympus. How many, how great are the things that draw us, too, together! How much are we the ruled joined in a single chain with the ruler? He pursues the way of courage in front as leader, we as willing followers. Is he carried headlong off the path? We rush headlong already. Does he flower with fertile West winds? We too flourish. Does a storm press him as he falls? We too fall from our flowering And sink down and collapse. Thus we are tied and bound together With a tight fastening: our prosperity is in common, in common is our danger. Just as Phoebus sets in motion from celestial heavenly Olympus His chariot, swift by the thrust of the sky or of its own accord, Now bringing back day with its light, now drawing the gloomy shadows Of night over creation in the world of mortals: So the prince acting loftily from his court on high Whether from the influence of leading men or moving of his own accord, Brings the light of joy or the gloom of grief to his people And the alternation of right and wrong, of excess and restraint. Whoever, then, you may be who wield the reins of men as king,

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115 seu lectus magno e populo seu natus avito

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in solio, vel lege nova vel more vetusto sortitus sceptrique decus regnique coronam: huc aures adverte, et conde haec sensibus imis quae dicam. Mea dicta ferent, mihi crede, salutem: ‘quam magis haud cogi in regno optandum atque beatum, tam magis haud suaderi etiam miserum et fugiendum’. Est lapis ardenti quondam fornace recoctus, algidus in tantum exterior quantum intimus ardet. Cui nomen calx viva. Latex si depluit undae hunc super, ignem intus latitantem frigidus imber irritat: citus ecce foras ruit ardor anhelans, atque aestu flagrante vomens incendia circum cum fumo crepituque et taetro infamis odore. Haud aliter (si magna licet componere parvis) quae Phlegethontaeis animorum incocta caminis saxea durities vitiorum et pasta sub artus flamma nocens et avara auri regnique cupido, atque irae atque odii, Venerisque gulaeque libido condita visceribus caecisque inclusa cavernis delitet ut regni illecebris ros impluit aulae blandior, et regi cum fulmine legis ad aures vox tonat. Effracta cito nube erumpit in auras, et foedam glomerat tempestatem, ignibus atris fumiferam involvens noctem, vastoque fragore regna ruens sordentem exhalat in astra Mephitim. Mota adeo Camarina furit graveolentis Averni, dat strepitum longe applaudens Stygii aula tyranni, at caelum late circum rubet omne pudore. Quare ea dicta cave sanctas demittere in aures palponum quae turba canit, quod degitur aevi dulce venenum aulaeque omnis, Stygio orta profundo Etrusca de peste lues: ‘extraque supraque esse fori pilas legum et tabularia regem. Stat regi ut regni domino pro lege voluntas.’ Talia dicta vomit diris e faucibus Orcus; Inficit aulam omnem insinuat se in pectora regum. Da pater hoc nostris aboleri dedecus armis

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Whether chosen from a great populace or born on an ancestral throne, Whether you have gained under a recent law or an ancient custom The glory of the sceptre and the crown of the kingdom: Turn your ears this way, and store this that I say In your deepest senses. My words will bring safety, believe me: ‘Just as it is more preferable and blessed to avoid being compelled in ruling, So it is also more miserable and undesirable to be closed to persuasion’. There is a stone which, once baked in a blazing oven, Is cold on its outside just as much as it burns within; its name is quicklime. If the water of the sea rains down Upon it, the cold shower stirs up the fire that hides inside: Behold, the flame runs rapidly out, panting And spewing fire all around with blazing heat With smoke and crackling and notorious for its filthy smell. Just so (if one may compare great things to small) Is the stony hardness of vices baked in the infernal furnaces Of men’s minds and the noxious flame of vices nourished just beneath their limbs And the greedy passion for gold and rule, And the desire for anger and for hate and for sex and the belly Is hidden in the vitals and lurks imprisoned in unseen caverns; Just as the dew of flattery rains in more fulsome force on the court By reason of the allurements of monarchy, and its voice Resounds with the thunderous force of law to the king’s ears, Breaking swiftly through the cloud it escapes to the breezes, And gathers together a foul tempest, enveloping the smoky night With dark fires, and running through the kingdom with a mighty crash It breathes out its filthy sulphur to the stars. Furthermore, Camarina of ill-smelling Avernus is stirred and rages, The court of the ruler of Hell roars far off in applause, But the whole sky all about blushes far and wide with shame. For this reason beware of admitting into your sacred ear Those words repeated by the crowd of flatterers, The sweet poison that is the mark of the age and of every court, A contamination risen from the deeps of Styx, derived from That Etruscan scourge: ‘The king is outside and above The columns of the court and the registry of the laws, The king’s will stands for law as he is the master of the realm’. Such are the statements that Hell spews from its foul jaws; It stains every court and insinuates itself into the hearts of kings. Grant, Almighty Father, that this disgrace be obliterated

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omnipotens! Haec dira meo fac vulnere pestis pulsa cadat regumque aulas et limina linquat. Imperet hic servis tantum? Rex ergo tyrannus an patriae pater? An custos populique patrumque? An iuris legumque sacer sanctusque minister? Hoc, quo quisque Deo se rex gerit ipse minorem, hoc Deus est aut viva Dei viventis imago, cui bellare nefas, cui fas parere: potestas servire est, regnatque Deo regnata voluntas, Cuius et3 aequi omnis rectique est norma voluntas. Est pecus, est peior pecude, est fera belua, soli qui sibi se natum credit, qui non nisi in ipso cogitat imperium imperio, qui denique secum non putat ipse datum se civibus, at sibi cives. Nonne est dono hominum et divino munere, reges, in vestrum collata sinum respublica, non ut lactetis spe vana, at eam foveatis alumni? Nonne praeest populo princeps, non principis ergo, sed populi? Populique salus lex aurea regi? Aurea quae summo collucent sidera caelo, luminis alma sui indulgent mortalibus auram: qui regno inlucent reges, clarissima mundi lumina, si lucem officio, si laude tuentur, nonne suo accendant nobis de lumine lumen? Ac veluti in mare velivolum vaga flumina cursu praecipitant repetuntque suos verso agmine fontes omnia sub magna retro labentia terra: haud secus ad regem refugo redit acta recursu gratia larga suo, quam rex de fonte profundit in populum quaque imperii rigat arva beata. O praestantem animi magnae nec mentis egentem et nimium felicem illum, qui in culmine summo rerum audire bonus mavult quam magnus, et in quo maiestate modus sceptrisque modestia crevit, quem populus proceresque orientem et luce nitentem quale iubar Phoebi aut radiati numinis instar adspiciunt certatim omnes medii inter amorem atque metum, alternisque animis atque ore salutent4 ambigui patremne bonum regemne severum.

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By our weapons! Make this abominable plague fall defeated by a wound from me And leave the halls of kings and their thresholds. Is he to give his orders only to slaves? Is the king then a tyrant Or a father to his country? Or the guardian of people and nobles? Or the sacred and holy servant of law and statutes? By as much as each king conducts himself as lesser than God By that much he is God, or rather the live image of the living God, With whom it is wrong to war, whom it is right to obey: power Is to serve, and that will rules that is [itself] ruled by God Whose will is also the standard of all justice and right. He is a mere herd-animal, worse than a herd-animal, he is a wild beast Who believes himself to be born only for himself, who Thinks in his power of nothing but that power, Who finally holds in his heart that he has not been given to his citizens but they to him. Is your state not placed in your bosom by the gift of man And the granting of God, you kings, not for you to toss it with empty hope, But rather for you as its nurslings to cherish it? Is the prince not at the head of the people not for the prince’s sake But for that of the people? Is not the people’s safety the golden law for a king, The golden stars that shine in the highest heaven In their kindness bestow the gleam of their light on mortals: The kings that illuminate their kingdom, the brightest Lights of the universe, if they protect their glow with duty and glory, Should they not kindle a light in us from their own light? And just as meandering rivers cascade at speed Into the sea of speeding sails and then turn their tide to seek Their own sources, all flowing back under the great earth, Just so does generous grace once granted return to a king In rapid reflux, that [grace] which a king pours from his own spring On to his people and with which he waters the fortunate fields of his realm. How outstanding in spirit and not lacking in greatness of mind And how fortunate is he, who, [placed] at the highest peak of fortune, Prefers the reputation of virtue to that of greatness and in whom Limit has grown through his majesty and restraint in his ruling, Whom his people and leading men behold rising and shining in light Like the shaft of Phoebus or resembling the divine power endowed with rays, All of them vying in the middle ground between love and fear, And greet him with wavering emotions and countenance undecided As to whether he is a kind father or stern ruler.

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Hic praeclarus honos, haec regum turris aena, quo vos nunc humana vocant divinaque iura, et sensus sapientum omnis, qui legibus orbem fundarunt, qui rexerunt, qui voce magistra quique manu docuere artes moremque regendi. Cura poli populique salus, ius normaque regni, laus sceptri, lux imperii, flos ipse coronae quam vobis servet florentem, atque ubere largo eximios foetusque diu fructusque ferentem iustitiaeque piae et iustae pietatis et omnis officii, quod mox sanctae virtutis amara pullulet ab radice tibi densissima silva, Rex Iacobe, tibi regina ab suavibus Anna floribus, et sancta faciat vos prole parentes (quae regat immensum Christi sub legibus orbem) Rex regum, Divum dominus, Deus ille Deorum. Christiadum genitor, rex omnipotentis Olympi, longe clara tui splendescat nominis aura; late sceptra tui pateant caelestia regni; sic terra, ut caelo, fiat tua sancta voluntas. Nobis nostrum hodie da victum et commoda vitae; Da tabulas nullo aere novas, nam nos damus ultro, Et ne nos praedae exponas, sed libera ab hoste, Nam regnum roburque tuum et decus omne per aevum est.

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This is the brightest glory, this is the bronze tower of kings, To which human and divine right now call you [both], And all the feeling of those wise men, who have stabilised the world With laws, who have ruled, who with their masterly voice And by their might have taught the skills and custom of ruling. The care of heaven and salvation of your people, law and model of your kingdom, Glory of your rule, light of your empire, the very flower of the crown Which may He keep flourishing for you, and long bringing forth In bounteous abundance the outstanding issue and fruit Of pious justice and just piety and all kinds of duty; May He make this in due course sprout as the thickest of forests From the bitter root of holy virtue for you, King James, And from sweet flowers for you, Queen Anne; And may He make you parents with sanctioned issue To rule the boundless world under the laws of Christ, He, the King of Kings, the Lord of gods, the God of Gods. Father of the followers of Christ, king of all-powerful Olympus. Far may the splendour of your name shine forth in brightness, Widely may the heavenly sceptre of your rule extend; May your holy will be done in earth as in heaven, Give us this day our nourishment and essentials of life, Give us clean accounts void of debt, for we give [the same] of our own accord, And do not expose us to plundering, but deliver us from the enemy, For the kingdom and the might are yours and all glory for ever.

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Commentary 1–15a Preface The opening lines (1–4) echo the start of the preface to Virgil’s Georgics 1 with its series of similar indirect questions (1.1–3: qua . . . quo | . . . | . . . quae . . . qui) and its statement of intended song (1.5: hinc canere incipiam); this beginning thus strikes a strongly didactic note appropriate to the poem. The phrase iniusto sub fasce (7) comes from the Georgics again, describing a soldier’s heavy pack (3.346), while the idea that writing is a task that gives pleasure (6: labor iste iuvabit) is Ovidian (Ex Ponto 3.9.24: scribentem iuvat ipse labor, ‘while the very toil gives pleasure to the writer’). The notion that the poet might not be up to the great task in hand is another classical topos (see esp. Horace, Odes 1.6.5–12); 5 quamquam, o! is again Virgilian (echoing the same words at Aeneid 5.195), as is 5 numen amicum ending a hexameter (cf. Aeneid 2.735) while tanto cessabo hoc cardine rerum (10) combines a Virgilian phrase (Aeneid 1.672: haud tanto cessabit cardine rerum, ‘at such a turning point of fortune she [Juno] will not be idle’) with the Lucretian idea that the poet must rise to a national occasion (1.41–2). The idea of ‘not such was my training from X’ (11–12) echoes Virgil, Aeneid 9.201–3: non ita me genitor . . . | . . . | . . . erudiit (‘my father has not trained me in such a way’), while the idea of a poetic attempt in a preface (13: temptanda) recalls Georgics 3.8: temptanda via est (‘the way must be attempted’); note the forceful use of gerunds and gerundives: udendum . . . temptanda . . . pergendum. The preface’s last line stresses the dual importance of the earthly monarch and God, the king of heaven, a key theme for the poem.

15b–28 Invocation of God This passage invokes God as the poem’s patron; the initial address combines Virgilian phrasing (Aeneid 3.21: caelicolum regi, ‘for the king of the gods’) with the more Christian divine epithet alme. With similar syncretism, the idea that God can remove kings from their thrones combines the Virgilian phrase solium avitum (Aeneid 7.169, ‘ancestral throne’) with a thought from the Magnificat (Luke 1:52: deposuit potentes de sede, ‘he removed the powerful from their seat’), and the divine scales of justice (20–1) derive both from biblical precepts on kingship (Proverbs 16:11: pondus et statera iudicia Domini sunt, ‘weight and balance are judgments of God’) and from the Jupiter of the Aeneid (cf. 12.725: aequato examine lances, ‘scales in even balance’; 21 fas versum atque nefas also cites Georgics 1.505), while 22 te veniam, te pacem oro echoes Ovid’s address to Cupid at Amores 1.2.21: veniam pacemque

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rogamus (‘we request pardon and peace’). The weather-phrases of lines 23–4 are highly classicizing (tractabile caelum cites Aeneid 4.53, imperiosius aequor Horace, Odes 1.14.8–9), as is the idea of the poetic voyage (23–8), here echoing in particular the proem of Georgics 2 to Virgil’s patron Maecenas (2.39–46: 25 da . . . vela ∼ 2.41: da vela, 25–6 stringere litus | extremamque oram ∼ 2.44: primi lege litoris oram, ‘skirt the near shoreline’); the diminutive cumbula (28) is found only once in classical Latin (Pliny, Ep. 8.20.7), but picks up the poetic cumba of Propertius 3.3.22 (another programmatic passage).

29–43 Address to James This balances the preceding invocation of God; the second (if highly laudatory) placing of James befits Melville as cleric and suggests that mortal kings are subordinate to divine rule, implying that the so-called ‘divine right’ of monarchs was not unlimited. The initial tuque adeo points the reader to Virgil’s invocation of the future Augustus in the proem to Georgics 1 (1.24: tuque adeo), appropriate both as initial addressee and as monarchical figure; this reminiscence of the greatest of Roman emperors gives an ironic twist to the statement (29–30) that James is feared by the city of Rome (meaning the Pope and Catholicism – Melvile naturally presents the king as the champion of Protestantism); 29 moenia Romae cites Aeneid 1.7, while poli certissima proles (31) suggests a parallel of James with Virgil’s Aeneas, deum certissima proles (Aeneid 6.322 , ‘the most certain offspring of the gods’). The reference to James’ descent from Fergus and a line of monarchs (31–2) looks to the mythical list of early Scottish kings to be found at the start of histories of Scotland following Hector Boece (Historia Gentis Scotorum, 1527), and 32–3 allude to James’ politically crucial status as the then heir to the crown of England and Ireland (to which he would succeed in 1603). Note the elegant chiasmus in 32–3 reges . . . regna . . . regnis . . . regibus. Lines 36–40 point to the arduous voyages James had undertaken, first in the winter of 1589 to Scandinavia to marry Anne (in Oslo) and then a few weeks before the coronation to bring her to Scotland (for the details see Meikle 2008); the stress on his motivation of love at 34–5 Annae, | Annae, cuius amor echoes linguistically Virgil’s love for his poet-friend Gallus (Ecl. 10.72–3: Gallo, | Gallo, cuius amor, ‘Gallus, Gallus, for whom my love [grows]’), while the journey-description of 36–9 is a tissue of classical colour (cf. Aeneid 7.198: vada caerula, Ecl. 10.46 procul a patria; Ovid, Rem. Am. 179: rupes praeruptaque saxa, Fasti 5.293: ardua rupes; Horace, Ep. 1.14.19: inhospita tesqua; [Virgil], Ciris 165: gelidis . . . oris). In 41 Iam propior seems much better than tam propior (an easy copying error; tam + comparative is not a natural Latin construction) and forms a common phrase at the start of the

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classical hexameter (Virgil, Aeneid 3.531; Ovid, Met. 7.163; Manilius 4.725a; Valerius Flaccus 4.443); James is ‘now closer to the sun’, having returned south to Scotland (Scandinavia is presented as further north and colder, though Copenhagen is in fact south of Edinburgh). The praise of James in 42–3 recalls that of Daphnis at Virgil, Ecl. 5.34: tu decus omne tuis (‘you alone give glory to your people’) and of the bay-tree at [Virgil], Culex 402: Phoebi decus ingens (‘the great glory of Phoebus’).

44–75 Discussion of monarchy – theory and examples This section introduces kingship, the main topic of the poem until line 196. Here Melville closely adapts both the language and the ideas of the introduction to Justus Lipsius’ recent Politica (see Introduction), on the weighty responsibilities of the monarch (46; cf. Lipsius: maria, terras, pacem, bellum moderari, ‘to regulate seas, lands, peace, war’), on ratio and exempla (50–2; cf. Lipsius: sed hoc quam arduum sit, cum ratio nos docet tum exempla, ‘but how hard this is is shown to us by reason and particularly by examples’), the natural disorder of the populace (55–6; cf. Lipsius: illam multitudinem, inquietem, discordem, turbidam, ‘that crowd, restless, discordant, wild’), the paucity of capable monarchs (62–7; cf. Lipsius: quam pauci ab omni aevo repertu, qui laudabiliter hoc munere functi et defuncti, ‘how few are to be found in every age who have carried out this task and carried it out to the end in a praiseworthy way’), the image of the stormy voyage for ruling (68; cf. Lipsius: cursum rectum in undoso mari tenere, ‘to hold a direct course in a choppy sea’) and that of the monarch as stabilising anchor (71; cf. Lipsius: quibus velut anchoris haec navis firmatur, ‘by which, just as by anchors, this ship is supported’). Classical reminiscences are consequently more lexical than thematic. The endings of lines 45 and 47 reproduce those of Ovid, Met. 6.83 and Silius Italicus 17.191, those of 50 and 51 those of Lucretius 4.296 and Virgil, Aeneid 1.523, that of 54 that of Virgil, Georgics 2.459. In line 53 I print coerceri from the 1590 first edition, not coercere of 1637; this picks up the same form in the matching passage of Lipsius’ preface (ab uno capite tot capita coerceri, ‘that by a single head so many heads are controlled’) and balances the other passive infinitives in this passage (for the elision see line 121). The Virgilian quotation gentes frenare superbas (51) introduces the metaphor of taming horses (not in Lipsius) for keeping a king’s subjects under control, which runs through lines 52–8 (cf. 53 coerceri, 54 infrenem, 56 gyrum, orbem, 57 flagello and 58 ferre iugum frenosque pati et mansuescere habena); like wild horses, unruly peoples can be tamed to useful obedience. Melville, an elite cleric and university head, shows no sympathy with popular rebellion. Lucan is echoed in 59 (=

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Lucan 1.605 longis anfractibus) and 64 nominis umbram (∼ Lucan 1.135 nominis umbra, of the king-like Pompey). The identity of the king of Asia mentioned in lines 65–7 is unclear; fama est suggests a source, and a possible identity here is Mithradates VI of Pontus, defeated by Pompey (just evoked at line 64), who had a famous collection of gem signet-rings (Pliny, Nat. Hist. 37.11); 65 regem Asiae quondam echoes Virgil’s description of the Pompey-avatar Priam at Aeneid 2.556–7: quondam . . . | regnatorem Asiae, while the description of the ring itself in 67 picks up the jewel of Aeneid 10.134: qualis gemma micat fulvum quae dividit aurum (‘how the gem gleams that breaks up the yellow gold’). In lines 68–75 the running metaphor is that of the ship of state and its safe negotiation of perilous waters, a common classical image (e.g. Horace, Odes 1.14); here we find echoes of the sea-storm that begins the events of the Aeneid (69 brevia et syrtes = Aeneid 1.111) and of the later stage of Aeneas’ voyage to Italy (74 ∼ 10.218: clavumque regit velisque ministrat, ‘he directs the helm and manages the sails’) and a splendid series of alliterations (of c in 69, f in 70, v in 71, expin 71–2, f and c in 72 [where clementia caeli cites Lucan 8.366], p in 73). The one-liner that rounds off the section (75) echoes the one-liner that rounds off the long opening section of the Aeneid (1.33: tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem, ‘so great was the toil to found the Roman nation’); Melville thus uses a weighty classical allusion to frame the weighty topic of his poem, the problems of ruling.

76–97 Monarchical virtues This section points to the exceptional qualities of the good king which fit him to lead, picking up the same theme in Buchanan (see Reid 2014: 58). The key image of lines 76–82 is that of the fire of genius, looking forward to the later image of the king as the blazing sun (106–13). Here the language fittingly echoes the style of Lucretius, hexameter poet of the universe: semina, scintilla and emicat (77), genitalis (78), flammata (81), virum vis (81; NB virum = archaic genitive plural) and the conjunction humanum genus (85) are all Lucretian terms, though Virgil figures strongly too: 76 conscia fati echoes the same phrase at Aeneid 4.529, 78 picks up Aeneid 8.623: solis inardescit radiis, 79 Aeneid 6.267: caligine mersas, 80 Georgics 1.123 = 1.330: mortalia corda, 82 Aeneid 6.589: poscebat honores and 85 Aeneid 5.754 = 11.386: vivida virtus. Line 86 neatly combines the relaxed shade of the start of the Eclogues (1.4: lentus in umbra, ‘at ease beneath the shade’) with the obscure leisure of the end of the Georgics (4.564: ignobilis oti [i.e. otii]), though ignavae . . . umbrae also picks up Ovid, Am. 2.18.3: ignava . . . umbra. Line 87 recalls both the words and the metrical licence (synizesis) at the end of Aeneid 8.372: coniugis aureo

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(the conjunction coniunx aurea is not classical, though dilecta coniunx [88] is found at Silius Italicus 2.622–3, and dulces nati [88] echoes a famous passage of Lucretius, 3.895). Populique patrumque (89) refers to the people and the senate as the main two political constituents of the ancient Roman state (exactly echoing Statius, Silvae 1.4.115 and Martial 7.5.1), easily transferred to the nobles and people of James’ Scotland: patria caelestis (92) is a firmly Christian phrase and concept (found e.g. at Augustine, En. in Ps. LXXXV.14), but the equally Christian phrase aulae aetheriae (92–3; cf. Ambrose, Tit. 18.2) is also found at Seneca, Thyestes 1077–8 (a play much concerned with monarchy), just as summus genitor (94) can be pagan ([Seneca], Oct. 245) as well as Christian (Amarcius, Serm. 2.3.216). These are all examples of classical notions reframed in a Christian era, something also true of the section’s last phrase, exactly echoing Virgil’s prophecy of deification for the future Augustus at the end of the Georgics (97 = 4.562: viamque adfectat Olympo, from a context already echoed at line 86; quis at the start of line 97 is a poetic form of quibus), but referring to the immortality attained by the good Christian king.

98–113 The common interest of the ruler and ruled This point is again drawn from Lipsius’ preface, together with the metaphor of the chain (cf. Lipsius: aucta quadam catena devincti sumus qui imperamur cum imperante, ‘we are bound by some great chain, we who are ruled with a ruler’) and the technique of brief and rapidly answered rhetorical questions. The alliterative virtutis via (100) is a phrase used by both Sallust (Iug. 1.3) and Horace (Odes 3.24.44), and viam secare is Virgilian (Aeneid 6.899, 12.368), praeceps per devia from Silius Italicus (17.122: per devia praeceps); commune bonum is exactly Lucretian (5.958), commune periclum exactly Virgilian (Aeneid 2.709), but recti pravique (113) is again drawn from Lipsius’ preface (prava pleraque aut recta), as is the comparison of the king to the sun / Phoebus Apollo (Lipsius: ut a sole . . . sic a principe, ‘just as from the sun . . ., so from the prince’), here developed into a full epic-style simile with some classical colour (106–13): 106 aethereo . . . Olympo exactly mirrors Aeneid 8.319, 108 noctis opacas varies the line-ending at Aeneid 8.658: noctis opacae.

114–43 The dangers of flattery and evil advisers The same emphasis on the dangers of flattery is found at the end of Lipsius’ preface (with 120–1 compare Lipsius: ut illud in Principatu beatissimum est non cogi, ita miserrimum non suaderi, ‘just as the happiest element of the status of ruler is not to be forced, so the most miserable is not to be convinced [by advice]’), also echoed in 118, where the originally Virgilian phrase sensibus imis (cf. Ecl. 3.54) is reused in Lipsius’ similarly hortatory conclusion

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(ex imis sensibus). Melville also echoes similar warnings against flatterers in Buchanan’s De Iure Regni (Reid 2014: 58–61). Allusions to classical Latin poetry are again rich, especially on the theme of monarchy: hominum . . . habenas (114) appropriately picks up Statius on the Emperor Domitian’s rule of Rome (Theb. 1.30: hominum . . . habenis), avito . . . solio (115–16) Virgil on Latinus, king of the Latins (= Aeneid 7.169), while line 118 echoes King Syphax’s words to the general Hasdrubal in Silius Italicus (16.212: Hasdrubal, huc aures, huc quaeso advertite sensus ‘Hasdrubal, turn your ears, your senses here, I ask’). The extended simile of quicklime (122–37) expands a detail from Seneca (Nat. Quaest. 3.24.4: vivae calci aquam infunde, fervebit, ‘pour water on quicklime; it will boil’) with Lucretian and Virgilian language and ideas (125 frigidus imber = Virg. Georg. 3.441; 125 ignem . . . latitantem: cf. Lucr. 1.187–5; 127 vomens incendia ∼ Aeneid 8.259: incendia vana vomentem; 128 taetro . . . odore = Lucr. 3.581). The dramatic description of human vice lurking deep in the soul (129–43) opens with an allusion to Virgil (129 picks up Georgics 4.176: si magna licet componere parvis, ‘if it is allowed to compare big things with small ones’), but echoes in its ideas Claudian’s description of the emperor’s propensity for passions (8.241–54), confirming that the point at issue is the deleterious effects of flattery on the king’s own behaviour; the presentation of this idea in Melville as a general truth about humanity is both more Christian and more diplomatic. Delitet in line 135 is a post-classical compound of lateo; note too the matched and musically assonant disyllabic nouns at the endings of lines 135–7 (aulae / aures / auras). Lines 140–2 look to the classical Underworld (140 echoes Aeneid 7.84: exhalat opaca mephitim, ‘breathes forth from her darkness a noxious vapour’, while the ending of 141 replicates that of Aeneid 6.201), but Camarina (141) is difficult in sense with the genitive Averni (as the awkward translation shows). Camerina (sic; Aeneid 3.701) is a Sicilian city, unconnected with the Underworld and the sulphurous Campanian lake and supposed infernal entrance Avernus; a possible solution would be to read the relatively easy change ora . . . Campana for mota . . . Camarina, referring to the stirred-up shore (and waters) of Lake Avernus (for a similar idea see Georgics 2.163–4). The Italian location of 141 suggests the potential rejoicing of the Italian-located Pope at the discomfiture of Protestant monarchs (cf. on 146–7), shared by his notional backer Satan in Hell (142).

144–96 How the king should rule In this key section, the poem’s main body of advice to James, Melville, following Buchanan’s De Iure Regni (see Reid 2014), warns against absolute and tyrannical rule, recommends the benefits of enlightened monarchy and asserts the Ciceronian doctrine that the safety of the people should be the highest law.

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The reference to the ‘Etruscan scourge’ (147) looks to the Italian pope’s support for absolute Catholic monarchs such as the Emperor Charles V (consecrated in Rome in 1530), viewed by the Protestant Melville as the work of the devil; the imagined flatterers’ speech of 147–9 takes up Juvenal’s satirical characterization of the capricious and imperious matrona (6.223: hoc volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas, ‘this I wish, thus I order, there should be will instead of reasoning’); such counsel is further framed as evil by classicizing allusions to its Hellish origins (see on 140–2 and 146 Stygio . . . profundo; 150 echoes Virg. Aeneid 6.273: primisque in faucibus Orci, ‘within the very jaws of Hell’), while the description of the laws (148) is drawn from Georgics 2.501–2: ferrea iura | insanumque forum aut populi tabularia, ‘the iron rigours of the law, the forum’s madness or the public archives’. Regi in 149 is possessive dative, preferred to regis for euphony with regni. The passionate prayer of 152–4 is richly Virgilian, drawing on Georgics 2.504: aulas et limina regum, ‘courts and chambers of kings’, Aeneid 3.616: limina linquunt and especially on Camilla’s prayer at Aeneid 11.789–90: da, pater, hoc nostris aboleri dedecus armis, | omnipotens . . . , ‘grant, o father almighty, that this shame be effaced by our arms’, 792–3: haec dira meo dum vulnere pestis | pulsa cadat, ‘if only this abominable scourge falls, stricken down by a wound I inflict’. The non-tyrannical roles envisaged for the good king in lines 156–8 are cast in terms of the Roman state, with the honorific title pater patriae (granted to Augustus: Res Gestae 35.1) and the role of custos of the nation (described as people and senate, 156 – cf. Aeneid 4.682: populumque patresque) applied by Horace to that same Emperor (Odes 4.5.2), while legum . . . minister (157) echoes Cicero’s characterization of Roman magistrates as legum ministri (Pro Cluentio 146), and the idea that the virtuous king should hold himself lesser than the gods (158: Deo se rex gerit ipse minorem) picks up Horace’s description of Roman virtue at Odes 3.6.5: dis te minorem quod geris imperas (‘it is because you hold yourselves inferior to the gods that you rule’); this is combined with the more Christian idea that man can be the living image of God, from the Lutheran theologian Matthius Flacius (Clavis Scripturae Sacrae [1567] 370: viva imago Dei viventis = 159: viva Dei viventis imago), while the paradoxical idea that royal power is slavery or service (160–1: potestas | servire est) recalls Augustine, Meditation 22 (Deo, cui servire, regnare est, ‘to God: to serve him is to reign’), and the key idea of subordination to divine rather than human will is forcefully underlined by the repetition of voluntas at the end of consecutive lines (161–2). In 162 I prefer et (Melville 1590) to the inelegant atque (Johnston 1637, probably corrupted by the neighbouring aequi). The rest of this argumentative section draws much material and phrasing from contemporary discussions. The idea that the tyrant is a kind of beast

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comes from Buchanan’s De Iure Regni (Reid 2014: 158–61), but the key source (again) is Lipsius’ preface. Elements echoed from Lipsius include the evils of being obsessed with power (164–5; cf. Lipsius: qui in imperio non nisi imperium cogitant, ‘who, when in power, think of nothing other than power’), the king as possession of his subjects rather than vice versa (166; cf. Lipsius: se non civibus datos arbitrantur, sed sibi cives, ‘they believe not that they have been given to the citizens, but the citizens to them’), the image of the monarch as star (172; cf. Lipsius: sicut sidera illa splendorem habent, ‘as those stars have splendour’), a reputation for virtue as better than one for greatness (185; cf. Lipsius: non magnus magis quam bonus audire desiderat, ‘he does not desire to have the reputation of a great man rather than that of a good one’) and the appropriateness of regarding the monarch as both a master and a father (193; cf. Lipsius: ambigentes, Dominum salutent an Patrem, ‘being uncertain, whether to greet him as a master or a father’). Classical theory of monarchy is not neglected: 171 populique salus lex aurea regi echoes the Ciceronian idea that his people’s safety is the king’s highest concern (De Legibus 3.8: salus populi suprema lex esto, ‘let the safety of the people be the highest law’). The description of the stars (172–6) returns to Roman poetry for its material: line 172 draws on Seneca’s account of comets (NQ 7.5.2: in eadem caeli parte collucent, ‘they shine in the same part of the sky’), while 174–5 cite Virgil’s Georgics 1.5–6: clarissima mundi | sidera, and 176 echoes the line-ending Lucretian polyptoton lumine lumen (4.189, 5.283). The extended sea/stream simile of 177–82 (a Virgilian technique and subject, cf. e.g. Aeneid 11.624–8) likewise echoes classical language: in 177 mare velivolum comes from Aeneid 1.224 and vaga flumina from Horace, Odes 1.34.9, while 179 echoes Georgics 4.366: sub magna labentia flumina terra (‘the rivers gliding under the great earth’) and 182 quotes Horace Odes 3.3.48: qua . . . rigat arva and Epodes 16.41: arva beata. The apostrophe and description of the ideal king, which forms the climax of this section (lines 183–94), looks to classical models too: 183 echoes Aeneid 12.19: praestans animi iuvenis (‘youth, matchless in spirit’) and Ovid Tr. 2.395: egentem mentis, 184 the Virgilian line-end culmine summo (Georgics 1.402, 7.512), while iubar Phoebi (188) is a Senecan phrase (Phoebi iubar, Ag. 463), but also encapsulates Lipsius’ sun/king comparison evoked in lines 106–13; numinis instar (188) is a hexameter-ending in Ovid (Met. 14.124), and humana . . . divinaque iura (193) is taken from Cicero, Rosc. Am. 37: iura divina atque humana, the hexameter-ending legibus orbem (194) from Manilius 1.8 (see on 206). In line 190 I prefer the salutent of Melville 1590 (exactly reproducing the subjunctive salutent of Lipsius’ preface, similarly strictly required in an indirect question) to the looser indicative salutant of Johnston 1637 (an easy slip).

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197–207 Address to James and Anne The poem returns to the King and his new Queen, last treated as a pair at 29–44, and to the context of her coronation (cf. 198: coronae) with lavish flattery of the royal couple and a suitable wish for children (typical of the classical epithalamium and similarly placed at the end of Claudian’s poem for the wedding of Honorius, 10.341–2: see Introduction). In 197 cura poli is a phrase from Lucan (6.447), and populique salus recalls Cicero, De Legibus 3.8 once more (see on 171), while in 199 ubere largo is a hexameter ending from Martial (13.44.1). Line 202 metaphorically reworks the literally arboreal Georgics 2.17: pullulat ab radice aliis densissima silva (‘there shoots forth from the root for others a very dense wood’); James’ austere root-like virtue will combine with his Queen’s flowery sweetness to produce suitable issue (sancta points to the legitimation of marriage). Line 206 modifies Manilius 1.8: qui regis augustis parentem legibus orbem (‘who rules the obedient world with august laws’), turning the Roman emperor’s rule over the world into that of James’ Christian (i.e. Protestant) future offspring, while 207 versifies God’s biblical titles (cf. Deuteronomy 10:17: quia Dominus Deus vester ipse est Deus deorum, et Dominus dominantium, ‘For the Lord, your God, is God of gods and Lord of lords’; Revelation 19:16: Rex regum et Dominus dominantium, ‘King of kings and Lord of lords’).

208–15 The Lord’s Prayer This continues the paraphrase of biblical texts by versifying the Bible’s most famous prayer (Matthew 6:9–13; Luke 11:2–4), ornamenting it with classical phrasing: Melville’s poetic output contains other, more extensive biblical paraphases (hexameter versions of the song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32 and of Job chapter 3 [see Glasgow Delitiae]: Biblical paraphrase in verse of the verse portions of the Hebrew Bible, especially of the Psalms, was a staple of humanist poetic composition for both Catholics and Protestants in the sixteenth century and later [see Green 2014]). Here pagan meets Christian in lexicon: the opening Christiadum genitor neatly reworks the opening divine address of Lucretius (1.1: Aeneadum genetrix, ‘mother of Aeneas’), while rex omnipotentis Olympi simply describes God with a title of Jupiter taken from Aeneid 12.791. Lucretius is again the source for the line-ending commoda vitae (212) in another prayer-like invocation (to Epicurus at 3.2), while the ‘clean accounts’ (tabulae novae) of 213 recall one of the revolutionary aims of Catiline (Cicero, Cat. 2.18), and the poem’s final words pick up a hexameterending of Manilius (1.46: omne per aevum).

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Notes 1 Johnston 1637 reads Tam propior, following Melville 1590, but I print my own conjecture Iam propior (see commentary). 2 I print here the text of Melville 1590 (coerceri), not coercere (Johnston 1637); see commentary. 3 Here I prefer et of Melville 1590 (= ‘also, further’) to the atque of Johnston 1637 (see commentary). 4 Here I prefer the salutent of Melville 1590 to the salutant of Johnston 1637 (see commentary).

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A Distinct Mode of Pastoral in Elizabethan Cambridge Giles Fletcher the Elder (c. 1546–1611), Ecloga Daphnis Sharon van Dijk

Introduction Giles Fletcher the Elder (c. 1546–1611) was an English diplomat and poet.1 He is best known as the father of the poets Phineas Fletcher (1582–1650) and Giles Fletcher the Younger (1585/6–1623) and uncle of the playwright John Fletcher (1579–1625). His poetic talent was recognized early on, when he was a schoolboy at Eton; he contributed eleven poems, more than any other pupil, to British Library Royal MS 12 A XXX, a presentation volume given to Queen Elizabeth when she visited the school in 1563. Most of Fletcher’s Latin verse was written in the period 1565–80, when he was a student and fellow at King’s College, Cambridge. In 1573 he became a lecturer in Greek there. He was a well-known poet in Cambridge circles, writing commemorative verse to mark the passing of Nicholas Carr (d. 1568), Regius Professor of Greek at Cambridge, for Walter Haddon (1514/5–71), a renowned Latinist and Regius Professor of Civil Law, and for his son Clere Haddon (d. 1571), a contemporary of Fletcher at Cambridge, who drowned in the river Cam. Furthermore, five of his poems were published as paratexts in influential Protestant works: John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments (1576), Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577) and Peter Baro’s In Jonam prophetam praelectiones (1579). Like many university poets, Fletcher had a career in public service after leaving Cambridge: he served as ‘Remembrancer’ to the city of London (1586–1605)2 and visited Scotland (1586), Germany (1587), Russia (1588–9) and the Low Countries (1598) as an ambassador to Queen Elizabeth. He maintained his ties with the University and produced more poetry later in life. In 1587 he contributed a Latin poem to the Cambridge commemorative volume for Sir Philip Sidney. In 1593 he published, in English, Licia, or Poemes of Love and the first-person 119

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narrative poem The Rising to the Crown of Richard III in one volume, which was printed in Cambridge. Fletcher’s Latin verse circulated and was read decades after it was composed, especially at the University of Cambridge. The poem selected here, entitled Ecloga Daphnis, was written on the death of Nicholas Carr, who had been Regius Professor of Greek from 1551 to 1564; he also qualified as a medical doctor in 1558, as his stipend was not sufficient to support his family. Carr was part of an influential group of humanists at Cambridge in the middle of the sixteenth century, which included such figures as Sir John Cheke, Walter Haddon, William Malim and Thomas Wilson; Carr’s connection to these fellow humanists is evident from the letters, liminary verses, prefaces and dedications he wrote. He was thus also known as a poet, as the eclogue indicates, and was involved in commemorative projects himself, such as the one marking the death of the theologian Martin Bucer (1491–1551). His role in this Cambridge humanist network and the fact that he was a poet in his own right undoubtedly played a role in the creation of a commemorative collection of verse on the occasion of Carr’s death, which was published in the same volume as his posthumous Latin edition of the Olynthiacs and Philippics by Demosthenes (1571). It consists of thirty-two poems by seventeen contributors, including Thomas Bing, Bartholomew Dodington, William Whitaker and Thomas Hatcher; Fletcher contributed six poems. The Ecloga Daphnis can also be found in a manuscript sequence from the latter 1650s, where it is preceded by Fletcher’s elegy on the death of Philip Sidney. This sequence probably originates from Cambridge and is now included in British Library Harley MS 6947. The inclusion of Fletcher’s poems in this sequence demonstrates the ongoing relevance of his Latin verse and shows that occasional verse could remain significant beyond the event for which it was composed. Thirty-eight Latin poems written by Fletcher survive, and eclogues take a unique place in his poetic corpus. He wrote nine eclogues in total: two as a schoolboy and seven while at Cambridge. Five of these Cambridge poems (though not including the Ecloga Daphnis), written in the late 1560s or early 1570s, form a stand-alone compilation, the first Latin eclogue collection produced in Renaissance England. Known as the Hatfield Eclogues, this manuscript collection can be found in the Cecil Papers MS 298.1–5. The collection is dedicated to Lady Burghley, who was the wife of William Cecil, Chancellor of the University of Cambridge from 1559 until his death in 1598; it is likely that Fletcher sent this volume of poems to the Burghleys in the early 1570s to aid his advancement at the University. The eclogues form a sophisticated European-style Latin pastoral collection, influenced by the eclogues of such poets as Petrus Lotichius Secundus (1528–60) and George Buchanan (1506–82). The poems introduce features of contemporary

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Continental pastoral, but are in several respects distinctly English: they have a Cambridge setting, and three use allegory to discuss ecclesiastical politics in a way that was typical of contemporary English pastoral – such as the eclogues of Alexander Barclay (c. 1484–1552) and Barnabe Googe (1540–94) – but not wider Continental Latin pastoral of the period.3 The limited scholarship on Fletcher’s pastoral has focused on his three allegorical eclogues, printed by the Latin poet and anthologist William Dillingham (c. 1617–89) in Poemata Varii Argumenti (1678). These poems demonstrate his commitment to English Protestantism: the first is concerned with the treatment of Protestant clergy during the reign of Queen Mary; the second addresses the troubles of King’s College, Cambridge, with its provost Philip Baker, who was accused of papal leanings; the third is a satiric poem about the death of Edmund Bonner (d. 1569), depicted as a ravaging wolf. Fletcher’s other eclogues have been overlooked, both because of a lack of awareness of his manuscript verse and because many of Fletcher’s poems were published as liminary verse in different volumes and had not been collected in one place; consequently, his eclogues have been portrayed as dominated by religious allegory. Yet they also include a pastoral epithalamium, two pastoral elegies and a long didactic poem on the history of Cambridge. The Ecloga Daphnis has been chosen as an example of Fletcher’s Cambridge pastoral, as it shares many characteristics with the eclogues in his Hatfield collection, including the Cambridge setting and innovative allusions to classical and contemporary Latin verse. Furthermore, it is one of his occasional eclogues that have received scant attention, and unlike Fletcher’s other pastoral verse, it has not previously been transcribed or translated. At the time of Carr’s death in 1568, Fletcher was not a significant figure at Cambridge. He had not yet obtained his BA, and he had only just received it in the preceding year by the time the volume was published in 1571. Yet scholars of all ages and disciplines contributed to commemorative volumes; they were a means for young poets to attract notice and gain a reputation. For Fletcher, contributing to the commemorative volume published with Carr’s posthumous edition of Demosthenes may have been an important first step in his poetic career at Cambridge. He may have been asked to contribute to it because of his promise as a poet, which was noticed from his schooldays. The Ecloga Daphnis is a pastoral elegy: it belongs to a tradition of pastoral poems in which a shepherd or shepherds lament the death of a colleague. It finds its origin in Hellenistic poems by Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, as well as in Virgil’s Eclogue 5, often said to lament Julius Caesar, and Eclogue 10, written on the death of the elegiac poet Gallus. This tradition is often referred to as a ‘convention’ as poems designated as pastoral elegies share certain conventional elements, such as nature lamenting the deceased (known as a

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‘pathetic fallacy’), nymphs being questioned about the death, repeated invocations of the muses and lists of flowers. The familiarity of these conventions means that authors could use them innovatively, by combining or departing from them. Like Fletcher’s other eclogues, the poem is rich in river-imagery; flumina, rivi and undae are together mentioned seventeen times. It also includes allusions to Virgil and contemporary Neo-Latin poets, but the main text Fletcher draws on in this poem is an episode from Ovid’s Metamorphoses 2, the story of Phaëthon. Ovid was an important author for Fletcher also elsewhere in his oeuvre. Ovid’s Metamorphoses form a key influence in two other eclogues, which can be found in the Hatfield collection. Fletcher includes several metamorphoses of his own in De Literis Antiquae Britanniae, a long and unusual didactic eclogue about the history of Cambridge, and alludes to Ovid’s stories of Io, Hyacinthus, Narcissus and Echo, Procris, and Phyllis at the start of the Ecloga Telethusa. In the Ecloga Daphnis Fletcher engages with one of Ovid’s stories in a more sustained manner. By doing so, he creates a successful panegyric for Carr, and the story of Phaëthon also allows him to involve the sun, representing Apollo, in the lament. The speaker in the eclogue suggests that Apollo, in his capacity as a god of healing and learning, should mourn for the medic and scholar Carr as he had for his son Phaëthon. The significance of Carr/Daphnis for medicine and literature is confirmed by the way the sun responds to this suggestion.

Metre: dactylic hexameter

Notes 1 The author would like to thank Dr Victoria Moul for her feedback on the translation and Professor Philip Hardie for suggestions that have been incorporated in the commentary. The original research from which this edition derives was funded by the Leverhulme Trust as part of the ’NeoLatin Poetry in English Manuscript Verse Miscellanies’ project, PI Dr Victoria Moul, 2017–21. 2 The role of Remembrancer to the city of London was created in 1571 and entailed acting as the communications conduit between city, Parliament, Queen and Privy Council. The Remembrancer thus mediated between the most powerful individuals and establishments of the Elizabethan commonwealth. 3 De Morte Boneri is the only eclogue that does not mention Cambridge; it has been widely attributed to Fletcher and was printed by William Dillingham with two poems from the Hatfield collection, but does not seem to exist

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elsewhere in manuscript or in print. There is no circumstantial evidence to confirm the attribution, but there is also no clear reason to doubt it. The poem describes the river Thames using river-imagery familiar from Fletcher’s other eclogues and expresses an anti-Marian stance through ecclesiastical allegory.

Bibliography Berry, Lloyd E. (1961), ‘Five Latin Poems by Giles Fletcher, the Elder’, Anglia, 79: 338–77. Binns, J. W. (1990), Intellectual Culture in Elizabethan and Jacobean England: The Latin Writings of the Age, Leeds (Arca Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers and Monographs 24). Munro, Lucy (2004), ‘Fletcher, Giles, the Elder (bap. 1546, d. 1611), Diplomat and Author’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (https://www. oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb9780198614128-e-9726). Stout, Felicity J. (2015), Exploring Russia in the Elizabethan Commonwealth: The Muscovy Company and Giles Fletcher, the Elder (1546–1611), Manchester. Sutton, Dana F. (2018), ‘Giles Fletcher the Elder, Carmina’ (http://www. philological.bham.ac.uk/fletcher/).

Source of the Latin text The full poem given below is taken from: Nicholas Carr, Demosthenis, Graecorum Oratorum Principis, Olynthiacae Orationes Tres, et Philippicae Quatuor, e Graeco in Latinum Conuersae (London: Apud Henricum Denhamum, 1571), sigs. Aaiijr–Bbjr. Some minor punctuation and orthographical changes have been made.

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Latin text In mortem D. Nico. Carri. Ecloga Daphnis inscripta, sive Querela Cantabrigiae in obitum doctiss. viri D. Nicolai Carri. Per Aegidium Fletcherum

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Si vacat Aonidum tristes cognoscere cantus, Flebilibusque animum iuvat exercere querelis: Accipe quae nuper Chami flaventis ad undam Flebilis Ocyröe tristes resonabat ad auras, Interitus dum, Daphni, tuos, et tristia deflet Funera, cedentemque suprema voce salutat. Forsitan in moestis minus est nocitura voluptas. Nec facilis dolor ille fuit, vos flumina testes, Flumina quasque suis augebat fletibus undas, Et notae salices, et amicae fluminis alni. Quas oculis lacrimas virgo, quas pectore voces Fuderit, ut manibus crines, nil tale merentes, Daphnidis hos umbris mittens, fluvialibus undis Spargeret, his tanquam placentur numina donis. Vix dum caeruleis Aurora receperat undis Solis equos, et adhuc montes amnesque silebant: Cum veniens notas rivi lacrimantis ad undas, Gramineamque iacens ripis proiecta per herbam, Talibus exoluit luctantia pectora dictis, Ausa suis etiam solem accusare querelis. Sol qui purpureis alte regis ignibus orbem, Sol, decus astrorum niveum, cui fistula curae, Carminaque, et medicae (quas Daphnis amaverat) artes, Siccine tam laetas caelo vibrantia flammas Ora moves, nec te radiis sublime micantem Daphnidis interitus, et tristia funera tangunt? At non Oebalidis pueri te fata gementem Terra gemens vidit, nec non Phaëtonta dolebas. Tunc etenim viduas, amisso lumine, terras, Insolitaque orbem damnatum nocte relinquens, Horridus obscura vultum sub nube tegebas, Et lacrimis tempus quaerens, modo serior euro

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English translation On the death of master Nicolas Carr. Eclogue inscribed Daphnis, or: Lament of Cambridge on the death of the most learned man Nicolas Carr. By Giles Fletcher.

If there is time to learn the sad songs of the Muses and [if] it gives pleasure to engage the mind with tearful laments: accept the one that tearful Ocyröe was recently re-echoing to the sorrowful breezes by the waters of the yellow river Cam, as she lamented your death, Daphnis, and the grim funeral rites, and hailed you for the last time, [just] as you were departing. Perhaps in times of sorrow, pleasure is destined to be less harmful: nor was that grief easy [to bear], as you, streams, are my witnesses, you, streams and the waters that she added to by her weeping, and you, familiar willows, and alders, [dear] companions of the river. What tears the virgin poured forth from her eyes, what cries from her breast, and how she scattered her hair (quite undeserving of such treatment) with her hands in the waves of the river, sending it with the shade of Daphnis – as if the Gods are ever appeased by such gifts. Aurora had scarcely yet received the horses of the sun in the blue-green waves, and the mountains and streams were still silent: when she came to the familiar waters of the weeping river, and, lying stretched out on the banks among the lush grass and daring to reproach even the sun in her lament, she expressed her grieving heart in the following words: O Sun, you, who from on high rule the world with purple fires, o Sun, snow-white glory of the stars, in whose care are the shepherd’s pipe and songs, and arts of medicine (which Daphnis loved) – are you truly now setting your countenance in motion, a face that is hurling such joyful flames into the sky? Do the death of Daphnis and the grim funeral rites not touch you [at all], glittering on high with your rays? But the grieving earth did not see you grieving over the death of the boy descended from Oebalus, though you did mourn for Phaëthon; indeed you then left the fields destitute, their light lost, and the world condemned to an unusual night, as you covered your face dreadfully with a dark cloud. To make time for your tears, you soon began to rise later in the east and set

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Surgebas, solitoque cadens maturior undis, Tristia funereo condebas lumina vultu. Nunc quoque (quandoquidem Daphnis florentibus annis Quicquid erat dulcisque aevi, solidaeque iuventae, Paeonias olim iuvenis referebat ad artes) Debueras flexos in nube recondere vultus, Daphnidis et mecum crudelia plangere fata. Sed quid habet, subito cur se novus extulit horror? Nigra repercussum rapuerunt nubila solem, Daphnidis inferias cerno, iam lumina Phoebus Ipse negat, tumuloque novos meditatur honores. Et vos, Pierides, Daphnin defletis ademptum, Seu vos Maeoniae tellus habet, et iuga Pindi, Aones aut montes, et pinguia culta Pelori. Daphnis et Argolicas vobiscum inflare cicutas Noverat, et Latia deducere carmen avena. Testis erit, toties umbram quae grata canenti Praebuit, hoc ipso crescens in gramine fagus, Sub qua Maeonii repetebat carmina vatis, Errantem quibus ille ducem, quibus arma canebat, Bellaque, et heroum flammis ingentibus iras. Et quaecunque colunt haec passim flumina Nymphae, Qua fluvio Chamus Musis notissima cernit Atria, mobilibusque strepens delabitur undis, Quae vocis cantusque sui dulcedine captae, Saepius hic tacitis exultavere sub antris. Quale per aestatem decurrens gurgite rivus Dum fluit, innocuisque strepens admurmurat undis, Suaviter inspirat molles in pectore somnos, Dulce viatori rigua solamen in umbra, Milleque dans ripae ludentibus oscula lymphis Indigenas sonitu Nymphas, camposque salutat: Tale tuum nostras carmen veniebat ad aures. Nec deerat magnis etiam vis insita verbis, Dulcibus interdum miscebas grandia rebus. Vos quoque quae nemorum colitis vicina, Napaeae, Floraque, Sylvarumque deae, Dryadesque puellae, Arva quibus saltusque et florea pascua cordi, Daphnidis exequias viridi de caespite bustum Construite, et manibus ferulas, thymbrasque comantes, Chrysanthumque hederamque, et acanthi nobile gramen

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earlier than usual in the waves, hiding [the light of] your sad eyes with a dismal expression. Now, too (since Daphnis once as a young man in the bloom of his age brought back something of the sweetness and strength of youth to the Paeonian arts), you should have concealed your altered countenance in a cloud and lamented the cruel death of Daphnis with me. But what is happening; why has a new dread suddenly arisen? The sun has been pushed back, and black clouds have snatched it away; I can see the funeral rites [in honour] of Daphnis, and now Phoebus himself is refusing his light and considering new honours for the tomb. And you, Muses, are weeping for lost Daphnis, whether the land of Maeonia holds you, and the ridges of Pindus, or the Boeotian mountains and the rich fields of Pelorus. Daphnis too knew how to blow the Argolic shepherd’s pipes with you, and how to compose a song on the reed-pipe of Latium. And she will be my witness – the pleasing one who so often offered shade to Daphnis as he sang, the beech growing in this same grass, beneath which he used to repeat the songs of the Maeonian bard, singing tales of the wandering leader, of weapons and wars, and of the mighty flames of heroic anger. And all the Nymphs who inhabit these streams all around here, where Cam from his river beholds halls so well known to the Muses and glides murmuring down in rapid waves; captured by the sweetness of his voice and of his song, they have very often rejoiced here in the silent caves. Just as a river in the summer [heat] while it flows running down with a swirl, humming and rumbling with its harmless waves, sweetly breathing gentle sleep into [our] hearts, a pleasant consolation for the traveller in the well-watered shade, and giving a thousand kisses to the water-goddesses playing on the bank, as it greets the local Nymphs and the fields with its sound: such was your song as it came to our ears. Nor did it even lack natural power, [a gift] for mighty words, as you mingled great matters with sweet. You also who dwell in the vicinity of the groves, dell-nymphs, [goddess] Flora and the goddesses of the woods and the Dryad girls, to whom the cultivated land, the woodlands and the flowery meadows are dear, construct in honour of Daphnis a burial mound from green turf, and with your hands cast upon it fennel stalks and shaggy savory, the chrysanth and ivy, the noble stem of the

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Iniicite, et Veneris crines, floremque marini

75 Roris, et hunc titulum superaddite, DAPHNIDIS umbris.

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Nam memini quondam vestris ut solus in agris Erraret dum prima rotis lux praevia solem Orta tulit, madidos nec adhuc ros linqueret agros. Utque manu passim medicas decerperet herbas. Non illum latuit quicquid genialibus hortis Crescit, et ingenitos herbarum noverat usus. Quas vires melilothus habet, quibus Intyba morbis Conveniant, quid agat foliis bicoloribus Arus. Rutaque, serpillumque, soporiferumque papaver. Nec minus occultas morborum pellere causas Novit, et herbarum succos miscere salubres. Daphnis et astrorum varios describere cursus, Stellarumque polo casus cognovit, et ortus, Sidera quaque forent caeli statione locanda. Quid Lyra, quidve ferat volucer Tegeaticus ortu, Cur piger oceano metuat sua plaustra Bootes Mergere, quidve fero minitantem Scorpion ictu, Effugiat pavitans cursu venator Orion? Sed neque iam tantum plangentes flumina Nymphae, Quaeque per has habitat passim dea rustica sylvas, Quantum, quae viridi tecum crescebat ab aevo Ocyröe moesto celebrat tua funera planctu. Atque utinam primis esses moderatior annis, Nec te praecipitem laudis tam dira cupido Immodicos animi suasisset adire labores, Forsitan hic mecum poteras cantare sub umbra. O quoties dixi, seros, fuge, Daphni, labores: Effuge Nocturnos cantus: Nox invida Musis. Immodicam neque pasce sitim, nocet acer habendae Laudis amor, pretioque nocet fama empta dolore. Et Phoebus cytharas, et amant alterna Camoenae. Tu tamen infelix, ipsa sub nocte solebas Ducere nocturnos per amica silentia cantus. Nec te grata quies, munus caeleste Deorum, Bruma nec attonitos quae frigore concutit artus, Quaeve monent blandos viventia sidera somnos, Suadebant vigiles sub noctem abrumpere curas: Usque adeo fertur laudum vesana cupido. Sed tua, quae primo tecum pubescit ab aevo

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acanthus, the locks of Venus and the rosemary flower, and add also this inscription: ‘for the shade of Daphnis’. For I remember how once he wandered in your fields alone, when the first glimmer of light rose and heralded the chariot of the sun, though the dew had not yet left the moist fields. And [I remember] how he everywhere plucked medicinal herbs by hand. Nothing that grows in fertile gardens was unknown to him, and he knew the innate uses of herbs. [He knew] what powers the sweet clover has, which illnesses chicory is good for and what the Arus with its two-coloured leaves can do; [he knew] rue and wild thyme and the sleep-bringing poppy. He knew too how to drive out the hidden causes of diseases and to mix plant-juices to make cures. Daphnis knew how to trace the various courses of the constellations, [he knew] where the stars set in the heaven and where they rise and in which position in heaven the constellations are to be found. [He knew] what [the constellation] Lyre brings at its rising or what the winged Arcadian, why lazy Bootes is afraid of sinking his wagon in the ocean, or why the hunter Orion, trembling in his chase, flees Scorpion threatening with its ferocious sting. But now not even the river-nymphs and all the rustic goddesses who live scattered among these woods are grieving [for you] as much as Ocyröe, who grew up with you from the greenness of your youth and now marks your funeral rites with a sad lamentation. If only you had been more moderate in your early years and such a terrible desire for glory had not persuaded you, rash one, to undertake excessive labours of the mind; perhaps you could have been singing here with me under [the cover of the] shade. O, how often did I say: avoid, Daphnis, working late into the night; forget nocturnal songs. Night is unfavourable to the Muses. Do not nourish unrestrained thirst: a keen desire for winning praise can [only] damage you, and fame purchased with the price of pain does you harm. Phoebus also loves lyres, and Camenae love alternate songs. You, however, unhappy one, had the habit of composing nocturnal songs under the cover of night itself amid the friendly silence [of that time]. Sleep, though a heavenly gift of the gods, was unwelcome to you, as was winter, which shakes limbs struck with cold, or those stars which, when they reappear, advise gentle slumber, and urge us to set aside our wakeful cares at nightfall: so overwhelming was your furious longing for praise [that you ignored all these things]. But your glory, which

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115 Gloria, maturis compensat frugibus annos, Gloria, quae canis spirat florentior annis. Daphni, tuae mecum laudes, victuraque semper Ingenii monumenta manent, tibi serviet omnis Posteritas ventura, nec ulla redarguet aetas. 120 Daphni vale. Quid tum nobis si longa negentur Tempora? quae melior, bene fertur longior aetas. Dulce mori, cum fata viros et sidera poscunt. Talia nequicquam surdas effudit ad auras Ocyröe, gemituque animam suspirat inani 125 Daphnidis, et lacrimis humectat grandibus ora. Illam amnes mirati, illam vicina domorum Pascua, flumineaeque ipsis in vallibus undae, Et circumfusis stupuerunt Naiades antris. Tum vero manibus iungentes agmina Musae, 130 Tecta relinquebant moestae, templumque petebant Purpureis omnes velatae corpora pallis, Daphnidis et moesto celebrabant funera cantu, Qua pater irriguo decurrens gurgite Chamus, Alluit Aonidum bis septem tecta sororum.

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has developed with you from childhood, makes up for [your short] years with ripe fruits, glory that flourishes more beautifully than white-haired old age. Daphnis, your praise and monuments of your talent remain with me and will endure forever; every future generation shall serve you, and no age to come shall refute it. Farewell, Daphnis. What then [does it matter] if we are denied a long life together? Better than longevity is a long youth well lived. For men it is sweet to die when the fates and constellations demand. Such things Ocyröe poured out in vain to deaf breezes; in her empty lament she sighs for the soul of Daphnis, and her cheeks grow wet with great tears. The streams marvelled at her, as did the pasture around the homes nearby, and the waters of the rivers in the valleys themselves, and the Naiads in surrounding caves stood still in astonishment. Then indeed the Muses, joining hands in a train, left their houses in sorrow and made for the temple, all of them having veiled their bodies in purple cloaks, and they marked the funeral rites of Daphnis with a song of grief, where father Cam flows down with swirling waters and washes against the twice seven abodes of the Boeotian sisters.

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Commentary 3 quae: here likely refers to a lament (querela). 3 Chami: While streams and waters are mentioned throughout the poem, the only one named is the river Cam, indicating the poem’s Cambridge setting (see also lines 55 and 133). 4 Ocyröe: a minor figure in Greek and Roman mythology. Her name is probably chosen because in Ovid (Ov. Met. 2.633–75) she is the daughter of Chiron, who is known for his medical skills, which she mastered. In Ovid’s story she is also associated with Apollo and Asclepius, which makes her a fitting character to lament Carr, who was a medic. Given that both Fletcher and Carr were Greek scholars, the name may also recall line 360 of Hesiod’s Theogony, where Ocyröe is included in a list of the daughters of Ocean. 5 Daphni: By referring to Carr as Daphnis, Fletcher has chosen a name central to the tradition of pastoral elegy: Daphnis is also the subject of Theocritus’ Idyll 1 and Virgil’s Ecl. 5. 8 vos flumina testes: an allusion to Virg. Ecl. 5.21: vos coryli testes et flumina Nymphis (‘you hazels and streams are witnesses for the Nymphs’). 10 Fletcher does not mention hazel-trees among the witnesses, as Virgil does in Ecl. 5 (see note on 8). He includes willows and alder-trees instead; these grow on the banks of rivers and thus fit the Cambridge setting better. See also Virg. Georgics 2.110: fluminibus salices crassisque paludibus alni (‘willows [grow] by rivers and alders in heavy marshes’). 21–6 Ocyröe reproaches the sun for being unmoved by the death of Daphnis – there is no pathetic fallacy. Fletcher may have been inspired by Lotichius’ Viburnus, where the sun is addressed directly and is asked to respond to the speaker’s exile (ll. 8–12): Sol qui luciferos tollis de gurgite vultus; | Purpureoque rigas diffusum lumine mundum, | Abde caput, Sol magne, nigrescant omnia circum | Dum queror infandos casus, et acerba meorum | Exilia, et divos suprema comprecor hora (‘Sun, you, who lift your light-bringing face from the sea and bathe the wide world in purple light, hide your face, great Sun, let things all around grow dark, while I lament the abominable events and my bitter exile, and pray to the gods at my final hour.’). 24 vibrantia: goes with ora (25) as the object of moves and governs laetas . . . flammas. 29–34 Ocyröe recounts how the sun mourned when Phaëthon died. Ovid’s account is more succinct: pater obductos luctu miserabilis aegro, | condiderat

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vultus et, si modo credimus, unum | isse diem sine sole ferunt (‘the wretched father, sick with grief, had hidden his darkened face; and, if we are to believe the report, one whole day passed without the sun’, Met. 2.329–31). Fletcher echoes Ovid’s lines with the words condebas . . . vultu (34). By providing more details than Ovid about the way in which the sun mourned Phaëthon, Ocyröe reinforces her reproach, as the various changes in the sun’s behaviour she describes contrast with its current inaction. 27 Oebalidis pueri: Hyacinthus, a youth loved by Apollo and accidentally killed by him. He was turned into a flower that the god inscribed with the Greek lamentation ‘A I, AI’ (‘alas, alas’). See Ov. Met. 10.162–219. The hyacinth is frequently included in flower catalogues in pastoral elegy. 37 Paeonias . . . artes: medicine. Paeon is the healer of the gods mentioned in Homer (Il. 5.401). 38 recondere vultus: another echo of Ov. Met. 2.330. 40–3 The sun finally mourns with the speaker, taking her by surprise. The delayed pathetic fallacy confirms the significance of Carr for the god Apollo, as god of the sun, healing and learning. 45–8 seu . . . avena: These are all places associated with the Muses and literature. Maeonia is the area in Asia Minor where Homer is said to originate from; Pindus is a mountain in Thessaly, the seat of the Muses; Aones montes are Boeotian mountains, which include Mt Helicon, another place frequented by the Muses; Pelorus in Sicily is associated with the Sirens, daughters of the Muse Calliope; Argolicas refers to Argolis, a part of Greece, but in combination with cicutas alludes to Greek pastoral: the Idylls of Theocritus. Latia . . . avena is a reference to Virgil’s pipe: Latium is geographically the area around Rome, but the adjective Latius, -a, -um is also applied to Latin literature. 51 Maeonii . . . vatis: Homer. The songs that are described are the Iliad and the Odyssey. 52 quibus . . . quibus: the antecedent for quibus is carmina. 55–6 Musis notissima . . . atria: The colleges of Cambridge. 66 nec . . . verbis: literally: ‘Nor was even a natural power lacking to great words’. 68–75 Ocyröe calls on various nymphs and goddesses to perform funeral rites for Daphnis; one of the conventions of pastoral elegy, the catalogue of flowers, is included, as she lists flowers they should cast on the burial mound.

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69 Dryadesque puellae: Virg. Ecl. 5.59 ends with the almost identical Dryadasque puellas, there part of a description of the rural gods rejoicing because Daphnis is on Olympus. 77–8 dum . . . tulit: praevia and tulit are combined in the translation. Literally: ‘while the first light having risen as a herald brought the sun with its chariot’. rotis is an ablative plural of association, which could be translated as ‘wheels’. Through pars pro toto, rota can also mean ‘chariot’. 82–4 The specific uses of these herbs are mentioned in the popular De Historia Stirpium (1546) by Leonhart Fuchs, a book about the medicinal uses of plants. It is likely that this work was known to Carr and Fletcher, as it circulated widely; the USTC records twenty-four editions from the period 1542 to 1555. Of the plants mentioned to pay homage to Carr’s medical knowledge, Fuchs includes the following overall characteristics and uses: melilothus has mixed properties: it binds, but also disperses and softens; it remedies all sorts of inflammations, but especially inflammation of the eyes. Intybum or seris is dry and cold; it binds, cools the body down and helps the stomach. Arus warms and dries; mixed with the manure of cattle, it benefits those suffering gout. Ruta also warms and drives off unwanted moisture; it is a diuretic, which also ulcerates. Serpillum or thymus strongly warms and dries; boiled with honey, it benefits asthmatics. Fuchs includes three types of papaver in his work: papaver rubeum, papaver sativum and papaver corniculatum. Given that Fletcher calls it soporiferum, he probaby refers to one of the first two, which are both described as cooling and bringing sleep. Papaver sativum might be the most likely candidate, given that it is more than once called somnificum, but descriptions of the rubeum are so similar (e.g. pota somnum faciunt), that precise identification is difficult. 87–93 Carr’s knowledge of constellations might seem irrelevant to his work as a Greek scholar or as a medic. Astronomy and astrology were, however, studied by students of medicine for centuries and were often combined with medicine, playing a part in diagnosis and prescription. The Greek authors Hippocrates and Galen, who were very influential in the early modern period, based medical theories on the relationship between heavenly bodies and human bodies. In his capacity as Regius Professor of Greek, Carr lectured on both these authors. On the connection between astronomy and medicine, see D. G. Greenbaum, ‘Astronomy, Astrology, and Medicine’, in C. L. N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, New York 2015. 90 Lyra: a small constellation representing the lyre of Orpheus, which the Greek god Hermes invented. He gifted the instrument to Apollo, who in turn gave it to Orpheus. When Orpheus was killed by the Bacchantes, the Muses

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gathered him together and buried him; they asked Zeus to place the lyre among the constellations in memory of Orpheus and themselves. See Epitome 24 of Eratosthenes’ handbook of astral mythology; Aratus, Phaenomena 268– 74; Hyginus, Astronomy 2.7. 91 cur piger oceano metuat sua plaustra Bootes: Another allusion to Ovid’s version of the story of Phaëton: te quoque turbatum memorant fugisse, Boote, | quamvis tardus eras et te tua plaustra tenebant. (‘They say that you also, Boötes, fled in terror, although you were slow, and held back by your cart.’ Met. 2.176–7). The reason Boötes is afraid can be found in Ovid Met. 2.52730. Here Juno calls on Thetys and Ocean to ban any constellation from entering their waters. Fletcher probably calls Boötes piger because the constellation is described as such in Ov. Fasti 3.405. 92 minitantem: Scorpio is also described as minitantem in Ov. Met. 2.199, where the word takes the same place in the hexameter. 94 flumina Nymphae: accusative of respect. 98–101 Carr is reproached for his own death and depicted as being rash (praecipitem), in the same way that Adonis is in Bion’s Lament for Adonis 60–1: τί γάρ, τολμηρέ, κυνάγεις; | καλὸς ἐὼν τί τοσοῦτον ἐμήναο θηρὶ παλαίειν; (‘Rash one, why were you hunting? Fair as you were, were you so mad as to wrestle a wild beast?’ [trans. Reed]). 102 O quoties dixi: A similar phrase is used by Ovid at the start of Epistulae ex Ponto, when he describes the character of this work (1.1.7–8): a, quotiens dixi ‘certe nil turpe docetis: | ite, patet castis versibus ille locus!’ (‘ah, how often did I say, “surely you teach nothing disgraceful: Go, that place is open for chaste verse!”’). It seems that Fletcher may have had in mind a line from Desiderium Lutetiae, a pastoral poem by George Buchanan (1506–82), in which he wrote about his desire for Paris, when he was in Portugal, and which was published in his Liber Sylvarum (1567). In ll. 28–32 he writes: O quoties dixi Zephyris properantibus illuc, | Felices pulchram visuri Amaryllida venti: | Sic neque Pyrene duris in cotibus alas | Atterat, et vestros non rumpant nubila cursus | Dicite vesanos Amaryllidi Daphnidos ignes (‘O how often did I say to the West winds rushing to that place, lucky winds about to see beautiful Amaryllis: may neither the Pyrenees rub against your wings in harsh crags, nor clouds interrupt your journey. Tell Amaryllis about the raging fires of Daphnis.’). Daphnis’ wish is as ineffective as Ocyröe’s in Fletcher’s poem; in response to his pleas, the winds get angry and fly away (ll. 37–9). The poet John Milton (1608–74) later uses the phrase Ah quoties dixi in line 142 of his pastoral elegy Epitaphium Damonis (1639), which, like Fletcher’s poem, is set

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in Cambridge: the speaker Thyrsis reproaches himself for imagining what Damon was doing, when he had already passed away. Scholars have pointed out the influence of Buchanan’s work on Milton, but as far as I am aware, this specific parallel has not yet been discussed. The phrase quoties dixi emphasizes repetition. Milton and Fletcher both use it to signal their allusion to Buchanan. If Fletcher’s eclogue served as an intertext for Milton as well, he may have used the phrase to indicate he was drawing on more than one literary predecessor in the Neo-Latin pastoral tradition. 106 et Phoebus cytharas, et amant alterna Camoenae: This is an allusion to Virgil’s Ecl. 3.59, where two shepherds are encouraged to sing (alternis dicetis; amant alterna Camenae, ‘you sing in turns; the Muses love alternating songs’). The suggestion seems to be that, while Apollo and the Muses love music and poetry, unlike Carr, they do not pursue them all night long. 115–16 anaphora: repetition of Gloria. A parallelism is reinforced by the consonance in the words that follow, emphasized at the end of the lines by the use of annos / annis. 129–32 Depicting a procession of mourners consisting of the Muses, Fletcher focuses on the role of poetry in the funeral rites performed for Carr at Cambridge. Fletcher’s eclogue contributes to this, whether it was written for the funeral or later.

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Greek and Latin Poetry from Cambridge on Sixteenth-century Questions of Faith Act and Tripos verses from the 1580s and 1590s William M. Barton

Introduction The poems presented in this section are products of a distinctive moment in late sixteenth-century English religious debate and the period’s related literature. As part of the Church of England’s efforts to articulate its via media (‘middle way’) in the wake of the Reformation, the late sixteenth century saw the publication of two sets of influential Articles attempting to define Anglican practice and belief. The first of these (Thirty-nine Articles of Religion, 1571) set out the Church of England’s path between the tensions of Calvinist and Roman Catholic doctrine. A second set (Lambeth Articles, 1595) responded to a heated discussion on the question of predestination (the idea that God has already decreed all events), which had begun at Cambridge University in the late 1580s. The texts presented here belong to a distinct genre of poetry composed at the University of Cambridge to accompany the student disputations, which took place throughout the academic calendar on topics of theology, medicine, natural philosophy and humanities. This ‘Act and Tripos’ verse is documented from the mid-sixteenth to the end of the nineteenth century. Typical for the early modern period generally, but especially important for academic compositions, the dominant language of Act and Tripos verse was Latin. In fewer cases ancient Greek was also used by student versifiers as they looked to give their work an edge over that of their peers. Rarer still was the bilingual poetic production of which the poems in this chapter are an example. The two pairs of bilingual poems (each pair comprising one Latin and one Greek piece) were composed for disputation events in Cambridge’s theological faculty between 1585 and 1590. This introduction will now proceed to the historical, literary and linguistic dimensions of the poems, and outline the various contexts of their composition. 137

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After the break with Rome under Henry VIII, the zealous spread of Reformed Protestantism under Edward VI and the Marian Restoration, the reign of Elizabeth I (1558–1603) faced a tumultuous religio-political landscape, torn between Catholicism and the varied shades of Protestantism active across Europe. Herself of moderate Protestant persuasion and surrounded by similarly minded advisors, Elizabeth’s response to the turmoil she inherited was to attempt to steer an intermediate course between the various rival positions. Elizabeth’s ‘Religious Settlement’ began with the Queen’s repositioning of herself as the monarch at the head of the Church (Act of Supremacy, 1558/9) and a move towards a basic level of concord between worshippers through the exclusive use of the Common Book of Prayer in the Act of Uniformity (1559). In light of continued differences on points everywhere on the axes between Catholicism and Protestantism, Lutheranism and Calvinism, highchurch and low-church, the Elizabethan Thirty-nine Articles of Religion attempted a definitive statement of the Church of England’s stance on numerous controversies. These Articles were prepared on the model of a series of similar statements of faith that had appeared under Henry VIII and Edward VI. Although the Elizabethan Thirty-nine Articles had been drawn up by as early as 1562, it would take years of discussion and revision before they were ratified by Parliament in 1571. Especially relevant for the first pair of poems are Articles six to eight on the status of Scripture within the Church of England. These Articles express the Anglican response to the Lutheran doctrine of sola scriptura (‘Scripture alone’). The Church of England preferred a more moderate position of prima scriptura (‘Scripture above all’), whereby Scripture represents the foremost (but not exclusive) route towards divine knowledge, alongside church tradition and reason. Implicit in both the Lutheran and the Anglican positions on Scripture was criticism of the equality that the Catholic Church accorded to Roman tradition and Scripture, and of the notion of the Pope’s infallibility. The second pair of poems respond to Articles twenty-two to twenty-four. These Articles deal with the ‘errors’ of both the Catholic and the radical Protestant Churches. In Article twentythree we hear echoes of a contemporary debate over the necessity of an authorized, external calling to ministry within the church. This debate emerged, in turn, as a response to the reception of Lutheran ideas on ‘universal vocation’ among Christians. While Anglican positions on Catholicism and (Lutheran) Protestantism were significant, discussion of this period centred chiefly on ideas from the Reformed (or Calvinist) tradition. Indeed, recent scholarship has characterized the English Reformation from 1560 onwards as moving chiefly towards a ‘Reformed Consensus’ (Moore 2016: 202). The Universities of Oxford and

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Cambridge emerged as foci of Reformed theology and produced supporters of the more radical Reformed view, branded initially as ‘Puritans’ by their opponents. Symbolic of the significance of Calvinist thought in the later Elizabethan Reformation is a controversy that emerged in Cambridge during the 1580s and exploded onto the public stage in the 1590s. At the heart of this disagreement was Cambridge’s Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, Peter Baro (1534–99). Baro arrived in England from France a committed reformer (a Huguenot), but altered his views later in life. When Baro, a senior scholar at Cambridge, began to question Reformed doctrine on predestination, the Archbishop of Canterbury John Whitgift (1530–1604) stepped in and confirmed the Church’s Reformed position in the Lambeth Articles of 1595. Queen Elizabeth did not endorse Whitgift’s position in her Articles, but this intervention by the Church’s senior primate along strongly ‘Puritan’ lines was a clear indication of the prevailing Anglican doctrine. Baro found himself on the opposing side of this position, and it was perhaps no surprise that he lost the chair at the University shortly thereafter (White 2002: 110–17). These heated theological debates in the second half of the sixteenth century coincided with the emergence of a custom at the University of Cambridge, which saw poems distributed at students’ disputations on academic questions as they graduated (or ‘commenced’ a degree). These poems, known today as ‘Act and Tripos verses’, engaged in interesting and creative ways with the themes under dispute. They were circulated on printed broadsheets as entertainment and keepsakes for the audience of students and scholars, visiting academics, nobility and other learned listeners at the event. Given the intensive doctrinal wrangling underway at the University in this period, it comes as no surprise to find a predominance of theological themes among the surviving examples of the genre from the 1580s and 1590s. Medical, philosophical, legal, literary and natural philosophical topics emerged as similarly prevalent at other points in the genre’s long history. The poems were composed directly pursuant to a series of Cambridge disputations (see Introduction and Text 8). The two events for which the poetry treated here was produced were the ‘Tripos’ days of Ash Wednesday and the fourth Sunday of Lent, at which the respondens sat on a three-legged ‘tripod’, and the ‘Commencement Acts’ in January and July, at which new BAs were admitted to their degrees. Elsewhere in Europe the most common printed material associated with university disputationes were lists of the positions discussed or written statements of the initial position defended as a thesis. These theses range in form from anything between a page of loosely related statements all the way to substantial monographs. Scattered examples of these formats exist from Cambridge, but by far the most frequently encountered printed records of

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the University’s disputations are its verses. Though by definition occasional in character, these ‘Act and Tripos verses’ dealt in intricate and entertaining ways with their disputational themes. The authors of the ‘Act and Tripos verses’ (usually the degree candidates) crafted clever, erudite, polemical and sometimes simply bizarre responses to their questions designed to entertain, amaze or impress the day’s audience. The poems often reveal a refined and detailed understanding of the disputational issues at stake and regularly make complex allusion to contemporary political, literary, intellectual and cultural events. In line with the linguistic requirements of England’s early modern universities and disputational protocol, the vast majority of ‘Act and Tripos verses’ were published in Latin. Of the surviving broadsheets handed out at the events, only a small number contain Greek poetry. There is mention of a Hebrew poem having also been produced for one occasion, though this never made it to print (Hall 2009: 20). The two periods in which Greek words, phrases and poems appear most frequently coincide with moments of increased interest in the language and Hellenic culture more generally. The first of these (to which the selected poems belong) followed increased enthusiasm for Greek in line with the interests of humanist reformers from the mid to late sixteenth century. The second was the late nineteenth century, which saw a revival in Classicism and Neo-Humanist motifs. The following paragraphs will focus on the first of these periods. The late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries witnessed growing interest in Greek language and literature across Europe. As Greek scholars began to arrive in Western Europe in increasing numbers after the Fall of Constantinople (1453), they quickly adapted their linguistic approaches and literary register. Following a renewed knowledge of and easier access to Greek material, a wealth of printed Greek texts was soon readily available across Europe. Freshly ‘hellenized’ humanists north of the Alps energetically applied their philological skills to Scripture, and church reformers were quick to acknowledge the significance of Greek philology for their enterprise. Wary of the potential results of unmonitored critical approaches to the Bible’s plurilingual textual traditions, the Catholic Church responded conservatively to reformers’ linguistic exertions by declaring the Latin Vulgate the official basis of the scriptural canon at the Council of Trent (1545–63). Strong reactions to Erasmus’ Novum Testamentum printed in Basle 1519 are useful indicators of the era’s socio-religious climate and attitudes towards Greek (Goldhill 2002: 15–59). Extensive knowledge of Greek thus became a marker for reforming tendencies in contemporary literary culture. On the model of select groups of well-educated humanists from Italy in the century before them, authors in

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central and northern Europe began to wet their own pens in the composition of original Greek material. In England, where waves of Europe’s initial new interest in Greek had already begun to arrive in intellectual circles by the turn of the sixteenth century, increasing numbers of ἀοιδοί dared to sing in Greek as Elizabeth ascended to the throne, often in praise of the country’s more stable identification as Protestant: Greek encomia presented to Elizabeth during her early visits to Eton College, St Paul’s School and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, for example, confirm the presence and inspiration of the Greek muse in England at this time. Dating from the end of the sixteenth century, and responding to disputations on questions of Reformed theology, the bilingual poems presented here fit comfortably into the period’s complex literary landscape, even though their bilingual form is less common within the genre of ‘Act and Tripos verse’ more generally. The epigrammatic form of the four pieces is standard for the genre of this time. So, too, are the elegiac couplets of the two Latin poems and the first Greek piece. (For a brief metrical discussion of the second Greek poem, see the first note on the piece.) The bilingual pairs are better understood as ‘variations on a theme’ rather than strict translations in any sense; they share a common argument and a similar epigrammatic pointe, but do not routinely reproduce specific ideas or phraseology in their two languages. As for the majority of ‘Act and Tripos poems’, the author(s) remain anonymous. While later examples from the genre are occasionally supplied with details about their date, occasion and authorship, this is not regularly the case for earlier poems. The date given here follows that of the Short Title Catalogue, where the poems are recorded under number 4474.111 (ESTC S91293). Only one known copy of the original disputation event’s broadsheet survives, preserved at the Bodleian Library, Oxford.1

Note 1 I would like to thank Dominik Berrens, Martin Korenjak and Chiara Senatore at the Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Neo-Latin Studies and the University of Innsbruck for their stimulating discussion of these verses during the preparation of this chapter.

Bibliography Barton, W. M. (2020), ‘Singing the Study of Sound: Literary Engagement with Natural Philosophy in the Act and Tripos Verses of Oxford and Cambridge’, in

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M. Friedenthal / H. Marti / R. Seidel (eds), Early Modern Disputations and Dissertations in an Interdisciplinary and European Context, 164–87, Leiden. Ben-Tov, A. (2009), Lutheran Humanists and Greek Antiquity: Melanchthonian Scholarship between Universal History and Pedagogy, Leiden. Betteridge, T. (2004), Literature and Politics in the English Reformation, Manchester. Bradner, L. (1940), Musae Anglicanae: A History of Anglo-Latin Poetry 1500– 1925, New York / London. Chapman, M. (2012), Anglican Theology, London. Clarke, M. L. (1959), Classical Education in Britain 1500–1900, Cambridge. Costello, W. T. (1958), The Scholastic Curriculum at Early Seventeenth-century Cambridge, Cambridge, MA . Coughlan, T. (2016), ‘Dialect and Imitation in the Late Hellenistic Epigram’, in E. Sistakou / A. Rengakos (eds), Dialect, Diction, and Style in Greek Literary and Inscribed Epigram, 37–70, Berlin. Fara, P. / Money, D. (2004), ‘Isaac Newton and Augustan Anglo-Latin Poetry’, Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A, Newton and Newtonianism, 35.3: 549–71. Füssel, M. (2016), ‘Die Praxis der Disputation. Heuristische Zugänge und theoretische Deutungsangebote’, in M. Gindhart / H. Marti / R. Seidel (eds), Frühneuzeitliche Disputationen: Polyvalente Produktionsapparate gelehrten Wissens, 27–68, Vienna / Cologne / Weimar. Goldhill, S. (2002), Who Needs Greek? Contests in the Cultural History of Hellenism, Cambridge. Green, I. M. (2009), Humanism and Protestantism in Early Modern English Education, London. Hall, J. J. (2009), Cambridge Act and Tripos Verses 1565–1894, Cambridge. Hardman Moore, S. (2016), ‘Reformed Theology and Puritanism’, in D. A. S. Fergusson / P. T. Nimmo (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Reformed Theology, 199–214, Cambridge. Haugaard, W. P. (1970), Elizabeth and the English Reformation: The Struggle for a Stable Settlement of Religion, Cambridge. Kirby, T. W. J. (2008), ‘The Articles of Religion of the Church of England (1563–71), commonly called the Thirty-Nine Articles’, in A. Mühling / P. Opitz, (eds), Reformierte Bekenntnisschriften. Band 2/1, 1559–1563, 371–410, Neukirchen-Vluyn. Loewenstein, D. / Shell, A. (2019), ‘Early Modern Literature and England’s Long Reformation’, Reformation, 24.2: 53–8. Milne, K. (2007), ‘The Forgotten Greek Books of Elizabethan England’, Literature Compass, 4.3: 677–87. Morgan, V. / Brooke, C. (2004), A History of the University of Cambridge. Volume 2: 1546–1750, Cambridge. Muller, A. (2020), The Excommunication of Elizabeth I: Faith, Politics, and Resistance in Post-Reformation England, 1570–1603, Leiden.

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Päll, J. / Volt, I., eds (2018), Hellenostephanos. Humanist Greek in Early Modern Europe Learned Communities between Antiquity and Contemporary Culture, Tartu. Pecar, A. (2010), Macht der Schrift: Politischer Biblizismus in Schottland und England zwischen Reformation und Bürgerkrieg (1534–1642), Berlin. Rotstein, A. (2010), The Idea of Iambos, Oxford. Weijers, O. (2013), In Search of the Truth: A History of Disputation Techniques from Antiquity to Early Modern Times, Turnhout. Weise, S. (2016), ‘Ἑλληνίδ’ αἶαν εἰσιδεῖν ἱμείρομαι – Neualtgriechische Literatur in Deutschland (Versuch eines Überblicks)’, Antike und Abendland, 62.1: 114–81. Weise, S. / Pontani, F., eds (2021), The Hellenizing Muse: A European Anthology of Poetry in Ancient Greek from the Renaissance to the Present, Berlin. White, P. (2002), Predestination, Policy and Polemic: Conflict and Consensus in the English Church from the Reformation to the Civil War, Cambridge. Wordsworth, C. (1877), Scholae Academicae: Some Account of the Studies at the English Universities in the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge.

Source of the Latin text [Anon.] Scripturae canonicae sunt et αὐτάρκεις, et αὐτόπιστοι. (Followed by) Nemini licet sine externa vocatione exercere ministerium ecclesiasticum. Oxford, Bodleian Library, Vet. A1 b.5 (15) (Weston Stack). The texts reproduce the capitalization conventions of the original print, except for capital letters at the beginning of verses when these do not coincide with a new sentence. The original punctuation has occasionally been modified towards modern standards. Early modern ligatures, abbreviations and accentuation practices have been adapted to modern usage in both languages. In the first Greek text, a printing anomaly has obscured one reading (see note on line 3).

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Latin / Greek text 1. Scripturae canonicae sunt et αὐτάρκεις et αὐτόπιστοι.

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Impia Romanae blasphemaque lingua Cathedrae, da sua Scripturae, da sua iura sacrae. Quin sileant Synodi, decreta Papalia, Patres: Non habet ex illis pagina sacra fidem. Spiritus assertor fidei est: patrumque, papaeque, et Synodum falli scita subinde sinit. Non erit obliquum recti sat idoneus index: Est tamen ex veris vera necesse sequi. Papa, Patres, Synodi sunt Lesbia regula: solus spiritus aurificis iusta statera Dei est. Fallor? an et solas morum fideique magistras scripuras videor dicere posse sacras? Traditio, mera proditio: namque omnia solae hae credenda docent, hae facienda docent. Cetera sunt hominum phantasmata, daemonis artes, tandem cum genio deperitura suo. Vox, scriptura, Dei est: dictatio sacra Iehovae est; est ea lex, ea lux, est via, vita salus. Est ea seu mores, seu denique dogmata spectes, unicus, invita vel Babylone, canon.

Α´. Ἑλληνιστί Αὐτάρκης ἱερὴ Βίβλος ἐστὶ καὶ ἀξιόπιστος, οὔ τ’ ἐλλεῖπον ἔχει, οὐδέ τι ψεῦδος ἔχει. Οὐκ ἀγράφων δεῖται· παραδοῦναί ἐστι προδοῦναι. Οὐαὶ ταῖς ἱεραῖς τῷ ἐπιδόντι γραφαῖς. 5 Οὐ πάππαν, πατέρας, κλήροιο συνέδρια ζητεῖ. Πνεῦμα γὰρ ἀτρεκίης ἐστὶ τὸ πνεῦμα θεοῦ. Πίστεός ἐσθ’ ἱκανή, ἱκανή ’στι διδάσκαλος ἠθῶν. Ἀλλὰ τί πλὴν τούτων ἄλλο δεῖ ἄμμι δυοῖν; πᾶν δ’ ἔνταλμα βρoτῶν σφαλερόν τ’ ἐστ’ ἠδὲ παρέλκον. Γνησίαι εἰσὶ μόναι, αὐτοτελεῖς τε γραφαί. 10 Νῦν δ’ ἐπιβλήμαθ’ ἁμαρτινόων ἀνεμώλια παππῶν ἐρρέτω ἐς κόρακας τ’, ἔς τε τὸ πῦρ Ἀΐδου.

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English translation 1. The Scriptures are Canonical, sovereign and alone to be believed. Impious, insulting tongue of the Roman See, give, give your very own code on sacred Scripture. In fact, let the synods, papal decrees and Church Fathers be silent: the holy page does not get its trust from them. The [holy] Spirit is the champion of faith and lets the ordinances of the Synods, the Fathers and the Pope be repeatedly deceived. Anything oblique will not be a sufficiently qualified indication of virtue: it is, still, necessary to observe the truths from true things. The Pope, the Fathers, the Synods are a law in love with itself: only the [holy] Spirit is the fair measure of God, our Goldsmith. Am I wrong? Do I seem to be able to say that the sacred Scriptures alone are the teachers of faith and of morals? Tradition is mere betrayal: since these things alone [the Scriptures] teach everything that should be believed; these teach us what should be done. Everything else is the fantastical invention of men, tricks of the devil, things that will be destroyed in the end along with their guardian spirit. Scripture is the voice of God: it is the holy written word of Jehova; this is the law, this is the light, this is the way, this is the life: salvation. Scripture is the only canon, whether you are looking for a moral code or doctrines, even while Babylon is reluctant.

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Α´. In Greek The holy Bible is independent and trustworthy, it has nothing failing, nothing that is a lie. There is no need for unwritten things; to transmit is to betray. Woe to him who has added to the holy Scriptures. She [the Bible] does not require the Pope, the Fathers or the clerics’ councils. For the pure spirit is the spirit of God. She [the Bible] is a sufficient teacher of faith and a sufficient [teacher] of morals. What else except these two things is necessary for us? Every command of mortals is perilous and redundant. Genuine and complete alone are the Scriptures. But now the empty patchwork of the scatter-brained popes, go hang! And to the fire of Hades.

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2. Nemini licet sine externa vocatione exercere ministerium Ecclesiasticum.

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Quid tibi cum sacro Baroïsta sacerrime verbo? Rostraque quo tu te scandere iure putas? Quid ni etiam populo mysteria sacra propinas? Et pueros tingis? Scilicet, euge! facis. Siccine (quae tua mens?) aliena negotia tractas? Et vetitum munus praecipitanter obis? Quin potius solis istaec obeunda ministris (non potes in Clero Laicus esse) sinas. Est Deus in vobis? agitante calescitis illo? Non Deus est, calor est; nec calor est, furor est. Est Deus, at Pythius: calor est, sed et ecstasis una: Est calor absque Deo, cumque calore furor. Quid vis enim? Veteres quod vix habuere Prophetae, vix Aaron, nullo vis tibi iure dari? At Deus, afflatum quo te lymphatice fingis, haud speciale tibi (credo) diploma dedit. Praesulis imponenda manus; Deus hoc dedit illi muneris: hic, ut eas, cum iubet, ire licet. Ergo sacrosancti tractare oracula verbi praesulis externa non sine voce licet.

Β´. Ἑλληνικῶς Ὁ αὐτόκλητος ἱερῶν κήρυξ γραφῶν, ὁ αὐτόμυστος διάκονος μυστηρίων, βρεφῶν τε βαπτιστὴς ὁ αὐτεξούσιος, καυχώμενός περ τὴν θεόπνευστον χάριν, 5 ἢν μὴ παρ’ ἀνδρῶν προσλάβῃ ἐξουσίαν, ἐνθουσιαστής ἐστιν, οὐ θεοπρέπος. Τὸν Ἀαρῶνα καὶ Ἐλισσαῖον θεός τὸν μὲν προφήτην τάσσε, τὸν δ’ ἀρχιερέα. Ὧν χρῖσε τὸν μὲν Μωσέης, τὸν δ’ Ἠλίας. 10 Καὶ ἀντ’ Ἰούδα Ματθίας κεκλήατο ψήφοις ἀποστόλων τε, καὶ κλήροις θεοῦ. Οὐκ ἔννομὸς τίς ἐστι λειτουργὸς λόγου, ταχθεὶς ὑπαὶ θεοῖο, ἀνθρώπων δίχα.

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2. Noone should exercise ecclesiatic ministry without external calling. What do you want with the holy word, most sacred Baroist? By what right do you think you ascend to the pulpit? Why don’t you also hand over the sacred rights to the people? You baptize boys [with the doctrine]? Of course, great! You do it. So, what’s your plan? Do you do foreign business? And attend madly to forbidden services? Nay rather, you should allow these matters to be dealt with by ministers on their own (you cannot be a layman in the clergy). Is God inside you? Are you inspired by him acting? It is not God, it is heat; it is not heat, it is madness. It is God, but a Pythian one: it is heat and a rapture in one. It is a heat without God, a madness with heat. But what do you want? What the ancient prophets rarely had, not even Aaron – you want to be given [this] without any right? But God, by whom you pretend you are inspired in a frenzy, has not given you (I believe) a special permit. The hand of the bishop must be placed upon you: God has given this [right] to him as part of his office: when He orders that you proceed, it is allowed to proceed. Thus it is not allowed to treat the prophecies of the holy word without the external call of the bishop.

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Β´. In Greek The self-proclaimed messenger of the holy writings, the self-initiated official of the mysteries, becoming a baptizer of new-borns at one’s own will, boasting, indeed, of God-given grace. If he has not also received authorization from men, he is a zealot, not a holy man. God set up Aaron and Elisha, One as prophet, the other as arch-priest. Of these, Moses annointed the one, Elijah the other. And Matthias was called upon instead of Judas by the votes of the apostles and the lots of God. He is not a rightful minister of the word who has been ordained by God at variance with men.

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Commentary 1. In this poem we hear precise and pointed criticism of the results of the Council of Trent (1545–63), at which the Catholic Church formulated its response to the Protestant Reformation. The results of the Council were first published under Pope Pius V as the Catechismus, ex decreto sacrosancti Concilii Tridentini (1566), which is commonly referred to today as the ‘Roman Catechism’. This poem attacks in particular the Council’s results on the place of church tradition in Catholic faith and the Church’s authority on the interpretation of Scripture, as formulated under the Catechism’s paragraph 85. The Latin text and translation used follow that of the Vatican today: LXXXV. Munus autem authentice interpretandi Verbum Dei scriptum vel traditum soli vivo Ecclesiae Magisterio concreditum est, cuius auctoritas in nomine Iesu Christi exercetur. (‘85. The task of giving an authentic interpretation of the Word of God, whether in its written form or in the form of Tradition, has been entrusted to the living teaching office of the Church alone. Its authority in this matter is exercised in the name of Jesus Christ.’). 1.1–2 Impia Romanae . . . iura sacrae: The poem begins with a satirical command to Rome to pronounce its own code on the basis of Scripture. The ironic nature of this instruction is emphasized by the ‘corrective’ use of quin (‘rather not’) at the beginning of line 3. The polemical and sardonic character of these verses is thus made obvious in the poem’s opening lines. 1.2 sua: The use of the third person possessive suus, -a, -um (‘his, her, one’s own’) after a second person imperative (da) is at first glance striking. suus is, however, frequently used in colloquial speech in place of the genitive pronoun eius (‘of his, her, or one’s own’) with the general meaning ‘peculiar’, ‘specific’, ‘own’. The word’s repetition in this line is intended to emphasize the ironic tone and (from the author’s point of view) the peculiar character of Rome’s preference for pronouncing its own legal system on the basis of Scripture. 1.3 Synodi: The late Latin word synodus, -i (‘ecclesiastical council’) has been taken over from the Greek σύνοδος with the same meaning, whence also ‘synod’ in English (see also note on 1.6). 1.6 Synodum: This is the contracted poetic genitive plural of synodus, usually synodorum. 1.7 obliquum: The poet uses the neuter adjective as an abstract noun: ‘the oblique thing, something indirect’ and so ‘obliquity, indirectness’. This is to be read in apposition to idoneus index (‘an appropriate sign, a qualified indication’). For our reformed author, this ‘indirectness’ refers to the Scriptural interpretations

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of the (Catholic) Church, whilst the Spiritus (‘the holy spirit’) is the only clear and proper ‘champion of faith’ (see 1.5). idoneus index: This is the last in the series of alliterated line-endings found in the poem’s opening lines. This series begins with Papalia, Patres (line 3) and continues in patrumque, papaeque (line 5) and then scita subinde sinit (line 6). These line-endings are part of the heavy use of alliteration that characterizes the first half of the poem. The poet’s adoption of this technique at the start emphasizes the performative context of the disputation events at which ‘Act and Tripos verses’ were handed out among the audience. Students were expected to display their rhetorical skills in ex tempore spoken Latin as well as their mastery of their academic subject. 1.9 Lesbia regula: The idiom ‘Lesbian standards’ or ‘Lesbos rules’ stems ultimately from the ancient Greek building trade. In his discussion of the need sometimes to shape laws to the irregular nature of reality and not to submit all cases to the ideal regular standards of law, Aristotle cites τῆς Λεσβίας οἰκοδομίας ὁ μολίβδινος κανών, ‘the leaden ruler of Lesbian housebuilding’ (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1137b), which was apparently malleable to uneven polygonal building. Significant for the idiom’s later use among Neo-Latin authors was its appearance in Erasmus of Rotterdam’s collection of idioms and turns of phrase, the Adagia (Venice 1500: I, 5, 93). Erasmus’ entry emphasizes the phrase’s metaphorical employment for situations in which rules are bent to fit the facts of life. Our poem’s criticism of the Catholic Church’s approach to the formation of its standards is thus evident. For a useful discussion of the phrase’s extensive use in theological debate, see the entry by E. Büchsel in the Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie. 1.11 Fallor: An example of the use of fallo (‘to fall, trick, deceive’) in the passive voice with the force of a middle. The author’s question is for rhetorical emphasis: ‘Am I wrong?!’ 1.13 Traditio, mera proditio: In this wordplay, we hear the poet’s attack on the Catholic defence of church ‘tradition’ as formulated in the Roman Catechism. The wordgame echoes in the Greek poem’s παραδοῦναί ἐστι προδοῦναι (line 3). 1.18 lex . . . lux . . . via, vita: This verse references Jerome’s Vulgate translation of the Old Testament, Proverbs 6:22–3: cum ambulaveris gradiantur tecum cum dormieris custodiant te et evigilans loquere cum eis, quia mandatum lucerna est et lex lux et via vitae increpatio disciplinae (‘When thou walkest, let them go with thee: when thou sleepest, let them keep thee; and when thou awakest, talk with them, because the commandment is a lamp, and the law a

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light, and reproofs of instruction are the way of life.’). In the minds of contemporary readers the words of the following verse of the warnings against adultery in this chapter of Proverbs may have rung out in the present context, although not referenced literally in the Tripos verse: ut custodiant te a muliere mala et a blanda lingua extraneae (‘That they may keep thee from the evil woman, and from the flattering tongue of the stranger’). The phrase blanda lingua extraneae would easily transfer to the Catholic Church’s interpretations of Scripture in the reformer’s mind. Α´.1 Αὐτάρκης . . . ἐστὶ: In contrast to the sardonic opening of the Latin version and its ironic, tongue-in-cheek tone throughout, the Greek poem is more straightforward in its direct statements of the author’s argument. Α´.2 οὔ τ’: τι is rarely elided in classical Greek usage. ἐλλεῖπον: This is an example of the transferred meaning of ἐλλείπω (‘to leave in, leave behind’) for the sense of ‘to fail’ or ‘to fall short’, here used intransitively as a neuter participle. Α´.3 ἀγράφων: In the only known surviving copy of the original broadsheet, the printer’s uneven application of ink has led to several unclear and missing letters in the printed text. I have supplied ἀγράφων as a genitive neuter after δέομαι (‘to stand in need of, want’). For the use of ἄγραφος for particularly ‘unwritten religious traditions’ or the type of arguments ‘made without a book’, see LSJ s.v. Α´.4 Οὐαὶ: The exclamation is used with the accusative or dative, so Oὐαί μοι! (‘Woe is me!’). The second dative is one of (dis)advantage after the participle from ἐπι-δίδωμι. Though attested in ancient literature, the interjection is especially widespread in New Testament Greek. Α´.5 πάππαν: The child’s word for ‘father’ in classical Greek has been traditionally used for denoting bishops in Greek since the third century ce. The word was later restricted to the Bishop of Rome. In earlier ‘Neo-Ancient Greek’ literature the transferred classical term ἀρχιερεύς (‘chief priest’) was also used to refer to the Pope (cf. Poliziano, Liber Graecorum epigrammatum 21: Δίστιχον περὶ Παύλου καὶ Ξύστου ἀρχιερέων, ‘A distich on Popes Paul and Sixtus’). kλήροιο: Note the Homeric genitive of κλῆρος (‘lot’), equivalent of Attic κλήρου. The poets’ use of epic diction for varied stylistic, aesthetic or metrical effect (cf. also e.g. Α´.8 and Β´.13) alongside other dialect and poetic forms throughout the poems strongly echoes the practice of Hellenic epigrammists (see Coughlan 2016).

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Α´.6 ἀτρεκίης: The author uses the Ionic form ἀτρεκίη, -ης of the noun attested in Attic as ἀτρέκεια, -ας (‘reality, certainty’). Α´.7 Πίστεος: The genitive of πίστις, -εως has been shortened metri causa. ἱκανή: The feminine adjective picks up the gender of ἡ βίβλος (‘the book’), here ‘the Bible’ (see line 1). Α´.8 ἄμμι: This is the Aeolic and epic dative form of the first person plural personal pronoun, in Attic ἡμῖν. Α´.9 ἔνταλμα: This is the New Testament Greek for the classical ἐντολή (‘order, command’). The author’s choice of the koine word points to the biblical and reforming context of literary production in ancient Greek in northern Europe in the period. παρέλκον: The active present participle of the verb παρέλκω (‘to draw aside, withdraw’ and intransitively ‘to be prolonged, be redundant’) agrees with ἔνταλμα in this sentence. Α´.11 ἁμαρτινόων: ἁμαρτίνοος (‘erring in mind’) is used of Prometheus’ ‘dimwitted’ brother Epimetheus in Hesiod (Theogony 511). From later Christian Greek poetry, the word is used, for example, of the Pharisees in Nonnos, Paraphrase of John 1.24. The word’s association with the Popes is thus not incongruous in a reformer’s poem. Α´.12 ἐρρέτω ἐς κόρακας: This phrase, literally ‘to the crows!’, is common throughout ancient comedy (cf. e.g. Aristophanes, Ploutos 604). ἐρρέτω is a third person singular imperative from ἔρρω (‘to go away, be gone, disappear’). 2. This poem responds to the Church of England’s Thirty-nine Articles, originally published in English. The emended Latin version appeared in 1571. Article 23 strongly emphasizes the importance of civil legality in calling to ministry within the Church: XXIII De vocatione Ministrorum: Non licet cuiquam sumere sibi munus publice praedicandi aut administrandi sacramenta in ecclesia, nisi prius fuerit ad haec obeunda legitime vocatus et missus. Atque illos legitime vocatos et missos existimare debemus, qui per homines, quibus potestas vocandi ministros atque mittendi in vineam Domini publice concessa est in ecclesia, cooptati fuerint et asciti in hoc opus (‘23. Of Ministering in the congregation: It is not lawfull for any man to take upon him the office of publicke preaching or ministering the sacraments in the congregation, before he be lawfully called and sent to execute the same. And those we ought to iudge lawfully called and sent, which be chosen and called to this worke by men who have publicke authority given untoe them in the congregation to call and send ministers into the Lord’s vineyard.’). Our poem’s

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title echoes verbally the Latin formulations of the article, e.g. Nemini licet (‘No-one is permitted’) / Non licet cuiquam (‘It is not permitted to anyone’). 2.1 Quid tibi cum: This is an idiomatic phrase found throughout Latin literature (e.g. Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.456). tibi functions as a dative of advantage. So literally it means: ‘What’s it to you with . . .’. Baroïsta: ‘Baro-ist’: A reference to Peter Baro and the Cambridge controversy over Calvinist ideas of predestination throughout the 1580s and 1590s (see Introduction). Among the lines of attack employed by Baro’s opponents in this controversy was an argument ad personam, which labelled Baro (born in Étampes, France) as an outsider and an importer of alien ideas to England. We hear an echo of this personal assault on Baro’s reputation in line 5 of the poem. The standard English biography of Baro by C. S. Knighton is available in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. 2.4 tingis: The verb tingo (‘to wet, soak, moisten’) is commonly used in Christian Latin literature for the act of baptism (cf. Prudentius, Dittochaeon 30.199). In later Neo-Latin dictionaries ‘to baptize’ is indeed given as one of the word’s definitions (e.g. Kirsch, Abundantissimum cornu copiae linguae Latinae et Germanicae selectum, Nuremberg 1718, s.v.). scilicet, euge! facis.: This exclamation is the highpoint of the poem’s heavily sarcastic opening lines, which appear to praise and encourage the behaviour the author will eventually criticize. For a similar attempt at ironical humour, see also the opening couplet of poem 1. 2.5 aliena negotia: In the poet’s formulation ‘foreign business’ we hear an echo of contemporary criticism of Peter Baro as noted in the comment to 2.1. 2.11 Pythius: The adjective refers to Apollo’s enemy Python (Πύθων), the snake whom this pagan god faced and defeated in a battle over the oracle at Delphi (Homeric Hymn 3). Pythius is thus commonly used among ancient authors as an epithet for both Apollo and Delphi. Out of this connection to the Olympian God of truth and prophecy, and to the location of the ancient world’s best-known oracle, the adjective was then transferred to oracular divination. In later Christian authors the pagan overtones of this word led to its use to describe mystical seers and sorcery with the expected negative connotations. For later uses with this meaning, which the author is also drawing on, see, for example, the medieval authors John of Salisbury, Policraticus 462a, and Peter of Blois, Epistolae 65. 2.14 Aaron: In the Biblical narrative Aaron was Moses’ elder brother, whom God made a prophet (Exodus 7:1) and high priest (Exodus 28:1). In referring to the example of the Old Testament’s description of Aaron’s calling to

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priesthood and the special rights given to him and his heirs, the author underlines the exclusive nature of the calling to ministry he describes. The poet’s further emphasis on the restricted access to godly prophecy (veteres quod vix habuere Prophetae, | vix Aaron) perhaps refers to the Biblical episode in which Moses and Joshua ascended Mount Sinai to receive God’s revelation, whilst Aaron remained below among the people (Exodus 24:9). 2.15 lymphatice: An adverb from the adjective lymphaticus, which is attested with the meaning ‘frenzied’, ‘wild’ since Pliny the Elder. 2.17 praesulis: The classical Latin praesul (‘leader, presider, patron’) is used for bishops and senior church dignitaries in the Christian context. From earlier English literature in Latin see, for example, William of Malmsbury, Gesta pontificum Anglorum 1.35; 42. Β´. This poem is composed in iambic trimeter. Relying on iambic feet (according to Aristotle, the metrical form closest to the rhythms of conversation, Arist. Poetics 1449a.24), the meter was widely used in the dialogue sections of Greek theatre. Iambic trimeter was also employed alongside other forms in the lyrical genre of iambus. Poems in this genre often contained reflections on specific themes, pointed social criticism and later predominantly insulting personal attacks. By the Hellenistic period, and based primarily on the reception of the archaic poet Archilochus, invective was identified as the key characteristic of the genre (Rotstein 2010: 319). This poem singles out one particular character-type in contemporary society (αὐτόκλητος, αὐτόμυστης τε αὐτεξούσιος, ‘the self-proclaimed, self-initiated and self-authorized’ minister) for attack and can thus be read productively within the tradition of this genre. Β´.1 Ὁ . . . γραφῶν: Similar to the previous Greek poem Α
, this piece does not reproduce the sarcastic tone of its associated Latin poem and opts instead for a straightforward attack on the figure it describes. Β´.2 αὐτόμυστος: This compound adjective is unattested elsewhere in ancient Greek. It is built on the noun ὁ μύστης (‘the initiate, mystic’). The intended meaning here, ‘the self-initiated’, is clear. Β´.4 καυώμενος: The contracted participle from καυχάομαι (‘to shout, call out loud’). The verb is commonly used with the accusative or genitive with the meaning ‘to boast, brag of ’. Β´.5 ἢν: A contracted, Homeric and poetic form of εἰ ἀν, ἐαν and followed by the subjunctive προσλάβῃ.

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Β´.7 Τὸν Ἀαρῶνα καὶ Ἐλισσαῖον: For the Biblical story of Aaron’s calling to the role of high priest under Moses, see note on 2.14. Elisha (Ἐλισσαῖος) is anointed as the successor to prophet Elijah (1 Kings 19:19) after the latter is visited by God on mount Horeb. Β´.8 τάσσε: The imperfect third person singular of τάσσω (‘to draw up in order, arrange’) has dropped the usual augment ἐ- in line with poetic and particularly Homeric diction. See also Β´.9. Β´.9 χρῖσε: The unaugmented, poetic aorist third person singular of χρίω (‘to touch gently, anoint’). τὸν μὲν Μωσέης, τὸν δ’ Ἠλίας: The importance for the Anglican position of an external (civil, legal) calling to ministry, alongside a direct (internal) calling from God is underlined by the stories of Moses / Aaron and Elisha / Elijah as well as by the active role of Moses and Elijah in the Greek text. Μωσέης: The nominative form of the Old Testament prophet Moses has been lengthened with an additional -έ- metri causa. The Hebrew name is also found rendered alternatively as Μωσῆς, Μωϋσῆς and Μωυσῆς. Β´.10 ἀντ’ Ἰούδα Ματθίας: The poet makes the same argument for external calling to ministry on the example of Matthias. In the story told in Acts 1:12– 26 Matthias fulfills the requirements of (an external) for joining the apostles laid down by Peter. He is thus called to replace Judas Iscariot after Jesus’ death. κεκλήατο: This is another unaugmented epic verbal form. It is to be parsed as the pluperfect third person plural passive of καλέω (‘to call, summon’). Β´.13 ὑπαὶ θεοῖο: equals ὑπό θεοῦ. Note the use of epic language in the last line emphasizing the force of the poem’s concluding summary of its pointe.

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Happy New Year in Jacobean Oxford: Metamorphosing Ovid into Student Comedy Philip Parsons (1594–1653), Atalanta Elizabeth Sandis

Introduction Philip Parsons (1594–1653) was a student at Oxford when he wrote the short play, Atalanta, and dedicated it to the President of his College. It is a pastoral comedy set in Arcadia, where Schoeneus reigns as King, and his daughter, Princess Atalanta, is going to extraordinary lengths to avoid marriage. At about 700 lines, Atalanta comes to less than half the length of a typical academic play, and yet is typical of the kind of Ovidian playlets that were being produced at St John’s College, Oxford, where he was studying. Parsons was admitted to St John’s in the summer of 1610 and matriculated on 26 June, aged sixteen (Hegarty 2011: 113). Atalanta was most likely penned while Parsons was an undergraduate; the few scholars who have made reference to the play have dated it to before his graduation on 6 June 1614.1 It may also have been completed while he was working towards his MA – awarded on 9 May 1618 – and certainly before 1621, when the President of St John’s College, William Laud, left office on his promotion to a bishopric. Parsons’ dedication of the play to Laud is significant. Drama formed part of the Oxford and Cambridge experience in a variety of ways: it was embedded in the culture of the universities as a source of entertainment, a pedagogical tool and a way of giving students a platform for their talents (for more information about early modern drama at the universities, see Boas 1914, Marlow 2013 and Sandis 2022). Scholars penned comedies and tragedies in Latin (more occasionally, in English) to entertain and impress their peers and their tutors. College dining halls were converted into theatrical venues, thereby transforming a daily communal space into the scene of another shared experience for college members. Most plays were inhouse affairs, to which only members and their guests were given access; 155

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however, those staged for members of the royal family and / or high-ranking courtiers tend to be the best known and best documented. The collegiate structure of Oxford and Cambridge created individual, tight-knit communities with a strong sense of identity, each with their own customs and traditions. Not every college invested in a theatre scene, and some were more proactive in encouraging student playwrights than others, but most were limited in the resources they could put towards productions. Trinity College, Cambridge, and Christ Church, Oxford, were major players, as was St John’s College, Oxford; colleges such as these took pride in building and maintaining a reputation for original Neo-Latin drama. St John’s, where this play originates, developed one tradition in particular, exemplified by Parsons’ Atalanta: the adaptation of episodes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which were expanded and reimagined as playlets for the stage. The story of Princess Atalanta appears in Book 10 of the Metamorphoses (lines 560–680), and this short passage takes us through events in a succinct and economical style. Atalanta receives an oracle from Apollo at Delphi that makes her fearful of marriage, and she removes herself to the woods. She is still pursued by suitors and challenges each to a running race, with herself as the prize if they win and their own death as the penalty if they lose. Hippomenes, a stranger in the kingdom, initially scoffs at the suitors’ willingness to risk all, but, on seeing her, falls in love and decides to put himself forward for a race. He sees her outrun the men who race against her, marvels at her grace and beauty, and is not put off by the other suitors being sent to their deaths. Addressing Atalanta directly, Hippomenes dismisses her former competitors as not worth the effort and challenges her to race him instead, emphasizing his illustrious parentage. Atalanta is impressed by him and confused by her feelings, realizing that this is the first time she has worried about a suitor putting himself into a life-or-death situation for her sake. Hippomenes prays to Venus for her aid, and she gives him three golden apples, instructing him how to use them. The race is described in detail, with Atalanta repeatedly outstripping him and him using the apples to distract her and overtake. In the last stretch, he appeals to Venus again; she ensures that Atalanta loses the race, and he leads the girl away as his prize. However, like many tales in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, that of Atalanta and Hippomenes is a story within a story: Ovid has embedded it within his narrative of Venus and Adonis. Venus is counselling Adonis not to hunt dangerous animals in the forest, saying she hates savage brutes like boars and lions. When he asks her why she hates these, she tells him the Atalanta-Hippomenes story followed by its rather unfortunate sequel: Hippomenes, having won his bride with Venus’ help, failed to give the goddess the thanks that were due. In revenge, Venus stirs sexual passion in Hippomenes and sets him up to defile a sacred shrine, which in turn incurs the wrath of Cybele. Cybele turns both Hippomenes

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and Atalanta into a pair of lions, a metamorphosis that focuses on their ferocity and danger to humans. Venus ends her tale here, by repeating her warning to Adonis to beware of lions and avoid all savage beasts for her sake (Adonis does not heed her words and dies soon afterwards). This narrative frame encircling the Atalanta-Hippomenes episode, with Venus as narrator and Adonis as audience, is referenced by Parsons in his retelling; his play can, therefore, be considered an adaptation of lines 537– 707 of Book 10 of the Metamorphoses, not just 560–680. As part of his dramatization, he includes meticulous stage directions in the script, which not only indicate exits and entrances, but instruct when sound effects and props are to be used. Parsons has given the dramatization of the running races careful thought. He cannot stage a whole race, for obvious reasons, but he finds ways to use sound effects and character observations to indicate the action and generate an exciting atmosphere for the event. Other students from St John’s College chose different passages from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, adapting them, like Parsons, from poetry into play. One of Parsons’ contemporaries in college, Christopher Wren (father of the famous architect), chose the story of Achelous and Hercules from Book 9, transforming it into a play entitled Physiponomachia (‘The Battle of Wit and Labour’), in which he recast Ovid’s tale of the wrestling match for Deianira’s hand as an allegorical contest between the figures of Ponophilus (‘Work-lover’) and Anchinoeus (‘Ingenious’). Other examples of this tradition include Joseph Crowther’s dramatization of the story of Cephalus et Procris from Book 7 and Henry Bellamy’s version of Iphis and Ianthe from Book 9. These works are all quite short, reaching around 800 lines of iambic senarii on average, and they are all dedicated to the President of St John’s College, whether this was John Buckeridge (who held the post from 1606 to 1611), William Laud (1611–21) or William Juxon (1621–33). In each case the students use sacred language and gestures of supplication in offering up their work; in the prologue to Iphis, for example, Henry Bellamy portrays President Juxon as ornatissime musarum mysta (‘most reverend priest of the Muses’). When we consider the powerful positions that Buckeridge, Laud and Juxon held in the Church, and the need for students to cultivate patronage at university in order to secure job prospects upon graduation, these acts of supplication through the medium of theatre show that the college drama scene is about more than entertainment. Buckeridge, Laud and Juxon were expert networkers and helped one another move up the rankings: all three became bishops, while Laud became Archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor of the University of Oxford. Those they trusted were helped into positions of power alongside them, both in the Church and in university administration. As I have recently argued, these ambitious

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high-flyers used their Oxford college, St John’s, as a recruiting ground to find and train followers and supporters; one of the ways in which they could test their protégés for loyalty and groom them for preferment was via the dramatic form (Sandis 2019). Parsons was a Laudian protégé, and he used his classical model, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, to veil references to practices that Laud favoured but that were strongly controversial in the Anglican Church at that time: the act of prostrating before the altar, the burning of incense, and the altar-wise positioning of the communion table. Practices such as these were supported by the Arminian wing of the Church, a faction that became known as the ‘Durham House group’ after their custom of congregating at the London home of Richard Neile, the Bishop of Durham. Others criticized what they saw as a ‘popish’ culture of worship, too closely aligned with the legacy of Catholicism in England. Ultimately, however, with the support of King Charles, Laud and his followers became powerful enough to move the Church in their preferred direction. Laud’s interest in Parsons’ career was long-term, and his favour and connections were highly valuable. Having graduated with a BA and MA, Parsons qualified as a Doctor of Medicine and became physician to Laud’s half-brother William Robinson, the Prebendary of Westminster. In addition, Parsons rose through the ranks in academic administration at the University of Oxford to enjoy prominent and lasting success: on the nomination of Laud, he became Principal of Hart Hall (now subsumed into Hertford College) in 1633 and remained as the head of the college until his death in 1653.

Metre: iambic senarius

Note 1 Harbage (1964) definitively lists Atalanta as having been acted in 1612 in Annals of English Drama, whilst the editors of Records of Early English Drama: Oxford (2004) posit 1611–13. Weckermann (1981), in the introduction to his facsimile of the Atalanta manuscript, comments with reference to 1612, ‘in the absence of any demonstrable evidence this date must remain a perhaps plausible but by no means incontrovertible assumption’ (10–11).

Bibliography Boas, F. S. (1914), University Drama in the Tudor Age, Oxford. Elliott, J. R. / Johnston, A. F. / Nelson, A. H. / Wyatt, D., eds (2004), Records of Early English Drama: Oxford, 2 vols, Toronto.

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Harbage, A. (1964), The Annals of English Drama 975–1700, 2nd edition, revised by S. Schoenbaum, London. Hegarty, A. (2011), A Biographical Register of St. John’s College, Oxford, 1555– 1660, Woodbridge. Hill, D. E. (1999), Ovid: Metamorphoses IX–XII , Warminster. Latham, R. E. (1965), Revised Medieval Latin Word-list from British and Irish Sources, London. Marlow, C. (2013), Performing Masculinity in English University Drama, 1598–1636, Farnham. Sandis, E. (2019), ‘Playwright Protégés at St John’s College, Oxford: Dramatic Approaches to Networking under Buckeridge, Laud and Juxon’, The Seventeenth Century, 35: 315–36 (DOI: 10.1080/0268117X.2019.1611473). Sandis, E. (2022), Early Modern Drama at the Universities: Institutions, Intertexts, Individuals, Oxford. Weckermann, H.-J., ed. (1981), Christopher Wren / Physiponomachia; Philip Parsons / Atalanta; Thomas Atkinson / Homo, Hildesheim.

Source of the Latin text Atalanta survives in a single manuscript: British Library MS Harley 6924. The extracts presented here follow the text and line numbering of W. E. Mahaney and W. K. Sherwin (eds), Two University Latin Plays: Philip Parsons’ Atalanta and Thomas Atkinson’s Homo (Salzburg 1973), with minor reformatting.

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Latin text Passage 1 (Prologue) The subject of the play is introduced, and the work is dedicated to William Laud, the President of Parsons’ college. Parsons offers his play as a New Year’s gift. Prologus

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Quid hic paremus proloqui; non est opus: Atalanta cui non cognita? en scripta emicat. Tantum leones nolumus; monstra effera et iam sopita urgere vix tutum reor. Meta est laboris finis et oberrat scopo siquis aliquando pergere ulterius velit. Ornatissimo doctissimoque viro Gulielmo Laude in sacra Theologia Doctori et Col. Di Joan. Bapt. Praesidi longe dignissimo εὖ χαίρειν. Inter multa novo volitant quae dona sub anno, En manibus Musam, pignora nostra, tuis, Musam, quae tepido non ante emersit ab ovo; quam dominum agnoscens gestit adire suum. nec formam iactatve suam, meritisve superbit; qui tuus est, facili freta favore venit. O se quam pulchram velit ut te digna veniret. Sed, cui posse nefas, sit voluisse satis. Tuae dignitati, deditissimus Philip Parsons.

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English translation Passage 1 (Prologue)

Prologue Why deliver a prologue here; there is no need. To whom is Atalanta unknown? Look here, she is written about and leaps out [from the page]. But we don’t want lions; I think it scarcely safe to rouse wild beasts now sleeping. The goal is the end of the work; anyone who ever wishes to go further misses the mark. To a most illustrious and learned man, William Laud, Doctor in sacred Theology, by far the worthiest President of the College of St. John the Baptist, Greetings. Amongst the many gifts that flutter around at New Year’s, look here, in your hands, the Muse, my pledge, a Muse that has not emerged from her warm egg before. How delighted she is to come forward, recognizing her master. Nor does she boast of her beauty or shout about her achievements; she comes, trusting in the simple goodwill that is yours. Oh, how beautiful she wishes she were, so that she might be worthy to approach you. But, for he whom the gods have refused the ability, let it be enough to have wished. To your worthiness, [from] your most devoted servant, Philip Parsons.

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Passage 2 (Act 4, Scene 1) This scene is written from the viewpoint of the local Arcadians after they have watched a race between Atalanta and two of her would-be husbands, Amphialus and Narcissus. They are hugely impressed with Atalanta’s performance, but feel sorry for the suitors who will now be put to death. The introduction of these local characters commenting on the action is unique to Parsons; where Ovid offers descriptive narrative, Parsons appropriates the material and creates direct speech for his shepherds, Corydon and Menalcas. The shepherds, together with their children Phoebe and Sylvanus, act as a kind of chorus bringing events alive by providing colour and atmosphere. Actus quartus, scaena prima Ingrediuntur Menalcas, Corydon, Sylvanus, Phoebe. Corydon: Vicine, cursus ut tibi tandem placet? 400 An non celeriter regia cucurrit satis virgo? Menalcas: Imo longe liquit a tergo procos. Corydon: Perstrinxit oculos praepeti cursu meos. Menalcas: Ut signa primum flexiles dederant tubae, Scythica sagitta celerius visa est mihi 405 volare princeps; vix quidem tetigit solum. Transire maria crederes sicco pede, stantesque, si percurreret, aristas levi vix premeret onere. Corydon: (Bone Deus) quantus fuit undique tumultus; quantus in campis sonus. 410 Menalcas: Clamor favorque spiritum adiecit novum velociusque rapta, dum vulgus monet. Nunc tempus est incumbere. O nunc nunc opus properare, totis viribus nunc utere. Sylvanus: Mihi crede (genitor) ipse clamavi semel. 415 Phoebe: At ego Atalantam nomine vocavi suo, et ‘curre’ dixi; meque tum vidit, scio. Corydon: Videre miseros me quidem piguit procos. Menalcas: Saepe gemuere miseri et a lasso aridus veniebat ore anhelitus. Corydon: Certum est eos 420 nece perituros? Menalcas: Legis ita durae iubet conditio. Neque rex (ut ferunt) vitam dabit; audere nimium tam gravem culpam putat. Corydon: Dum loquimur ista, ad vesperum vergit dies, ut colligamus nos oves tempus monet. 425 Menalcas: Abeamus ergo; sol enim occasum premit. Exeunt omnes.

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Passage 2 (Act 4, Scene 1)

Act 4, Scene 1 Enter Menalcas, Corydon, Sylvanus and Phoebe. Corydon: Well, neighbour, do you like the race? Or has the royal maid not run swiftly enough? Menalcas: Indeed, she has left the suitors far behind. Corydon: She grazed my eyes with her swift running. Menalcas: As soon as the curved trumpets had given the signal, the Princess seemed to me to fly more swiftly than a Scythian arrow; indeed, she scarcely touched the ground. You could believe she would cross seas with her feet still dry, and if she ran over standing corn, she would scarcely press down with her light weight. Corydon: Good god, how great the commotion was on every side, how great the sound in the fields! Menalcas: The roar and applause gave her new vigour, and she was swept along more quickly while the crowd urged her on: ‘Now is the time to press on, oh now, now! There is no need to hurry, now use all [your] strength.’ Sylvanus: Believe me, father, I shouted one time myself. Phoebe: Well, I called Atalanta by name and told her ‘run’ – I know she saw me then. Corydon: It grieved me indeed to see the pitiable suitors. Menalcas: Often the poor fellows groaned, and from their weary mouths kept coming dry gasps of breath. Corydon: Is it certain that they will be put to death? Menalcas: So the condition of the harsh law stipulates. Nor will the king, so they say, grant them life, for he thinks it is too much to dare so serious a crime. Corydon: While we are saying these things, day turns to evening – it is time we gathered up our sheep. Menalcas: Off we go then, for the sun is about to set. Exit all.

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Passage 3 (Act 5, Scene 2 – Act 5, Scene 3) In Act 5, Scene 2, we enjoy the sarcastic interjections of Hippomenes’ servant Davus, another character introduced by Parsons. He is based on the parasitus (‘parasite’ type) from Roman comedy, always grumbling about his empty stomach and griping behind his master’s back, but in this scene he also exhibits elements of the servus callidus (‘clever slave’ type). In Act 5, Scene 3, the Arcadian shepherds Corydon and Menalcas discuss the situation and listen to their children’s chatter. Corydon’s practical realism brings the audience away from the realms of mythological fantasy back down to earth.

Actus quintus, scaena secunda Manet Davus. Davus: At quicquid hodie aggrederis Hippomene, cave. Nunc ille credit aureis pomis, quasi 620 Atalanta virgo tenera foret infantula, cui poma tantum perplacent. Equidem omnium inscitiam amantum miror, inprimis mei domini; sed ista vos, scio, ut par est, latet. Satis est quod ipse intelligam; solus mihi 625 intelligensque rideam ut Davum decet. Iam non quod ipse debeam, at tantum meae recreationis ergo, quasi servus sequar. Exit. Actus quintus, scaena tertia Ingrediuntur Corydon, Menalcas, Sylvanus, Phoebe. Corydon: Sane Menalca non ego hos cursus probo, nec video quorsum barbara procorum lues, 630 nisi virgines ambire mortiferum foret. Sed (me quod angit maxime) a stabulis pecus arcent, equorum pedibus et calcant agros.

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Passage 3 (Act 5, Scene 2 – Act 5, Scene 3)

Act 5, Scene 2 Davus remains. Davus: Hippomenes, whatsoever you are taking on today – be warned. He trusts in golden apples now – as if the maid Atalanta were a tender little baby 620 who takes such great delight in apples! Indeed, I wonder at the stupidity of all lovers, especially [that] of my master. But that escapes you, I know, as is right. It is enough that I myself am in the know, and that, being in the know, I alone am laughing to myself, as befits Davus. Now, not because I ought to, but only 625 for the sake of my own amusement shall I follow, as if a servant. He exits.

Act 5, Scene 3 Enter Corydon, Menalcas, Sylvanus and Phoebe. Corydon: Really, Menalcas, I do not approve of these races, and I do not see why [one should be made to suffer] the barbaric treatment of [these] suitors, unless to court maidens is a deadly pursuit [now]. But (and this is what 630 annoys me most of all) they keep the animals from their pens and trample the fields with horses’ feet.

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Menalcas: Imo imo, Corydon, vel decus magnum reor, calcare quod dignentur hos nostros agros 635 tam clara princeps, tanta nobilium cohors. Phoebe: Et (care genitor) si mihi affari licet, non dignus est uxore, qui cursu levi superare nescit. Sylvanus: Pace sed, Phoebe, tua levitate nunquam cedere mulieri pudet. 640 Phoebe: Sylvane, levitas illa non, levitas pedum. Menalcas: Quam docilis aetas, quam cito in amores ruunt. Corydon: At, nata, cum tu nubilis fueris, domi mane, nec agris cursita ut quaeras virum. Menalcas: At cresce, fili, cumque semel adoleveris, 645 i, curre, quaere coniugem et placeas tibi. Corydon: Ut ista iubeas, non opus. Sylvanus: citius tamen meliusque faciam, si patris monita audiam. Corydon: Quid hic iocamur? Turba ne subito opprimat, Sibi stationem quisquis sedemque eligat. Se locant in partes scaenae.

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Menalcas: Come, come, Corydon, I rather think it is a great honour that such an illustrious princess and such a great gathering of nobles deem it worthy to trample these fiel ds of ours. 635 Phoebe: And – dear father, if I am permitted to speak – he is notworthy of his wife who does not know how to outdo her in fleetness. Sylvanus: Pardon, Phoebe, but it is never shameful to be outdone by a woman in flightiness. Phoebe: Sylvanus, I said fleetness – fleetness of foot. 640 Menalcas: How impressionable that age [is]; how quickly they fall in love. Corydon: But, my girl, when you come of age as a bride, stay at home, do not run about in the fields to find a man! Menalcas: But grow up, my boy, and once you have come of age, go, run, seek 645 a wife and please yourself. Corydon: No need to give out commands when it comes to that. Sylvanus: Yet, I will do it quicker and better if I hear my father’s advice. Corydon: Why do we stand here cracking jokes? So that the crowd does not squash us all of a sudden, let’s each choose a spot for ourselves and [take] a seat. They place themselves at the sides of the stage.

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Passage 4 (Act 5, Scene 6 – Epilogue) Here in the final scene, Atalanta is forced by Venus to pick up the third apple, thereby sealing Hippomenes’ victory. Atalanta repeatedly expresses her outrage at what has happened, while her husband-to-be is delighted. A contented King Schoeneus calls for wedding celebrations for his daughter and his new son-inlaw. In the Epilogue Parsons uses plays on words to deliver an elaborate Happy New Year message. Actus quintus, scaena sexta Ingrediuntur Hippomenes et Atalanta currentes. Hippomenes ut intrat tertium aureum malum proiicit; dum Atalanta Venere agente colligit; ille metam attingit prius. Schoeneus: Ecce veniunt. Hippomenes: Nunc, Dea, aut nunquam iuva. 685 Omnes: Io triumphe. Schoeneus: Nunc tua, Hippomene, tua est. Omnes: Io triumphe. Atalanta: Quam pudet, captam pudet. quam me fefellit vanus hic auri nitor. Proiicit mala.

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Hippomenes: Quam te beatam reddidit, nec enim velim ut quis Atalantam cursu in hoc victam putet. Currebat, ut quae nollet hodie vincere; currebat, ut quae nollet Hippomenem mori. Mihi voluisti parcere, et fateor quidem vitamque munus semper agnoscam tuum. Atalanta: Et vive felix meque captivam rape. Spolia ampla referes virginem victam dolis. Schoeneus: Utcunque, cara nata, nollem aegre feras te subito factam coniugem, Hippomenem virum. Nam dignus est amore, nec thalamo tuo indignus. Atalanta: Equidem, genitor, agnosco lubens uxore dignum; meque vix dignam reor tali marito. Sed tamen ... Schoeneus: Sed quid tamen? Atalanta: Quod victa sim non doleo, sic vinci dolet. Schoeneus: Sic vinci oportet arte, quam vis non domat: sed quid moramur? Delphici ad templum Dei properemus omnes, ut ibi felici omine celebremus hodie nuptias, nec enim licet differre. Cum parata iam sint omnia mora nocet omnis. Hippomenes: Et amor impatiens morae. Exeunt.

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Passage 4 (Act 5, Scene 6 – Epilogue)

Act 5, Scene 6 Enter Hippomenes and Atalanta running. As Hippomenes enters he throws down the third golden apple. While Atalanta picks it up, forced to do so by Venus, he touches the finish line first. Schoeneus: Look, here they come! Hippomenes: Now or never, goddess, help me. 685 All: Hurrah, the winner! Schoeneus: Now, she is yours, Hippomenes, she is yours! All: Hurrah, the winner! Atalanta: How shameful! Shameful to have been thus defeated. How this vain glitter of gold deceived me. She throws down the apples. Hippomenes: How lucky it has made you; for I would not wish anyone to think that Atalanta had been defeated in this race. She ran as one who did not wish to win today; she ran as one who did not wish Hippomenes to die. You wanted to spare me and, indeed I admit it, I shall always consider my life a gift from you. Atalanta: So live, lucky man, and take me captive; you will bring back ample spoils – a maid conquered by trickery. Schoeneus: Dear girl, I would not wish you to take it badly in any way, that you have suddenly been made a wife and Hippomenes your husband. For he is worthy of your love and not unworthy of your bed. Atalanta: Indeed, father, I willingly recognize that he is worthy of a wife, and I scarcely deem myself worthy of such a husband, but yet . . . Schoeneus: But what yet? Atalanta: It is not because I am beaten that I grieve; it grieves [me] to be beaten in this way. Schoeneus: It is necessary to be conquered thus by guile, [you] whom strength does not tame. But why are we delaying? Let us all hasten to the temple of the Delphic god, so that there we may celebrate the wedding under happy auspices today – it is not right to postpone it. When everything is already prepared, every delay does harm. Hippomenes: And love is impatient of delay. They exit.

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Epilogus Haec olim Adoni pulchra narravit Venus, 710 puero ut placeret; egit haec hodie Venus ficta, tamen ut placeret. Et vobis (viri) placere vates studuit, haud credens fore aut indecorum aut dissonum, hoc ipso die cursus peragere. Nam quid hoc tempus monet, 715 nisi iam peractum cursum et inceptum novum? Praeteritus annus in procis victis gemit, quia iam quasi periere transacti dies; triumphat at victore in Hippomene novus. Feliciter peregit is cursum suum, 720 et ope secundi numinis votum attigit; feliciterque currat hic annus, precor, possitis ut vos singuli votis frui. Quod restat unum: si placet, voto suo fruitur poeta, nec alium applausum petit. Exit.

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Epilogue Beautiful Venus once narrated these things to Adonis, to please the boy. Today Venus has brought about the fashioning of these [tales], to please still; 710 and the poet has laboured to please you, men, in the belief that it would be honourable and appropriate to complete the course on this very day. For what does this time advise, if not that one course has been finished and a new one begun? The year that has gone by is in mourning for the conquered 715 suitors – since already the days have passed away, as if they had died –, but a new one celebrates the triumph of Hippomenes the victor. Happily, he completed his course, and, with the aid of a favourable divinity, obtained what he wished for. And may this year run happily, I pray, so that each of you 720 can attain what you wish for. One thing is left: if he pleases, the poet attains his wish; he seeks no other applause.

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Commentary Passage 1 Mahaney and Sherwin (1973) do not assign line numbers to the Prologue, but, for ease of reference, they have been added here. Line numbers begin at line 1 again at the start of Act 1, Scene 1. 3 Tantum leones nolumus: Parsons references Hippomenes’ and Atalanta’s metamorphosis into lions, the part of the story that vexes Venus and forms the basis of her warning to Adonis, to have nothing to do with the beasts she hates. 4 urgere vix tutum reor: Parsons makes a wry show of obedience to Venus, using the technique of prateritio: he evokes monstra effera (‘wild beasts’) whilst claiming not to go there. 5 Using the terms meta (‘goal’ or ‘finish line’) and scopus (‘[target] mark’), Parsons begins cultivating a parallel between the goals that the hero Hippomenes strives for (the finishing line at the race, the prize of Atalanta as bride) and the metaphorical goalposts of the author, who hopes to please his audience and make a success of his play. 13 εὖ χαίρειν: It is not uncommon to find a few words of Greek in a NeoLatin play. Parsons uses an infinitive in place of an imperative. 14–15 novo . . . sub anno, | . . . pignora nostra: Parsons references the tradition of giving out New Year’s gifts. His play functions as both a celebration of this festive occasion and a gift to his patron, President Laud, and he intends Laud to understand this gift as a pledge of loyalty (pignus) from Parsons. 16 tepido . . . ab ovo: Parsons uses the metaphor of an egg to express the freshness and originality of his play, but also his vulnerability as a new and unpractised author.

Passage 2 399 cursus . . . placet?: Delivered by one of the characters in the chorus, this question has a strongly metatheatrical edge to it. Are the audience enjoying watching the action? 403–8 This speech, put in the mouth of the shepherd Menalcas, demonstrates Parsons’ method of textual recycling, appropriating Ovid’s words from several places at once and working them into something new. In the Metamorphoses it is Hippomenes who is the spectator, not shepherds, and Venus is reporting his

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reaction on seeing Atalanta racing other suitors: the young man judged her as quick as a Scythian arrow (quae quamquam Scythica non setius ire sagitta | Aonio visa est iuveni, ‘although she seemed to the Aonian young man to move in flight as swift as a Scythian arrow’, Met. 10.588–9). In Parsons’ play the audience is at less of a remove from the action: Menalcas tells us his impression directly, without a narrator as intermediary (visa est mihi). When it comes to Hippomenes running against Atalanta, Ovid has Venus describe their feet barely touching the ground, imagining them skimming the tops of the waves and gliding across fields of corn: uterque | . . . summam celeri pede libat harenam; | posse putes illos sicco freta radere passu | et segetis canae stantes percurrere aristas, ‘both of them skimmed the sandy surface with flying feet; you might think those two could graze the sea with unwet feet and traverse the ripened heads of standing corn’ (Met. 10.652–5). Parsons repositions Ovid’s words and condenses the material to present these two instances of Atalanta’s flight as one. non setius becomes simply celerius, whilst summam celeri pede libat harenam becomes vix quidem tetigit solum. Parsons is then free to use pede in place of Ovid’s passu, reintroducing it from the previous line (Met. 10.653). Much of the syntax remains in parallel, so that Parsons’ variations of lexicon can be slotted into place in quite a straightforward manner: volare for ire, crederes for putes, and maria for freta. 408–10 quantus . . . | . . . tumultus; quantus . . . sonus. | Clamor favorque: The enthusiastic reports of Corydon and Menalcas echo the sound of the excited crowds; the characters bring the atmosphere alive for us via their own excited conversation. 412 Nunc tempus est . . . O nunc nunc: Menalcas’ repetition of quick-fire, monosyllabic words renders him an amusingly passionate spectator. 424 nos oves: The sudden reminder that these shepherds have a day job and must find their sheep adds a note of comedy to their sombre chat about the suitors facing the death penalty. 425 sol enim occasum premit: Corydon and Menalcas both emphasize that sunset is coming, a nod towards a metaphor that Parsons develops further in the Epilogue: the death of a man as the ending of a day.

Passage 3 619–20 quasi | . . . infantula: Davus’ sarcasm in using the diminutive infantula (‘little baby’) provides a refreshing moment of cynicism in a plot based on mythological certainties. Atalanta will be distracted by the golden apples and lose the race, thanks to Venus, but we enjoy Davus’ indignant

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interjections and the absurdity of a scenario where a woman running for her life (or, rather, running to secure her fate) would stop to pick up apples along the way. In the final scene of the play Parsons develops a note of sympathy for Atalanta, giving her the chance to express shock and dismay that this is the way she has lost the race. 623 vos: Davus, who is alone on stage, may be addressing the audience directly. He cultivates a sense of his own superiority, putting distance between himself, the other characters, and their lack of awareness (inscitia). 625 Davum: His pompous manner of addressing himself in the third person adds to the enjoyment of this comical character, whose self-importance is at odds with his lowly social status as a servant. The name Davus, familiar from such plays as Terence’s Andria, represents a generic slave name of the GrecoRoman period, but by the time Parsons was writing, a ‘Davus’ had also become a rhetorical topos for a scoundrel. 626–7 meae | recreationis: Another metatheatrical moment, where the character signals he is enjoying the play that the audience are watching. 629 nec video quorsum barbara procorum lues: Parsons creates comic irony by having one of his new characters critique the ancient tale – to Corydon, the death of the suitors seems rather extreme. 631–2 Corydon’s down-to-earth grumblings continue, which may be considered a pastiche of Diana’s great boar trampling the crops of the farmers (Ovid, Met. 8.290–7). There is comedy in Corydon prioritizing what makes him most angry: even worse than the suitors being put to death is the inconvenience of not having his animals where he wants them to be and his fields in a mess. 643 nec agris cursita: Another instance of comic realism, sending up the bizarre nature of the mythological story. Corydon warns Phoebe that it may be very well for Atalanta to be pursuing this odd behaviour, but his daughter is not to go running around in fields to find her man.

Passage 4 686 Quam pudet . . . pudet: In this final scene Parsons puts considerable emphasis on Atalanta’s feelings and values. This comes in stark contrast to Ovid’s version of the post-race aftermath: Venus’ tale for Adonis is brought to an abrupt end with the words ‘the maiden was overtaken, the victor led his prize away’ (praeterita est virgo, duxit sua praemia victor, Met.10.680).

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690–1 nollet hodie vincere | . . . nollet Hippomenem mori: Hippomenes, trying to be gracious and lessen her grief upon losing the race, suggests Atalanta secretly wanted him to win. This is partly true, as we know from her extended soliloquy in Act 4, Scene 4: there she had regretted the obstacle of the Delphic oracle in preventing her from marrying him and had lamented that a man of his quality could be sent to his death for wanting to marry her. 695 Spolia ampla . . . dolis: Note the sarcasm in Atalanta’s words, as she refuses to acknowledge that Hippomenes won fair and square. Parsons develops his character’s sense of dignity and self-worth by giving her a voice; as the scene goes on, she continues to vent her feelings about the situation. 702 Quod victa sim non doleo, sic vinci dolet: Ovid’s Atalanta is simply the conquered bride, whilst Parsons’ Atalanta is furious both at having been bested and at the way in which she has been bested. On Parsons generating comedy value by sending up the preposterousness of the apples trick, see note on 619–20. 705–6 felici omine | celebremus hodie: The celebration King Schoeneus calls for at the end of the play echoes the festive context for which the play was produced. See note on 14. 708 Et amor impatiens morae: Hippomenes’ words are perhaps slightly ominous, looking ahead as they do to the next episode in the story, when Hippomenes’ impetuous passion offends the goddess Cybele, and she turns him and Atalanta into lions. 709–10 narravit Venus, | . . . egit . . . Venus: Parsons highlights the role that Venus has played in his version of the Atalanta-Hippomenes story, referencing Ovid’s narrative technique in embedding the tale within the story of Venus and Adonis. As Ovid’s narrator, she was the one controlling and shaping the story for her audience, and now, Parsons jokes, she has brought about his play. Brought to life on stage, she is more powerful than a narrator: she can act out her role as she wishes, exerting her control over the action and the characters in person, not in words. 711–12 vobis (viri) | placere: Only men were permitted to become members of St John’s College; Parsons’ audience is, therefore, all male. On occasion, wives of senior members might attend a college play, but generally the only female spectators were to be found at the universities when the royal family were visiting and entertainments were laid on for them. 713–14 hoc ipso die | . . . hoc tempus: References to the New Year’s context in which the play was produced. Which ‘new year’ is Parsons celebrating

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exactly? The beginning of the academic year in October, the start of January or the official start to the year on 25 March? Lady Day, the start to the fiscal year, seems less likely, whilst New Year’s Day on 1 January was traditionally celebrated with the giving of gifts, known as strenae, which included poems. Parsons’ interest in Adonis suggests the transition from winter to spring, and entries in the college accounts reveal that a New Year’s show in January was a regular occurrence at St John’s. 717 quasi periere: Parsons has been developing this metaphor (of suitors dying as days passing) during the course of the play (see note on 425). His explanation of it here, clunky and rather redundant, has a humorous effect. 719 cursum suum: In Hippomenes there is a young man eager to be noticed and to set himself apart from his competitors. Is Hippomenes’ achievement also Parsons’ achievement, in having brought his Atalanta to fruition? The Epilogue is full of puns on the verb curro (‘run’) and the noun that derives from it: cursus (‘a running, a course’). Underlying his use of the term cursus may be its academic associations: since the fourteenth century in England, cursus had been used to mean ‘a course of lectures’ (see Latham [1965: 127], who gives a start date of c. 1340; later, in the 1630s, another term developed from curro came into use for an academic course of studies: curriculum; Oxford English Dictionary records its first use in 1633; Latham [1965: 126] concurs). Completion of the play may represent for Parsons a significant milestone, so that it is not just the protagonist but also the author who has reached his goal at the end of the course. 720 numinis: Hippomenes had help in achieving his goal, and Parsons is also looking to draw on the support of the powerful around him. As head of the college and a well connected, ambitious man, Laud could use his authority and power (numen) to prefer Parsons above other competitors and help him in his career. 721 feliciterque currat hic annus, precor: Parsons draws a parallel between Hippomenes successfully completing his running race and the year ‘running happily’ for the audience. Since Parsons’ audience is made up exclusively of university students and their college tutors, wishing them well with the course of their year also means wishing them well with their academic studies.

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European Networks and the Reformation of the University of Edinburgh Astronomical disputations from the graduating class of 1612–16. Lecturer: William King David McOmish

Introduction The Theses Philosophicae of the University of Edinburgh are the published records of the public student disputations delivered by each graduating class of students and their lecturers at laureation.1 The surviving editions of the Edinburgh disputations run from 1596 until 1705 and amount to seventy in total.2 The practice of public disputation at graduation was common to all of Scotland’s early modern universities. They were largely ceremonial events, not a formal requirement for degree attainment. At Edinburgh, however, disputations were a core component of continuous assessment each day and the means for summative examination for the students each autumn.3 Extant student notes taken throughout the academic year reveal that the content of the published Theses Philosophicae are extracts taken from the daily disputational exercises and lectures that were edited for public performance at graduation.4 Consequently the published Theses reflect the day-to-day formal processes the students were subject to. Additionally, the public disputation offered a platform for students to impress potential employers. This was especially important at Edinburgh, where the public audience was largely made up of its expanding vocational class of lawyers, politicians, academics and ministers.5 This can be seen from the guests of honour at the 1612 ceremony at Edinburgh, where the students addressed their disputations to a senior advocate in the Supreme Court of Scotland and the Commissary for Edinburgh. In form, the disputations for Edinburgh across the seventeenth century were divided into theses on logic, physics, ethics and astronomy, and arranged sequentially in that order. This formal division reflected the year-on-year 177

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structure of the four-year degree programme, with astronomy, deemed the most challenging subject for the students, explored in the final year.6 Each individual subject was explored through a series of formal statements (theses) by the lecturer (called ‘a regent’) and a series of corollary student responses (called appendices, often abbreviated to app.), with each student given a specific topic to practise and recite (see note 4). The student responses developed the main headline thesis in a variety of ways, from the familiar method of scholastic oppositional and synthetic reasoning to, especially in Edinburgh’s case, an increasingly hostile cross-examination of philosophical conjecture via observational and mathematical proofs. Within each subject, a further subdivision was made into varying subject-specific topics (e.g., geometry, optics, astrology etc. in the case of astronomy). The present edition of the Edinburgh Theses focuses solely upon a section of the astronomical theses. There are two main reasons for this. Firstly, as modern scholars agree, the detailed nature of, and depth of understanding in, cosmological and astronomical studies at Edinburgh is relatively unusual in a Scottish context.7 A critical edition of the astronomical material provides an opportunity to explore this anomaly. Secondly, and most importantly, recent work on a manuscript (University of Edinburgh Library, shelfmark Dk.7.29) written by Adam King, the Commissary of Edinburgh in attendance at the 1612 graduation, has necessitated a reappraisal of the nature of the Theses more generally and especially in relation to the astronomical material. King’s manuscript contains a large (160,000 words) commentary on the didactic cosmological poem De Sphaera of Scottish educationalist and writer George Buchanan (1506–82). Yet the form and content of Buchanan’s poem serve as little more than structural support for King’s detailed introduction to cosmology. What is truly remarkable about the commentary is that, beginning with the 1612–16 undergraduate class and continuing in an unbroken chain until at least 1644, it was the foundational text for instruction in astronomy and mathematics at Edinburgh and a key component of its teaching in natural philosophy more generally. Cross-reference between the manuscript and the published disputations and student notebooks (from daily lectures) show that King’s commentary was read aloud in the lecture hall, formed the core material for student disputations across the year and consequently is replicated verbatim and ubiquitously in the published records of the graduation ceremonies.8 The present edition represents the first detailed examination of the relationship between the manuscript and the student disputations. King composed the commentary between 1595 and 1616, after his return from Paris, where he had been Professor of Mathematics and philosophy at the University of Paris for many years (c. 1580–95).9 The commentary itself,

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however, must be viewed in the context of the educational reforms of King’s network of friends and families, who had links to educational centres across Europe, from Denmark to Germany and down to Italy (and through Venice to Asia).10 The commentary was produced at a time when this network held a remarkable degree of influence in Edinburgh at a cultural, administrative and financial level.11 The language in the text is an eclectic mix of different literary styles that is difficult to categorize. Many theses and appendices (student responses) are direct quotes that Adam King takes from an assortment of mathematicians, philosophers and literary figures ranging across the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. King’s own Latin prose is classical and clear. George Buchanan is his literary model. However, the lexical hinterland of his own specialist field in mathematics and philosophy is in evidence throughout, from both pervasive Greek sources like Plato, Aristotle, Euclid and Cleomedes to predominant Latin authors like Ficino, Copernicus, Clavius, Commandinus, Galileo and Kepler.

Notes 1 The following edition of the Theses Astronomicae from the University of Edinburgh is one of a series of Theses editions of Edinburgh’s cosmological disputations produced as part of a larger research project, all of which will be included in the appendices to McOmish (forthcoming). This project has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie grant agreement No 892528. 2 Shepherd (1974: 344–98) provides a detailed list of all extant documents and a comparison with those of other Scottish universities of the period. Likewise, Gellera (2012: 246–55), who also gives an extensive list of extant contemporary works related to the published educational material and a helpful bibliography of secondary literature. Edinburgh’s published theses are also the first of their kind in Scotland that we have evidence for (Gellera 2012: 15–16). 3 For statutes of the University prescribing disputations as daily exercise: Morgan 1937: 118–19. For use of disputations as annual summative assessment: ibid.: 115–17. See also Shepherd 1974: 24–9. 4 Surviving students’ dictates from 1606 onwards (e.g. William Drummond 1606, George Livingston 1620, William Adair 1634) contain disputational exercises and lecture notes from across each academic year, which are reproduced verbatim in the graduate disputations and resulting published Theses. These student notes show that each student was allocated a specific part from a specific topic, on either logic, ethics, physics or astronomy.

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5 Shepherd 1974: 10. The guests of honour addressed at each ceremony from 1600 until 1632 comprised a range of senior political figures, including the Lord Chancellor of Scotland (1605, 1624), guardian of crown estates in Scotland (1616), royal secretaries and privy councillors (1610, 1614, 1618, 1624, 1626), lords, advocates and members of the Supreme Court of Scotland (1600, 1612, 1615, 1621, 1623, 1625) and the council members from across the vocational and social spectrum who ran the university (1607, 1619, 1620, 1627, 1629, 1631, 1632). 6 Particularly insightful and detailed accounts of the curriculum can be found in Shepherd (1974) and Gellera (2012). Shepherd offers a helpful overview of the structure of the degree programme (esp. 32–4) and Gellera the most up-to-date and insightful appraisal of the content, especially in relation to natural philosophy. For a general orientation in the culture of early-modern astronomical disputations in the Renaissance, see A. Bardi and P. D. Omodeo, ‘The Disputational Culture of Renaissance Astronomy: Johannes Regiomontanus’s “An Terra Moveatur An Quiescat” ’, in Friedenthal et al. 2021: 234–55. 7 Gellera 2012: 17. 8 Each and every thesis below is a verbatim section taken from Adam King’s commentary. King’s point of reference is lost in the editorial process of reduction for public performance. Consequently, at the start of each new Thesis below, there will be a citation to the lemmata from Buchanan’s poem to allow readers to see King’s points of reference. For the Latin text of Buchanan’s poem, based upon the text found in Dk.7.29, see T. Ruddiman (ed.), Georgii Buchanani Opera Omnia. Vol. 2, Edinburgh 1725: 427–535. – NB: Book 2 of Ruddiman’s contains two extra lines (84 and 376). The reference to line numbering in this edition will follow Adam King and will at times be two lines short of Ruddiman. For an English translation of Buchanan’s poem, see J. Naiden, The Sphera of George Buchanan, Washington 1952. 9 For King’s professional background and the sources, see ‘Adam King’, in C. McCraken-Flesher and A. Riach (eds), The Edinburgh Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Writers, Edinburgh 2021. A fuller account will appear in McOmish (forthcoming). Also, see Durkan 2001. 10 For a provisional introduction to some of the group see McOmish 2016. Their social and epistemological background is dealt with in much greater detail in McOmish (forthcoming). Other key members were the future principal of the University of Edinburgh, Patrick Sands, the University’s legal officer (assessor), Thomas Nicolson, who were both educated in the Republic of Venice, Adam’s elder brother, Alexander King (the University’s other senior legal officer), his younger brother, Clement King (educated in Italy and France), and their life-long mutual friend Thomas Seget, the Venicebased scholar. 11 Adam King’s son-in-law Alexander Aikinhead and his brother David Aikinhead (who was also Patrick Sands’ brother-in-law) dominated the offices of the town council that ran the University. Adam’s brother-in-law

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David Heriot, the goldsmith, brother of George Heriot, jeweller and goldsmith to King James I and VI, had financial liability for lecturers at Edinburgh, and a key supporter of Adam’s work was the Lord Chancellor, Alexander Seton, who read King’s commentary and recommended it for educational use in a prefatory letter sent from his official residence at Holyrood Palace (Dk.7.29, f. iv verso).

Bibliography Centre for Research Collections, University of Edinburgh: Adami Regii Sylvae et Commentarius Sphaerae Buchanani, shelf mark Dk.7.29. Durkan, J. (2001), ‘Adam King: A Church Papist’, The Innes Review, 52.2: 195–9. Friedenthal, M. / Marti, H. / Seidel, R., eds (2021), Early Modern Disputations and Dissertations in an Interdisciplinary and European Context, Leiden. Gellera, G. (2012), ‘Natural Philosophy in the Graduation Theses of the Scottish Universities in the First Half of the Seventeenth Century’ (PhD thesis, University of Glasgow). Grant, E. (1996), Planets, Stars, and Orbs: The Medieval Cosmos 1200–1687, Cambridge. King, W. (1616), Theses philosophicae quas propitio numine adolescentes philosophiae alumni ex Academia Edinb. hac vice cum laurea emittendi pro virili propugnabunt ad 3. Kal. Aug. in Aede sacra Regii Collegii. Praeside Gulielmo Regio, Edinburgh. McOmish, D. M. (2016), ‘Not Just a Lawyer: Thomas Craig and Humanist Edinburgh’, The Innes Review, 67.2: 96–106. McOmish, D. M. (forthcoming), Expanding Horizons: European Networks and the New Sciences in Edinburgh 1589–1660, Venice. Morgan, Alexander (1937), University of Edinburgh: Charters, Statutes, and Acts of the Town Council and the Senatus, 1583–1858, Edinburgh. Shepherd, C. M. (1974), ‘Philosophy and Science in the Arts Curriculum of the Scottish Universities in the 17th Century’ (PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh).

Source of the Latin text The text is reproduced from the Theses Astronomicae, contained in Theses Philosophicae, published by Andro Hart (Edinburgh 1616). The King manuscript is contained in the Centre for Research Collections, University of Edinburgh, shelf mark Dk.7.29. All punctuation has been modernized.

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Latin text Thesis I1 Communi Astronomorum calculo, utrobique terra marique sub eodem parallelo quindecim graduum differentia unius horae anticipationem et retardationem in ortu et occasu siderum, atque eclipsium apparitione parit: et sub eodem meridiano 622 millium passuum iter, poli elevationem uno gradu variat. App. I. Siderum ortus et occasus, polorum elevatio et depressio, eclipsium observationes, sive terra, sive mari fiant, eandem ubique Analogiam servare deprehenduntur. 2. Hinc efficitur terram et aquam continuatis ubique extremitatibus in unum globum coire, et sibi invicem quaquaversum mutuo amplexu cedere et excipi; licet unita moles, non tam Sphaera, quam σφαίρωηδης sit. 3. Cum pondera terrae, ita et aquae, ex eodem loco e sublimi demissa libere ubique per eandem rectam lineam ad centrum gravitatis descendant, idem erit utriusque gravitatis centrum. 4. Ergo etiam magnitudinis, cum in sphaeris idem sit centrum gravitatis et magnitudinis: ut demonstrat Commandinus propositione 16. libro de centro gravitatis solidorum.3 5. Nihilominus, cum terra gravior sit, locum centro propiorem occupabit. 6. Sicuti sub omni aqua necesse est terram subesse, non contra, ita Analogia profunditatis et gravitatis sufficienter evincit, multo minus esse aquae quam terrae.4 7. Quam ridicule quidam aquas censent5 mole terra maiores ad universi centrum subsidere, et in his terram innatare, non tamen fluitare, propter vastitatem et quam his6 tribuit opifex stabilitatem. 8. Quin et vero tamen simillimum est maiorem terrae partem ab aquis liberam esse, ut patet ex mensura terrarum exploratarum deducta ex totius globi terrae et aquae dimensa superficie.7

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English translation Thesis 11 By the general reckoning of astronomers, on both land and sea, under the same parallel a difference of fifteen degrees creates a precession and retardation of one hour in the rising and setting of stars and in the appearance of eclipses. Also, under the same meridian, a journey of 62 miles2 represents a change in the elevation of the pole by one degree. Appendix 1. The risings and settings of the stars, the elevation and the depression of the poles, the observations of the eclipses, whether they may happen on land or sea, are [all] found to maintain correspondence in all directions. 2. Hence it follows that the earth and sea, with their surface areas intertwined in all parts, cohere into one globe, and in mutual embrace yield to each other in alternation across every part and are brought together; although the unified mass is not so much a sphere, but rather sphere-like. 3. Since the body of earth, and also of water, after moving downwards from the same location on high without impediment, descends everywhere through the same straight line towards their centre of gravity, then the same centre of gravity will exist for both. 4. Consequently, it is the same for magnitude: since there is the same centre of gravity and magnitude in the spheres, as Commandinus demonstrates in the sixteenth proposition in his book on the centre of gravity of solids.3 5. Nevertheless, since the earth is heavier, it will hold a place closer to the centre. 6. Just as it is necessary that there is the earth under all water, similarly, so the correspondence between their weight and depth demonstrates sufficiently that there is much less water than earth.4 7. Certain people5 quite laughably reckon that the water, being greater in mass than the earth, sinks down towards the centre of the world and that the earth rests upon this [the water], but that it does not float about [on the water] because of its size and immovability, which the creator gave to them.6 8. Indeed it is yet very likely that the greater part of land is free from water, as it is clear from measurement taken of the known earth and from the measured surface area of the entire globe of earth and water.7

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Thesis II 8 Ignis et aeris circumductus non a propria intelligentia, sed caelestis conversionis tractu et impulsu fit: nec is quidem uniformis est, sed mixtus, hic concitatior, illic remissior.

App. 1. Nec est violentus motus, nec continuo naturalis: sed praeter naturam, et a causa perenni cohaerente, nempe conversione caelesti perpetuus.

2. Plotini9 sententia tam igni quam Caelo motum circularem natura insitum esse asserentis; triplici ex causa: providentiae divinae, naturae, et necessitatis: sapit pigmenta Platonicorum, quibus in fronte plus inest venustatis, quam in recessu veritatis.

Thesis III 10 Visio nostra corporeo addicta et exercita organo, actionem certis quibusdam circumstantiarum quasi terminis definitam, et circumscriptam a natura obtinuit: quos ultra citrave sese expedire, aut officio suo apte defungi nequeat. App. 1. Multis modis eam hallucinari necesse est, ex sua intemperie vel medii, obiecti quantitate vel situ, aliarumque circumstantiarum vitio.

2. Hinc parallaxium et refractionum varietas, hinc dispares plerumque Astronomorum in siderum magnitudine et motu observandis dissentientes sententiae, ut nisi vivaciore mentis opera ad geometricarum demonstrationum trutinam expendantur, certi quicquam de iis vix statui queat.

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Thesis 28 The circular motion of fire and air does not come about from its own intelligence, but rather from the movement of heaven’s rotation and its impact. And it is also not a uniform, but rather a composite motion, the former quite rapid and the latter rather slower. Appendix 1. And it is neither a violent motion, nor necessarily a natural one: but [on the contrary], against nature, and it is everlasting from its constant, eternal causal force: that is, from the turning movement of the heavens. 2. The view of Plotinus9 (who maintains that circular motion is natural to both fire and heaven due to three underlying causes: divine providence, nature and necessity) resembles the picture painted by the Platonists, which contains more surface beauty than background truth.

Thesis 310 Our vision, subject to and processed through a bodily instrument, has acquired a function that has been defined within certain established quasi boundaries of qualities and limited by nature. It is neither able to go above and beyond them, nor rightly perform its own duty. Appendix 1. In many ways it is inevitable that [vision] deviates from reason, whether from the disordered condition of the medium, or from the position or quality of an object, and the imperfection of [vision’s] other qualities. 2. Hence the diversity of paralaxes and refractions, and hence the different views of so many astronomers in disagreement about the observed size and movement of the stars. So, unless their views are subjected to the measurements of geometric proofs with a particularly agile attentiveness of the mind, then scarcely anything certain can be stated about the stars.

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Thesis IV 11 Utrumque sidus Veneris et Mercurii in periodica eccentrici revolutione est Solis ἰσόδρομον, σύνδρομον, ὁμόδρομον, et eadem omnium trium est medii motus linea.12 App. 1. Neutrum unquam a Sole ultra epicicli sui magnitudinem digreditur, Venus 2813 gradibus, Mercurius 29. ac nunc orientales dum mane Solem antecedunt, nunc occidentales vesperi Solem sequuntur.

2. Errant qui Venerem alternis annis Solem anteire et subsequi volunt.14

3. Licet tam Mercurius quam Venus Solis πρόδομος et ἑπόμενος subinde sit, haec tamen sola Luciferi et Hesperi nomina obtinuit: quia magnitudine extra omnia alia sidera est, et tantae claritatis ut unius huius stellae radiis umbrae reddantur.15

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Thesis 411 Both the star of Venus and of Mercury is in the cyclical, eccentric orbit of the Sun, keeping pace, running alongside and on the same path; and the line of mean motion of all three is the same.12 Appendix 1. Neither [star] ever passes from the Sun beyond the extent of their own epicycle. Venus at 28 degrees13 and Mercury at 29 degrees, at one time from the east they precede the sun in the morning, at another time they follow the sun in the evening in the west. 2. Those who are willing to propose that Venus precedes and follows the Sun in alternating years are wrong.14 3. Although Mercury at one time runs ahead of the Sun and at another behind in the same way as Venus, nevertheless only the latter has obtained the names of both Evening and Morning Star. This is due to the fact that, in magnitude, it stands apart from all of the other stars, and its brightness is such that shadows are cast from the rays of this one star alone.15

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Thesis V16 Sidera quaelibet in omni caeli plaga, ut aequali semper a terris radio absunt, ita aequalia videntur. App. 1. Discrimen illud variatae distantiae et magnitudinis, in eccentricis et epicyclis, non nisi exactorum organorum usu et ope sensuum innotescit.

2. Sol reliquaque sidera in ortu et occasu videntur maiora, non ex distantiae inaequalitate, quae insensilis est: sed crassiorum vaporum interiectu, qui frequentius iuxta Horizontem quam Meridianum exsurgunt, et exceptos Astrorum radios maiori sub angulo refractos ad visum transmittunt.17

3. Interiectus vapor ad intuentis visum non continuatur. Sed duplici superficie hinc inde terminatur, una intuenti, altera sideribus obversa: ita ut horum18 radii e Caelo rariore transmissi, primum in aerem crassiorem, tum in vaporem aere constipatiorem, denique in aerem vapore tenuiorem, et visui proximum incurrant.

4. Triplex hic fit radiorum refractio, una in extima aeris supremi, altera in extima vaporum, tertia in extima proximi aeris superficie: quarum duae priores stellarum species et magnitudines contrahunt, tertia diffundit.19

5. Quin et sudo Caelo maiorum siderum diametri, distantiae et altitudines, versus Horizontem augentur propter obliquiorem radiorum in aere iuxta Horizontem refractionem, et quod maiore sub angulo incurrant.

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Thesis 516 Each and every star in every region of heaven, as they are always distant from the earth by an equal radius, so they appear equal. Appendix 1. That difference of distance and size as it changes in eccentrics and epicycles is not apparent unless by means of accurate instruments and through the assistance of the senses. 2. The Sun and the other stars appear larger at rising and settings, not through variance in distance, which is imperceptible, but through the interposition of very dense vapours, which arise in greater quantity near the horizon than near the meridian and which transmit to our sight the rays of the stars captured by them and refracted below a greater angle.17 3. The interposing vapour does not extend to the sight of the observer. Rather, it is bound on one side and the other by a double-sided surface, one facing the observer, the other the stars. [It happens] in such a manner that the rays of the stars,18 transmitted from heaven’s rarefied atmosphere, first run through denser air, then through the vapour, which is denser [still] than air, and finally through the air that is thinner than the vapour and is closest to our view. 4. Here the refraction of the rays is threefold: one at the outermost surface of the upper air, another at the outermost surface of the vapours, and the third at the outermost surface of the lower air. Of these, the two former contract the appearance and extent of these stars, the third expands them.19 5. Indeed, even in a clear sky the diameters, distances and altitudes of the greater stars increase at the horizon due to the intensity of the refraction of their rays in the air near the horizon and also on the grounds that they occur below 90 degrees.

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Thesis VI 20 Causae effectrices tot motuum caelestium, tanta periodi, polorum, axium, et inaequalis conversionis varietate differentium, adeoque dissimilium effectuum in singulis ex motu et lumine, eiusdem rationis ac similis naturae esse non possunt. App. 1. Diversi orbes eorumque sidera inter se specie differunt, ac sua cuique orbium forma est, quae dat esse et moveri, sive insit, sive adsit.

2. Cumque contigui, non continui sint orbes caelestes, non erunt partes eiusdem homogenei. 3. Diversorum orbium et siderum inter se ratio et natura eadem est genere, non Physico, sed Metaphysico et transnaturali. 4. Caelo nihilominus est suus actus et potentia, non transmutationis ad esse, et non esse,21 quae est soboles privationis contradictoriae, sed receptivitatis ad sustinendam formam, ex quibus quae fit compositio, sufficit ad generis Categorici constitutionem. 5. Universum caelum est quintum corpus simplex non specie, sed genere unum.

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Thesis 620 The causes that effect so many celestial motions, differing greatly in the variety of their extent, poles, axes, and uneven orbital periods, and such dissimilar effects of motion and light individually, cannot be of the same kind and similar nature. Appendix 1. The various orbital planes and their stars differ amongst themselves in their apparent outline, and each has a particular orbital shape, which allows it to exist and be moved, whether inside it or near it. 2. Since the celestial orbits are contiguous and not continuous, they will not form part of the same unified body. 3. The same rationale and nature of the various orbits and their stars exists not in physical type, but rather metaphysical and transnatural. 4. No less does heaven have its own impulse and power, not of changing to being and not being,21 which is the offshoot of a contradictory loss, but rather of a receptivity for maintaining form, the realised union of which suffices for the definition of a categorical type. 5. All heaven is one quintessentially uncompounded body not in appearance, but in type.

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Thesis VII 22 Cometam a.d. 1577 tribus fere mensibus conspicuam, ex uniformi eius motu tardiore Lunari, ex ductu maximi circuli quem motu proprio designavit, ex Parallaxi minore Lunari, et interdum vix sensili: plerique magni nominis astronomi23 in aetheris regione Luna superiori constitisse evidenti24 et firma demonstratione collegerunt.25 App. 1. Non solum sacrae literae, quae testantur Solem pugnante Iosua tribus horis constitisse,26 ad optionem Ezechiae 15 gradibus regressum esse,27 stellam novam praeter naturae ordinem Magis apparuisse: sed etiam novorum siderum et Cometarum procreatio, inordinatae in caelo mutationes eius mutabilitatem arguunt. 2. Cur non profiteri licebit Caelum caelestiaque corpora, nec eius perfectionis esse, quin mutari, nec eius divinitatis, quin sicut vestimentum veterascere possunt,28 quanquam nec eo modo, nec tam brevi periodo, qua caduca et sublunaria.

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Thesis 722 Through clear and compelling proof, many astronomers of great reputation23 have concluded that the comet, which was visible for almost three months in the year 1577, remained consistently above24 the Moon in the region of ether, as evidenced by its motion being slower than lunar motion, by the line from the greatest circle, which it traced with its own motion,25 and its lesser angular divergence from the Moon’s, which was often scarcely perceptible. Appendix 1. Both sacred literature, which attests that the Sun stood still for three hours while Joshua battled,26 that it moved back fifteen degrees at Hezechiah’s choosing,27 that a new star appeared to the Magi beyond nature’s correct order, and the creation of new stars and comets (the disordered changes in heaven) offer an argument for its mutability. 2. Why will it not be right to profess that heaven and the heavenly bodies are not [that type] of perfect state that cannot change, nor that type of divinity that cannot grow old just like clothing,28 even though they cannot [do so] in such a manner and over such a short period as perishable and sublunar matter?

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Thesis VIII 29 Eruditissimi Astronomi profitentur sicut demonstravit Copernicus variari maximas Solis declinationes, et augeri ad 23. gradus 52. minuta, minui ad 23. gradus 28 minuta, ut accrementi et decrementi differentia sit 24 minutorum.30 App. 1. Statuendum Solem, aut non eandem semper Eclipticam describere, aut si una eademque dicatur, latitudinem quandam obtinere: sed quae tantula sit,31 ut in sensum non incurrat; nec altitudinum aut umbrarum meridianarum, aut amplitudinis ortivae aut occiduae ullam sensilem mutationem pariat. 2. Quocirca pro simplici linea usurpari potest, a qua Sol secundum iudicium sensus non exorbitet.

Thesis IX 32 Apud Caldaeos et Aegyptios, qui iudicia astrorum exercuerunt, invaluit ea fati opinio quae ex corporum caelestium influxu et efficientia inferiora haec omnia convexa quadam consequentium causarum serie sic necessario affici et peragi statuit, ut ne humanas quidem actiones huius fatalis necessitatis exortes esse voluerint. App. 1. Hinc sublata omni e rebus sublunaribus contingentia33, et consilii humani libertate, superstitio illa praedictionum Astrologicarum nimia credulitate hominum animos occupavit. 2. Damnamus34 huiusmodi astrologos tanquam professione infames, legum constitutionibus damnatos, supplicio affici aequum est: nisi sobrie sapiant, et artis, quae solis coniecturis innixa est, iustis finibus sese contineant.

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Thesis 829 Very learned astronomers profess, just as Copernicus has demonstrated, that the highest declination of the Sun varies, that it has risen to 23°52’ and decreased to 23°28’, so that there exists a difference in its rise and decrease of 24’.30 Appendix 1. It should be set down that the sun either never defines the same ecliptic, or, if it is called one and the same [ecliptic], that it holds to a certain [bandwidth of] latitude; but that [width] is of such a small nature,31 that it is never perceived, and does not produce any discernible change in height, in mid-day shadows, or in size at either sunrise and sunset. 2. It follows that, in place of a simple line, [this ‘line’] can be used, from which the Sun does not deviate according to the judgement of the senses.

Thesis 932 That opinion on fate, which prevailed among the Chaldaeans and Egyptians, who practised judicial astrology, stated that all these things on earth were so unavoidably affected and driven on by a particular chain of causes arising from the influence of celestial bodies and the power of heaven that indeed they did not accept that even human actions were free from this fated necessity. Appendix 1. Hence, after every restraint33 was removed from terrestrial affairs, and the freedom of human agency, that superstition of astrological predictions, with too much credulity, took hold of the minds of men. 2. We34 condemn astrologers of this type, disreputable through their pseudooccupation, [whom,] having been condemned by the statutes of the laws, it is justified to punish; unless they partake moderately and confine themselves within the limits prescribed for a technique which is supported by conjecture only.

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Commentary Thesis 1 1 As indicated in the Introduction, each proposition (thesis) is introduced by the regent, then the series of appendices in response are recited by the various students allocated to each topic. Thesis 1 and its appendices are taken verbatim from: Dk.7.29: f. 6r, 6v, 7r. The final clause of app. 2 (unica moles . . . ) is taken from Dk.7.29: f. 9v. Full text of app. 7 is taken from f. 7r. Full text of app. 8 is taken from f. 37r. Lemma in Dk.7.29: Buchanan, De Sphaera 1.78–82. 2 ‘62½’ in the Dk.7.29 text. This thesis is a general orientation to practical astronomy. Firstly, longitudinal differences across the globes are introduced: 15 degrees movement longitudinally results in an hour lag or jump (depending on east/west movement) of one hour in rising and setting (15 x 24 = 360). Secondly, students are informed of the equivalence of sixty-two and a half miles to one celestial/terrestrial degree (latitude). This is derived from Ptolemy’s calculation of the circumference of the earth to 22,500 miles (360 x 62.5 = 22,500) from book one of his Geographia, but perhaps from the Jesuit mathematician Christoph Clavius’ 1581 edition of In Sphaeram de Sacrobosco (p. 211 – see n. 7 for King’s reference to the same section from Clavius). The Buchanan lemma simply states that the earth is a globe. King uses this statement to articulate its size, highlight the uniformity of proportional celestial rising and settings across the globe and provide a metrical framework for students to follow. 3 The Commandinus citation is taken from the margin in Dk.7.29. This and the previous (3) appendix are taken from the same section in Dk. 7.29, where King is dealing with the centre of gravity of water and earth. King here introduces students to the anti-Aristotelian concept of the terraqueous earth; that is, that water and earth share the same centre of gravity. See Grant 1996: 630–7, for the adoption of the idea by Copernicus and Clavius. King instructs the readers at this point in Dk.7.29 to consult Clavius’ In Sacroboscum for a fuller account. 4 King says (f. 6v) that this is the opinion (far less water than earth) of the following series of writers: Piccolomini (Lib. de terrae et aquae magnitudine), Scaliger (Exercit. 38.), Cardano (Lib. 2. de Subt.) and Nonius Marcellus Saia (De terrae et aquae magnitudine). 5 King explicitly states the writer of the opinion: Bodinus (Jean Bodin), Theatri Naturae 2. 6 ‘to them’ refers to the continents and islands (varias continentes et insulas) that are the point of reference in the Dk.7.29 passage, but which have been

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edited out in the Theses, with reference to the singular mass of land. Hence the grammatical disconnect between the singular terra/terram in the Theses and the plural his, which refers back to it. 7 This passage is taken from King’s discussion (f. 37r; Buchanan lemma: 1.672) of the potential surface area of the earth’s land mass, which references Christoph Clavius’ commentary on Sacrobosco (1581 edition, p. 211) and its discussion of Ptolemy’s calculations. King revises Clavius’ calculations with data from recent European expeditions to America.

Thesis 2 8 All text in Thesis 2 is taken from Dk.7.29: f. 19r. Buchanan lemma: 1.290–2. The thesis and appendices are introductions by King to contemporary debates on impetus to motion in a post-Aristotelian context. This introductory discussion is elaborated at greater length at Dk.7.29, f. 39r, where the views of Julius Caesar Scaliger on intellection and motive intelligences are explored and the views of Andrea Cesalpino on Aristotelian concepts of violent and natural motion. On intellection and its context, see K. Sakamoto, Julius Caesar Scaliger, Renaissance Reformer of Aristotelianism, Leiden 2016: 94–9. This larger discussion is also found verbatim in the Edinburgh Theses Philosophicae – esp. Theses Physicae XIV (Edinburgh 1628), but passim. See D. McOmish, ‘Andrea Cesalpino and the rejection of the celestial spheres in 17th century British Education’ in F. Baldassarri and C. Martin (eds), Andrea Cesalpino: An Aristotelian Natural Philosopher in the Renaissance (forthcoming). 9 Citation in Dk.7.29: Ennead. 2. lib. 2. cap. 1. The specific diction of King’s characterization of Plotinus’ view (Caelo motum circularem natura insitum esse) is taken from Sebastian Fox Morcillo’s presentation of Plotinus’ views in his commentary to Plato, Timaeus (1554 edition, p. 108). King quotes and cites Morcillo’s commentary throughout this section of his work (Dk.7.29: f. 17r).

Thesis 3 10 All of Thesis 3 is taken from Dk.7.29: f. 38v. Buchanan lemma: 2.21. King uses Buchanan’s pessimistic evaluation of the inability of human senses to perceive heavenly truth to articulate his own optimistic view of the positive role mathematics can play in discerning external reality (geometric proofs).

Thesis 4 11 Main thesis and appendix 1 are taken from Dk.7.29: f. 42v; appendices 2 and 3 are taken from f. 43r. Buchanan lemma: 2.91–2.

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12 Cf. Plato, Timaeus 38D. Eccentric motion alludes to the apparent differential rates of the speed of and the space covered by bodies passing along the ecliptic. Ptolemy was the standard predictive model for these bodies moving in perfect circles (see Grant 1996: 275–89), but with offset centres (hence eccentric) and various corrective epicycles. In the Astronomia Nova of 1609 Johannes Kepler proposed elliptical orbits that dispensed with a circlefocused eccentric model. This was more fully elaborated in 1619, when he published his third law in his Harmonice Mundi. Adam King cites and quotes liberally from Kepler’s Astronomia Nova throughout the commentary. 13 Venus ad 48 gradum Dk.7.29: f. 42v. 14 Jean Bodin (see n. 5). 15 This second clause is a quotation from Pliny, Nat. Hist. 2.6. Cited in Dk. 7.29 as Plinius, lib. 2. cap. 8.

Thesis 5 16 Thesis 5 and appendices 1–4 are found at Dk.7.29: f. 49v. Appendix 5 is taken from f. 50r. Buchanan lemma: 2.264–6. The following Thesis and appendices are redacted extracts from Adam King’s development of Buchanan’s simple statement on the existence of atmospheric refraction. In the original in Dk.7.29 King presents an overview of the latest development in optics from Alhazen’s and Witelo’s exposition of Aristotle to Kepler’s development of those views. King’s main point of reference throughout this section is: Johannes Kepler, In Paralipomenis ad Vitellionem, cap. 4. prop. 11. 17 Adam King presents the incipient refraction point at under 90 degrees, which is implied by his use of Meridianum and maiori sub angulo; he then proceeds to delineate how refraction increases markedly under 10 degrees by highlighting the intensity of stellar refraction just above the horizon point (0 degrees). 18 Replacing illorum of Dk.7.29: f. 49v. Change is necessitated by the differing placements in the Thesis and in Dk.7.29 of intuenti and sideribus in the previous clause. 19 All of the text found in appendices 4 and 5 is taken from the introduction and conclusion to Adam King’s extended discussion of Kepler’s views on optics.

Thesis 6 20 Text taken from Dk.7.29: f. 59r. Buchanan lemma: 2.542.

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21 ad esse, et non esse: with the lack of a gerund form of esse, this is King’s approximation of the Greek articular infinitives τὸ εἶναι ἢ μὴ εἶναι, found in Aristotle, Physics 5.1, but also Metaphysics 9.10. See also Aristotle, Metaphysics 12.6, for the diction and the idea of changing (transmutatio) from being to non-being as an attribute of perishable matter. For the broader philosophical case for celestial immutability within this Aristotelian context of being and non-being: Aristotle, De Caelo 1.11–12.

Thesis 7 22 The main Thesis is taken from Dk.7.29: f. 39–40r. Buchanan lemma: 2.29. Appendices 1 and 2 are taken from f. 61r. Buchanan lemma: 2.599. 23 King provides a list of scholars who witnessed either the 1572 supernova or the 1577 comet (or both) and agreed on their/its superlunary nature: Cardanus, Maurolicus, Pridanus, Clavius, Hagerius, Maestlinus, Cornelius Gemma, Tychon Braheus, Kepler ... demonstratione collegerunt. Dk.7.29: f. 39v. In this section, King quotes directly from the work of Brahe, Cardano, Kepler and Clavius. Additionally, at the end of this passage, King approvingly quotes a large section from Christoph Rothman’s 1585 attack upon Scaliger’s ‘mathematically-ignorant’ anti-superlunary argument. 24 Text corrupt. Original text from Dk.7.29: in aetheris regione luna superiorem [i.e., cometam] constituisse evidente satis et ... . 25 The demonstration (demonstratione) refers back to the charting of the comet’s path ex ductu maximi circuli (i.e. from the ecliptic). More practical astronomical information from Adam King, as he informs students how a body’s celestial co-ordinates may be charted (via Tycho Brahe’s astronomical co-ordinate system). 26 Joshua 10:13. 27 Isaiah 38:8. In the biblical passage, it moves back 10 degrees. So too in Dk.7.29, where the text reads decem gradibus. The religious content of this appendix and the next are taken from the end of an extended passage in Dk.7.29 highlighting expert philosophical and astronomical opinions from antiquity to the present age (Arab, Latin, Greek) arguing for the corruptibility of the heavens. It is noteworthy that the biblical passages are used for justification in the public disputations and not, e.g., Hipparchus and Brahe, who are quoted and cited immediately before these passages. This is one of many such instances of the regents’ heavy-handed manipulaton of the content of Dk.7.29 in a religious context. For more examples and a discussion

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of the significance of the public setting upon the editing process, see McOmish (forthcoming). 28 Adam King cites regius propheta (i.e., David) as the author of this quote. The textual point of reference is Psalm 101.

Thesis 8 29 Thesis 8 and appendices are taken from Dk.7.29: f. 79v. Buchanan lemma: 3.278. Buchanan states that the sun never deviates on its apparent path along the ecliptic. King cites Copernicus to counter this view. 30 Degree (gradus) is rendered as ° and minute (minuta) as ’ in the following sections, reflecting Adam King’s notation. King cites and quotes De Revolutionibus 3.10, where Copernicus discusses the variance over time of the earth’s equatorial plane in relation to its orbital plane (its axial tilt or obliquity). Copernicus cites the ancient astronomers whose computations he used as a point of reference as Timocharis and Ptolemy, who King in turn states in DK.7.29 are the very learned astronomers. 31 i.e., only .24 degrees according to Copernicus.

Thesis 9 32 Thesis 9 and appendices are taken from Dk.7.29: f. 113v–114r. Buchanan lemma: 5.51–9. In this section King softens Buchanan’s outright condemnation of astrology by stating that it does no harm (nec iniuria) if practitioners should acknowledge astrology as conjecture. He encourages the students to read Ptolemy’s Apotelesmatum, book 1, chapter 2. In the Dk.7.29 passage immediately following the text found at appendix 2 of the published theses King quotes Ficino, In Plotinum 2.3.7, who states that stars simply contribute to the production of effects and are not the determinators of fate: Ficinus vere colligit, stellas neque omnia facere, neque ubi agunt, omnia peragere: multa etiam significare, quae ipsae non agant: . . . (Dk.7.29: f. 114r; ‘Ficino rightly reckons that “stars do not do everything, nor where they have a role, do they completely condition all. Also, they indicate much in which they themselves play no role.: . . .” ’). 33 contingentia: this first declension noun has a long and involved postclassical history. Boethius uses the familiar (classical) participial forms of contingens, contingentis, but also liberally uses the noun form (De Interpretatione, book 5 especially). For the word’s use and its complex meaning in early modern philosophical discourse, with specific relevance for the subject matter of this

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thesis and appendices, see H. D. Rutkin, Sapientia Astrologica: Astrology, Magic and Natural Knowledge, New York 2019: 191–5. 34 Another interesting editorial change from Dk.7.29 to Thesis, perhaps again influenced by public setting (see n. 27). Adam King has Christian theologians condemning astrology, not ‘we’. On King James I and VI and his view that judicial astrology was ‘uttelrie unlawful’, see Daemonologie, Edinburgh 1597 / London, 1603: 12–14.

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A Prevaricator Speech from Caroline Cambridge James Duport (1606–79), Aurum potest produci per artem chymicam Tommi Alho

Introduction James Duport (1606–79) was an English classical scholar and Dean of Peterborough Cathedral. Educated at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, he became a Fellow of Trinity in 1627 and graduated MA in 1630. In 1639, he was appointed Regius Professor of Greek at Cambridge and in 1668 Master of Magdalene College. Among his contemporaries, Duport was highly esteemed for his erudition and classical scholarship, but today he is known – if at all – for his influential role as a college tutor, including a set of rules, or instructions Duport composed for his pupils.1 His students included the first Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, Isaac Barrow, and the naturalists John Ray and Francis Willoughby. Duport’s most important scholarly work was Homeri poetarum omnium seculorum facile principis gnomologia (1660), a collection of Homeric aphorisms furnished with copious quotations from biblical and classical sources. Among his other publications are several translations of religious texts into Greek, including Θρηνοθρίαμβος, sive Liber Job Graeco carmine redditus (1637) and Δαβίδης Ἔμμετρος, sive Metaphrasis Libri Psalmorum Graecis versibus contexta (1666) – renderings of the book of Job and the Psalms, respectively, into Homeric hexameter with accompanying Latin prose translations –, and a verbatim translation into Greek of the Book of Common Prayer (1665). A collection of Duport’s Latin and Greek poems was published in 1676 under the title Musae Subsecivae, seu Poetica Stromata.2 Renowned for his wit and learning, Duport was elected praevaricator, a sort of humorous orator, for the 1631 graduation ceremony, or ‘commencement’, as it was known in Cambridge. Commencement took place on two consecutive days in early July, consisting of four ‘Acts’ on both days in 203

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philosophy (for the degree of MA) and in theology, law and medicine (for the doctoral degree). Two disputations were required for each degree: on the eve of the commencement day (in vesperiis comitiorum) and on the commencement day itself (in comitiis). The disputant (respondens) had to defend two theses (theses) or questions (quaestiones) against several opponents (opponentes). The event was overseen by a moderator, who was always a don. Before the disputation started, the disputant and his ‘Father’ (academic patron) delivered brief speeches, during which printed verses on the disputation questions, composed beforehand by the disputant, were delivered to the audience by the bedels.3 In keeping with the university curriculum, which in seventeenth-century England still stressed Aristotle and dialectic above all – the scholastic method taught in seventeenth-century Cambridge was in essence a re-systematized and simplified version of Aristotelian logic. The disputations were inherently scholastic, and the students were required to debate the theses syllogistically.4 The following comprise the wording of two theses that a prospective MA would have had to defend during a philosophical disputation: Sufficit in rebus humanis scire locum esse in carcere (‘It is enough in human affairs to know that there is room in prison’, i.e., ‘Do prisons keep people on the right track?’) and Rerum privatarum possessioni natura non refragatur (‘Possession of private things is not against nature’).5 It was on disputation questions such as these that the jesters, who were present at the graduation ceremonies of the time, tended to model their speeches. In Cambridge this figure was known as praevaricator (‘quibbler or dishonest advocate’) while the so-called terrae filius (‘son of the earth’, i.e., ‘a nobody’) performed a similar task in Oxford.6 There were two prevaricators at the Cambridge commencement – one for each Act, and these roles were always assumed by students who had been awarded their MAs in the previous year. Ostensibly, the role of these satirical disputants was to introduce a lighter tone to an otherwise serious event by making fun of the disputation questions. Often, however, their satire focused almost exclusively on the university establishment instead of the disputation question. This kind of humour or mockery is common in close-knit institutions: it helps to bind the community closer together, strengthen the institutional culture and avoid actual conflict by easing tensions.7 In the second half of the seventeenth century, with content regularly bordering on the obscene, these jesters’ speeches sometimes descended into nothing more than whimsical attacks on different members of the university.8 However, such egregious transgressions are largely absent from the six surviving seventeenth-century praevaricator orations.9 On the contrary, all the extant speeches seem to achieve their bite

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from analyzed the disputation question according to the standard scholastic method, but in a witty and exaggerated way. This was the case with Duport’s praevaricator speech, and his treatment of the disputation thesis Aurum potest produci per artem chymicam (‘Gold can be produced by the art of chemistry’) is completely scholastic in its approach and configuration. According to custom, Duport begins his oration by greeting different parties in the Act – the proctors, Fathers, visitors from Oxford etc. – in a comical but benevolent manner. In the oration as a whole, references to university officials or any specific individuals are sparse. The salutation is followed by several lines on gold in rhyming verse, e.g. Habet Papa aureas bullas | quae nunc habet vires nullas (‘The Pope has golden bulls | which have no power now’), before Duport moves on to parody the disputation thesis. He examines the question word by word, subjecting each term to scholastic scrutiny. First, Duport presents the definition and an absurd division of gold into three subclasses (Passage 1). This corresponds to the first of the three mental operations underlying syllogistic reasoning, i.e., ‘apprehension’, which involved both the definition or a simple explanation of the subject at hand and the division of the concept into its subclasses (e.g. gender: male, female, neuter). The other two mental operations were ‘judgement’ (or joining together the concepts to form a proposition) and ‘reasoning’ (or linking together the propositions in order to draw a conclusion).10 Each of these parts then generally concluded with a syllogism. So, for example, when examining the word produci (‘to be produced’), Duport sets out to deliberate on the issue of whether the production of gold involves motion, and the answer must simply be in the negative or the affirmative (see Passage 2). His speech culminates in five experiments demonstrating how gold can be produced by the art of chemistry (Passage 3). The humour of Duport’s speech almost entirely resides in his caricature of scholastic practice and its terminology. Such applications of Aristotelian concepts to a contemporary event would not have seemed alien to a seventeenth-century university audience. For modern readers the puns often only become clear with considerable explanation, at which point most of the comedy value has already been irreparably lost; sometimes the forms of amusement simply seem to evade modern interpretation.

Notes 1 See Preston / Oswald 2011. 2 For Duport’s life and career, see Monk 1826; Feingold 1990: 9–15. 3 For a detailed discussion on the disputation verses produced at Cambridge and Oxford, see Hall 2009; Barton 2021.

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4 An outline of the system can be found in Costello 1958: 45–55. 5 The theses are from one of the very few complete disputations that survive from sixteenth-century Cambridge (British Library, MS Cotton Faustina D II). A detailed discussion on this disputation can be found in Rembert 1988. On the Cambridge commencement disputation and the accompanying ceremony, see Costello 1958: 14–31. 6 See Haugen 2004 for an account of the Oxford terrae filius tradition. 7 For a detailed discussion on the function of these disputants, see Henderson 2002: 140–3 (with references). 8 A case in point is the scandal caused by the 1669 terrae filius oration by Henry Gerard, discussed and translated in Henderson 2000. 9 That is, in addition to Duport’s piece, those of Henry Vintner (1631), Thomas Randolph (1632), Thomas Fuller (1651), Charles Darby (1660) and Edmund Stubbes (undated, 1619?). 10 Costello 1958: 47.

Bibliography Barton, W. (2021), ‘Singing the Study of Sound: Literary Engagement with Natural Philosophy in the Act and Tripos Verses of Oxford and Cambridge’, in M. Friedenthal / H. Marti / R. Seidel (eds), Early Modern Disputations in an Interdisciplinary and European Context, 164–87, Leiden /Boston. Chainey, G. (1995), A Literary History of Cambridge, Cambridge. Costello, W. T. (1958), The Scholastic Curriculum at Early Seventeenth-Century Cambridge, Cambridge, MA. Feingold, M. (1990), ‘Isaac Barrow: Divine, Scholar, Mathematician’, in M. Feingold (ed.), Before Newton: the Life and Times of Isaac Barrow, 1–104, Cambridge. Hall, J. J. (2009), Cambridge Act and Tripos Verses 1565–1894, Cambridge. Haugen, K. (2004), ‘Imagined Universities: Public Insult and the Terrae Filius in Early Modern Oxford’, in A. Goldgar / E. I. Frost (eds), Institutional Culture in Early Modern Society, 317–46, Leiden / Boston. Henderson, F. (2000), ‘Putting the Dons in their Place: a Restoration Terrae Filius Speech’, History of Universities, 16.2: 32–64. Henderson, F. (2002), ‘Erudite Satire in Seventeenth-century England’ (PhD thesis, Monash University). Monk, J. H. (1826), ‘Memoir of Dr James Duport’, Museum Criticum, 2: 672–98. Peacock, G. (1841), Observations on the Statutes of the University of Cambridge, London. Preston, C. D. / Oswald, P. H. (2011), ‘James Duport’s Rules for his Tutorial Pupils: A Comparison of Two Surviving Manuscripts’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society, 14.4: 317–62. Rembert, A. W. (1988), Swift and the Dialectical Tradition, London.

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Wordsworth, C. (1877), Scholae Academicae: Some Account of the Studies at the English Universities in the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge.

Source of the Latin text Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, MS 627/250. The original punctuation has been slightly amended. The speech is also preserved in several other manuscripts, and it has been transcribed in Wordsworth (1877: 274–86).

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Latin text Passage 1 [fol. 3v] In this passage, Duport begins his scholastic treatment of the question by first providing a definition of gold and then dividing it into three subclasses in comic manner. Sequitur eius definitio. Aurum est intestina pestis latens in venis et visceribus Terrae. Vel quoniam nonnulli cum aurum tractent sibi videntur caelum digito tangere,1 aurum potest definiri ut caelum, quod est corpus solidum, rotundum, lucidum, et per orbem mobile.2 Sed quotuplex est aurum? Hem, vos socii, bona nova,3 hodie futura est auri divisio:4 nam aurum sumptum in communi est dividendum, et primum non incommode me futurum existimo, si distinguam de auro5 iuxta tritum illud Hebraeorum proverbium bekiso, bekoso, bekaso in loculo, in poculo, in oculo.6 Aurum in loculo est corpus squalidum, rubiginosum, senile et siccum, quod facile suis terminis continetur. Aurum in poculo est aurum potabile, seu corpus humidum, quod difficulter suis terminis continetur.7 Vel aurum in poculo, seu poculum aureum, est corpus solidum, seu succi plenum. Aurum in oculo est dives facies aut vultus pretiosus. Et hoc aurum Aristoteles libro millesimo Meteoromineralium,8 capite proximo post ultimum sic describit. Est meteoron ignitum ex multitudine vaporum e ventriculo in cerebrum ascendentium ortum, et ad mediam faciei regionem erectum, ibique haerens mediocriter rutilans et scintillans.9 Idem in libro centesimo Physiognomicometallicorum,10 capite immediate praecedente primum, ait quod hoc aurum facile producitur per artem potandi.11

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English translation

Its [gold’s] definition follows. Gold is an internal plague lurking in the Earth’s veins and entrails. Or since some people, when they handle gold, think they are touching the heaven with a finger,1 gold can be defined as ‘heaven’, which is a solid, round, shining body, moving around the world.2 But how many kinds of gold are there? Well, good news for you,3 Fellows: the division of gold will take place today;4 for gold acquired in common is to be divided – and I think that I shall, not inappropriately, be the first to make [certain] distinctions concerning gold5 according to that familiar Hebrew proverb ‘in the pocket, in the cup, in the eye’.6 Gold in the pocket is a dirty, rusty, old and dry body [and] one that is easily contained within its own limits. Gold in the cup is drinkable gold or a moist body [and] one that is scarcely contained within its own limits.7 Or rather gold in the cup or a golden cup is a solid body or full of juice. Gold in the eye is a rich face or an expensive appearance. And in the thousandth book of Meteorominerales,8 the chapter next after the last, Aristotle describes this gold as follows: it is a fiery meteor, originating from the multitude of vapours rising from the stomach towards the brain, and, set upright, in the middle region of the face, it hangs there glowing moderately reddish and sparkling.9 Likewise, in the hundredth book of Physiognomicometallici,10 the chapter immediately preceding the first, he says that this kind of gold can be easily produced by the art of drinking.11

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Passage 2 [fol. 5r–5v] In this extract, Duport trifles with the Aristotelian definitions of motion and change, explaining how gold can be produced by different professions. Circa modum producendi aurum quaeritur an Auri productio sit cum motu vel sine motu? Respondeo. Aurum non residentium12 producitur per quietem sine motu, quia nullus motus est discontinuus. Aurum iudicis producitur per motum circularem. Aurum causidici vel producitur per motum directum a termino ad terminum, vel per motum obliquum, seu indirectum et sine termino.13 Aurum tabernarii producitur vel per motum irregularem quorundam Planetarum errantium ab uno signo ad aliud,14 vel per motum circularem capitis sub mitra.15 Cum autem sex sunt species motus, scilicet: generatio et corruptio etc.16 auri productio fit per omnes has sex species. Aurum meretricium, seu aurum Laidis,17 producitur per generationem; sed hoc Aurum est spurium et adulterium. Aurum magistratuum producitur per corruptionem. Aurum Faenaratoris producitur per augmentationem, sed hoc mea non interest.18 Aurum Tonsoris producitur per incrementum capillorum, aut potius per excrementum. Aurum Mancipii producitur per diminutionem ferculi. Aurum etiam producitur per sui diminutionem et ecclipsin. Praevaricator non producit sibi aurum per praevaricationem. Denique aurum Tabellarii producitur per motum lationis. Oritur hic controversia inter chymicos, an aurum potest produci a nihilo? Puto, nam qui potest nihil in aurum convertere, ille potest aurum ex nihilo producere, sed aliquis potest nihil in aurum convertere.19 Maior patet, minor probatur.20 Qui aurum suum iam in nihil convertit, ille potest nihil in aurum convertere, sed aliquis aurum suum iam in nihil convertit, et hoc liquido constat. Deinde malum est nihil et aurum est bonum, sed aliquis potest bonum ex malo producere, ut causidicus ex malo consilio potest bonum aurum producere, idque per conversionem, quam logici vocant contrapositionem, mutando scilicet finitos in infinitos.21 Sed obiiciat aliquis quomodo ex malis causis bonum effectum videlicet aurum potest produci?22 Respondeo, hoc fit per artem chymicam, aut enim est fallacia non causae pro causa,23 aut cliens supponit quod non est supponendum.24

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With regard to the means of producing gold, it is asked whether gold is produced with or without motion. I will respond. ‘Non-residential gold’12 is produced at rest without motion because no motion is discontinuous. A judge’s gold is produced by circular motion. A lawyer’s gold is produced by either direct motion from one end point to another or by oblique or indirect motion without [any] limit.13 An innkeeper’s gold is produced either by the irregular motion of certain wandering stars from one sign to another,14 or by the circular motion of the head under the mitre.15 But as there are six types of motion, that is, generation, corruption etc.,16 gold’s production takes place by each of these six types. The gold of harlots or gold of Lais17 is produced by generation. But this cold is illegitimate and something impure. Magistrates’ gold is produced by corruption. Money-lender’s gold is produced by augmentation, but this does not interest me.18 Barber’s gold is produced by hair growth or rather outgrowth. Servant’s gold is produced by the diminution of the dish. For gold is produced by its diminution and eclipse. A prevaricator does not produce gold for himself by prevaricating. Finally, courier’s gold is produced by the movement of carrying. Now, a controversy rises among chemists as to whether gold can be produced from nothing. For I think that whoever can turn nothing into gold can produce gold from nothing, but someone can turn nothing into gold.19 The major is plain and the minor proved.20 Whoever has already turned his gold into nothing can turn nothing into gold, but someone has already turned his gold into nothing; and this case is clear. Then, nothing is bad, and gold is good, but someone can produce good from bad, as the lawyer [who] can produce good gold by bad advice, that is by conversion, which the logicians call ‘contraposition’, that is to say, by changing the finites into infinites.21 But someone may ask in response how a good effect, namely gold, can be produced from bad causes.22 I will tell you: this happens by the art of chemistry, for it is the fallacy of non-cause for cause,23 or the client assumes that which is not to be assumed.24

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Passage 3 [fol. 8v–9r] This extract is taken from the concluding part of the speech, where Duport sums up his arguments, coming up with several experiments to demonstrate how gold can be produced by the art of chemistry. Usus artis chymici probatur his experimentis. Primo. Sumat aliquis grana meritorum, 10 uncias absolutionum, et sex pondera indulgentiarum, una cum fasciculo reliquiarum, unguento, sale, et saliva bene contemperatis,25 haec omnia ponantur26 in pileum cardinalis, et simul concoquantur in aqua lustrali27 super ignem purgatorii, qui exuffletur ab incendiariis Iesuitis spiritu seditionis,28 et sic ebulliant donec ad nihilum redigantur, et extrahetur aurum optimum per artem chymicam. Secundo. Sumat causidicus septem scrupulos controversiae, 12 grana ignorantiae, et sex uncias fraudis et mercurii, cum pari quantitate plumbei cerebri, et perfrictae frontis,29 et perfractae conscientiae, una cum aliquot subpoenis, demurris et returnis; haec omnia in pera vulgo dicta buckramia30 bene uncta simul concoquantur super ignem contentionis, ex spinis quaestionum legalium compactum,31 et sic ebulliant a mense Michaelis ad octavas Hylarii et extrahetur aurum optimum per artem chymicam.32

Tertio. Sumat calendariographus, seu trivialis astrologus, 10 pondera mendaciorum cum totidem scrupulis dubiorum, et duobus fragmentis eclipsium, et aliquot sectionibus et minutis motus diurni, tum frustum zodiaci amputetur falce saturnica,33 particula aurei circuli et aequatoris, haec omnia colligat zona virginis, simul concoquantur in sinistro cornu Arietis, super fascem lunaris hominis accensum et sic ebulliant a solstitio hyemali ad aequinoctium vernum et extrahatur aurum optimum per artem chymicam. Aurum inquam conflabitur ex ventis; idque cito, quia ex tempore, et opportune quia ex tempestate.34

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The use of the art of chemistry is demonstrated by these experiments. First. Let someone take grains of merits, ten ounces of absolutions and six pounds of indulgences, together with a bunch of reliquaries, ointment, salt and saliva well-mixed.25 Put26 all these into a cardinal’s cap and cook together in holy water upon the fire of purgatory,27 which may be exsufflated by the seditious spirit of the incendiary Jesuits,28 and let them be so boiled until reduced to nothing; and finest gold will be extracted by the art of chemistry. Second. Let the lawyer take seven pinches of controversies, twelve grains of ignorance and six ounces of trickery and mercury, together with an equal amount of leaden brain, rubbed forehead29 and shattered conscience, along with a few subpoenas, demurrers and returns. Let all these be cooked at the same time in a well-anointed bag, commonly called ‘buckram’,30 upon the fire of contention, made up of the subtleties of legal questions;31 and let them be so boiled from the month of [St] Michael to the octave of [St] Hilary; and finest gold will be extracted by the art of chemistry.32 Third. Let the calendar-maker or the common astrologer take ten pounds of lies together with as many pinches of doubts, two fragments of eclipses and some sections and minutes of diurnal motion; then let a piece of zodiac be cut off by the Saturnian scythe,33 a particle of the golden circle and the equator; and let him [the astrologer] bind all these together with Virgo’s belt, and let them be cooked at the same time in the left horn of Aries, upon a burning faggot of the lunar man, and let them be so boiled from the winter solstice until the vernal equinox; and finest gold will be extracted by the art of chemistry. I say, gold will be forged of winds; and quickly because it [is forged] of time, opportunely because [it is forged] of season.34

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Commentary Passage 1 1 caelum digito tangere: ‘to touch the heaven with a finger’, i.e. ‘to be in the seventh heaven’ (cf. Cicero, Ad Atticum 2.1.7: digito se caelum putent attingere, ‘they think they can touch the heaven with a finger’). 2 solidum, rotundum, lucidum, et per orbem mobile: Duport may be mimicking the rhetorical device known as ‘isocolon’, a series of similarly structured grammatical elements. Cf. in loculo, in poculo, in oculo and corpus squalidum, rubiginosum, senile et siccum in the same passage. 3 bona nova: probably, an allusion to a formula Bona nova, Mater Academia, bona nova (‘Good news, Mother University, good news’), uttered by one of the bedels before the MA disputation commenced (Peacock 1841: vi; Wordsworth 1877: 277, n. 1). 4 divisio: the scholastic divisio (‘division’) or the action of dividing a class into subclasses of which it is composed. 5 si distinguam de auro: i.e. ‘if I divide gold into its subclasses’. 6 bekiso, bekoso, bekaso in loculo, in poculo, in oculo. Written in the MS in incorrect Hebrew (some letters and diacritics seem to be missing), the alliterative proverb bekiso, bekoso, bekaso is from the Talmud (Eruvin 65b). These are the three measures by which a man’s character should be evaluated: bekiso (‘by his pocket’, or how he manages his money), bekoso (‘by his cup’, or how he behaves when he is drunk) and bekaso (‘by his anger’, or how he behaves when he is angry). The phrase is translated and explained in Johannes Buxtorf’s (1564–1629) Lexicon Hebraicum et Chaldaicum cum brevi Lexico Rabbinico Philosophico (1607: 359), a work with which Duport was certainly familiar. 7 corpus . . . siccum, quod facile suis terminis continetur . . . seu corpus humidum, quod difficulter suis terminis continetur: Aristotle defines ‘dry’ as something that is easily contained within its own limits and moist as something that is hardly contained within its own limits (On Generation and corruption 329b). 8 Meteoromineralium: Duport has invented this fictitious Aristotelian work on ‘meteorominerals’. The reference to ‘the chapter next after the last’ is ludic. 9 et ad mediam faciei regionem erectum, ibique haerens mediocriter rutilans et scintillans: i.e. the nose. 10 Physiognomicometallicorum: another reference to an Aristotelian work which Duport has invented (cf. n. 8), this time dealing with the physiognomy

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of miners. Again, Duport’s ‘ . . . the chapter immediately preceding the first’ is part of his satirical thrust. 11 quod hoc aurum facile producitur per artem potandi: A red nose can be easily produced by drinking, that is.

Passage 2 12 non residentium: refers to the non-residential fellows. 13 Aurum causidici vel producitur per motum directum a termino ad terminum, vel per motum obliquum, seu indirectum et sine termino: Duport puns on the physical and legal meanings of the word terminus, i.e., ‘limit’ / ‘end point’ and ‘term’ respectively. On the one hand, direct motion is always from one terminus (‘end point’) to another, but indirect motion takes place without any limits. On the other hand, the legal year in England is traditionally divided into four sittings or ‘terms’ (termini): Michaelmas, Hilary, Easter and Trinity. Hence, the lawyer earns his gold both during and outside the terms (and possibly covertly). 14 ab uno signo ad aliud: i.e., from one constellation to another or from one inn sign to another. 15 vel per motum circularem capitis sub mitra: ‘or by the circular motion of the head under the mitre’. The phrase probably suggests that cardinals are fond of drinking – Anglican bishops did not wear mitres in the seventeenth century –, but the intended pun remains obscure. A possible explanation could be that ‘mitre’ also refers to a well-known Cambridge inn called the Mitre, often mentioned as the tavern the scholars used to frequent by the playwright Thomas Randolph (see Chainey 1995: 37). A friend of Duport’s, Randolph acted as the prevaricator in 1632. 16 Cum autem sex sunt species motus, scilicet: generatio et corruptio etc.: According to Aristotle, the different types of motion are: generation (generatio), increase (incrementatio), alteration (alteratio), corruption (corruptio), diminution (diminutio) and change in place (loci mutatio) (Categories 15a14). 17 seu aurum Laidis: Lais was the name of two famous Greek courtesans. 18 sed hoc mea non interest: not only ‘it does not interest me’, but also ‘it does not profit me [monetarily]’. 19 nihil: in this syllogistic pun Duport uses the word nihil both as an indefinite pronoun (‘nothing’) and as a noun (‘nothingness’), which makes his reasoning entirely circular and ridiculous.

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20 Maior patet, minor probatur: Duport means that the major premise of the syllogism is plain and the minor premise is proved. In a syllogism the more general statement is called the major premise (qui potest nihil in aurum convertere, ille potest aurum ex nihilo producere, ‘whoever can turn nothing into gold can produce gold from nothing’) and the more specific statement the minor premise (aliquis potest nihil in aurum convertere, ‘someone can turn nothing into gold’). 21 idque per conversionem, quam logici vocant contrapositionem, mutando scilicet finitos in infinitos: Contraposition (contrapositio) is a logical operation where one negates both terms of the syllogism and reverses their order. 22 quomodo ex malis causis bonum effectum videlicet aurum potest produci: indicative in an indirect question instead of a subjunctive, not uncommon in Neo-Latin. 23 fallacia non causae pro causa: the fallacy of ‘non-cause for cause’ or the ‘causal fallacy’ is a type of logical fallacy where a causal cause is assumed without proof. 24 aut cliens supponit quod non est supponendum: so the client is fooled by the lawyer.

Passage 3 25 contemperatis: an ablative perfect passive participle agreeing with the list of singular ablatives after cum. 26 ponantur . . . concoquantur: These passive present subjunctives have been rendered as imperatives. 27 aqua lustrali: ‘lustral water’ or ‘water of purification’; hence ‘holy water’. 28 qui exuffletur ab incendiariis Iesuitis spiritu seditionis: the verb ex(s)ufflare refers to the exorcistic act of exsufflatio (‘blowing out’) where the priest breathes three times on the person’s face in the traditional Catholic rite of baptism. Fire-related adjectives, e.g. incendiarius (‘incendiary’), ignifer (‘fire-bearing’) and ignivomus (‘fire-vomiting’), became common epithets for the Jesuits in English Neo-Latin literature after the 1605 Gunpowder Plot. Anti-Catholic jokes seem to be commonplace in prevaricator humour. 29 perfrictae frontis: the idiom, perfricare frontem, ‘to rub one’s forehead’, refers to rubbing one’s face in order to make the blushes of shame disappear; hence ’to show effrontery’. 30 in pera vulgo dicta buckramia: ‘buckram’ was a lawyer’s bag.

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31 ex spinis quaestionum legalium compactum: that is, composed from the spines or subtleties of books containing legal (disputation) questions. 32 a mense Michaelis ad octavas Hylarii: that is, from the month of the feast of St Michael in October until the octave of St Hilary in early January, i.e., from the Michaelmas term until the beginning of Hilary term, which started after the octave of the feast of St Hilary (cf. n. 13). 33 falce saturnica: falx (‘scythe’) is the symbol of Saturn. 34 Aurum inquam conflabitur ex ventis; idque cito, quia ex tempore, et opportune quia ex tempestate: Duport’s manifold word-play is difficult to render into English. The first part of the pun is on ex tempore: astrologer’s gold, or prediction, is forged ‘quickly’ (cito) because it is forged ‘extempore’ or ‘of time’. The second part rests on the double meaning of the word tempestas: astrologer’s gold is forged ‘seasonably’ or ‘opportunely’ (opportune) because it is forged ex tempestate, i.e., ‘of time’ or ‘of storm’. It follows that astrological gold is forged of winds (ex ventis).

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An Irish Panegyric on Henry Cromwell Caesar Williamson (c. 1611–75), Panegyris in Excellentissimum Dominum, Dominum Henricum Cromwellum, Deputatum Hiberniae, Cancellariumque Academiae Dubliniensis Jason Harris

Introduction Caesar Williamson was an English cleric and senior fellow of Trinity College Dublin who delivered two key orations for the University of Dublin: the first, part of which is reproduced here, was a panegyric delivered in December 1657 in honour of the newly appointed Lord Deputy of Ireland Henry Cromwell, son of the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell; the second was a speech celebrating the coronation of Charles II in April 1661. These orations mark two key moments during an incredibly volatile period in the history of the University. Although originally intended to expand and spawn multiple colleges in like manner as the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, it had not managed to do so in the sixty-five years since its foundation; Trinity College remained its only constituent college. Impoverished and debilitated by civil war, dwindling student numbers and the loss of rents from properties in war-torn areas, the University was in dire straits when the Puritan independent Samuel Winter was appointed Provost in 1651. By the middle of the decade Winter had made significant efforts to restore the College’s finances and to broaden the curriculum through the creation of professorships in law, physics, oratory and mathematics as well as through the creation of a medical faculty. Student numbers were just beginning to recover by late 1657 when Williamson delivered the oration.1 But overlapping religious and political tensions, which were rooted in the Reformation and unresolved by the Civil Wars, threatened to derail the University’s recent progress. Winter was caught between two starkly opposed extremes: the royalism and 219

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episcopalianism of many of the college fellows, whom he could not afford to remove, and the Baptist sympathies of the governor of Ireland, Charles Fleetwood, which he strenuously opposed. When Henry Cromwell, having shown a talent for equivocation that could appease rival factions, was appointed Chancellor of Dublin University in August 1655, Winter hoped he had found a kindred spirit and began to develop proposals for the establishment of a second college in the University.2 To this end, Cromwell helped to procure money from the New Model Army to fund the purchase in 1657 of the enormous book collection of the recently deceased Archbishop of Armagh James Ussher, a scion of the University of Dublin, who had obtained a towering reputation as a scholar admired by all sides in the religious disputes of the Civil War period.3 Consequently, when Fleetwood was recalled to England and Cromwell was appointed Lord Deputy of Ireland in November 1657, the University had reason to hope that a well-judged oration celebrating this appointment and expressing gratitude for Cromwell’s involvement in the acquisition of Ussher’s books might secure further support from the Lord Deputy, particularly in regard to the scheme to found a second college within Dublin University. There was no better man to undertake this task than Caesar Williamson. Since little is known of Williamson, it is worth gathering all essential biographical information here.4 He went up from Westminster School to Trinity College Cambridge, where he matriculated in 1627; from this we can estimate that he was likely born c. 1611. He received his BA in 1631/2, became a fellow in 1633 and obtained an MA in 1635. The previous year, he published an occasional poem in English prefacing his fellow-collegian John Russell’s The two famous pitcht battles of Lypsich and Lutzen (Cambridge 1634), an epic poem celebrating the achievements of the King of Sweden and Protestant hero Gustavus Adolphus. A couple of years later, Williamson became tutor to the future English and Latin poet Abraham Cowley. He was ordained in Lincoln on 20 December 1640 and became rector of Wappenham, Northamptonshire, and a canon of York in 1641. But after fighting on the side of the royalists at Edgehill, he was sequestered from his preferments by order of Parliament. Soon afterwards he relocated to Ireland, where his royalism was no obstacle to preferment; he became a fellow of Trinity College Dublin in 1644 and a senior fellow in 1654, a position that he retained until at least 1661, surviving the Restoration of 1660. When Ussher’s books arrived in Dublin, Williamson was tasked with cataloguing and looking after them, for which he was promised an annual salary of £20.5 Having somehow emerged unscathed from the turmoil of the 1650s, Williamson seems to have enjoyed a degree of favour in the 1660s. In 1661 he became rector of Ardstraw in Tyrone and prebendary of Rathmichael in Dublin. In 1664 he became

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Treasurer of Christ Church in Dublin, and the rectories of Dromiskin and Kilsaran followed in 1666. Finally, he was appointed Dean of Cashel in 1671. He died intestate on 29 November 1675. It is striking that, despite his royalist sympathies, Williamson was deemed the right man to address a panegyric to Henry Cromwell in 1657 and that, although this oration was quickly printed, it proved no obstacle to his delivering a panegyric in honour of Charles II four years later. In fact, Williamson was typical of the mainstream of Protestantism within Ireland: wary of what he saw as the superstitious extremism of radicals opposed to all ceremony and ritual, but on the other hand fiercely opposed to Catholicism and the Jesuits in particular, the mere mention of whom could be used to whip up a shared sense of purpose among the warring factions of Protestants. Moreover, a close reading of the 1657 panegyric reveals that Williamson, like many other royalists in England and Ireland at that time, hoped to find a rapprochement between monarchism and the Cromwellian Republic by enticing the Lord Protector to accept the title of King and to establish a new dynasty. Williamson’s approach to the complex and delicate task he had been set was to intersperse the customary flattery of panegyric with self-conscious and often rather wry nods to literary tradition that allow him either to sidestep contentious issues altogether or merely to cast an oblique eye upon them. His message is serious, but his tone is sometimes light. Particularly arresting in this regard is his treatment of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army, the radical religious politics of which represented a constant threat to royalist episcopalians like Williamson. Yet, because Henry Cromwell had used the army to procure and deliver Ussher’s book collection to Dublin University, Williamson was compelled to praise it, and he did so by drawing upon the ancient Panegyrici Latini to suggest a parallel with Constantine’s claim to have rendered the army a seat of erudition – a comparison that treads a fine line between flattery and satire. The wider context here is significant. Since the mid-sixteenth century Ireland had been laid waste by successive waves of English military campaigns and the widespread imposition of martial law, culminating in the numerous atrocities of the Cromwellian wars. Williamson draws on Pliny (‘arms only provoke more arms’) to argue for demilitarization. It is, of course, easier to lay down arms when you have defeated or even killed all your enemies, but the Cromwellian regime did not feel itself to be secure. Indeed, the recurrent references to Jesuits in this text are a reminder not only that Catholics were not part of Cromwellian toleration, but also that the fear of intervention from France, in particular, loomed large in the English Protestant imagination, with the fear that Ireland could be a launch-pad for foreign attack. In this context, Williamson’s image of an army redirected to serve the Muses should

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not simply be read as a repudiation of the vogue for Machiavellian theory in this period, but also as an appeal for a degree of cultural demobilization. In other words, the best defence against Catholicism would be to earn the loyalty of the Irish. As it happens, the English Parliament had, in the preceding weeks, given orders for the reduction of the Irish army, a policy that Henry Cromwell opposed, both because of the continuing threat of rebellion and because the troops were owed several months of salary, and Cromwell worried about the consequences were they to be dismissed without the arrears being settled. Into this tense situation Williamson introduces selfdeprecating humour, laughing at dusty academics whose contribution to learning has been outstripped by the army, while subtly reminding Cromwell that only the peaceful Muses can provide a stable future. Williamson’s oration closely follows the generic structure of ancient panegyric, from disavowal of flattery and praise of Cromwell’s modesty in the exordium, to celebration of Henry’s lineage (particularly his father) and his virtues in both war and peace. Various practical matters had to be addressed in the course of the speech: 1) to welcome Henry’s appointment as Lord Deputy of Ireland; 2) to thank Henry for the gift of Ussher’s book collection; 3) to praise Henry’s judicious resolution of a thorny problem concerning radical Protestant objections to the ‘superstitious’ character of academic rites and ceremonies; 4) to promise that members of the University would adhere to the requirement to take the new Oath of Abjuration that Henry was, reluctantly, compelled to impose in Ireland as a consequence of measures taken in the English Parliament against the perceived threat of Catholicism; 5) to tread carefully in regard to the English Parliament’s recent offer of the title of King to Oliver Cromwell, and the latter’s rejection of the title – Henry Cromwell’s views on the matter remained the subject of speculation, and many royalists still hoped that the scheme might yet have a positive outcome; and 6) to invite Henry to put his full weight behind the scheme to found a second college of the University of Dublin to support Trinity College. Nevertheless, it seems that Henry Cromwell was not present when the oration was delivered, and so the text was quickly printed. To what extent the speech was revised for publication is impossible to tell, though its length of approximately 4,500 words suggests that it was not greatly expanded after its original delivery. Details of linguistic finesse are discussed in the notes; here I will only indicate general patterns. Lexically and syntactically, the language of the speech is largely classical, but not strictly Ciceronian. Themes of security and stability, expectation and disappointment, tears and joy are interwoven from the start in a manner that allows Williamson full scope to explore Gorgianic antitheses. Verbal doublets and parallel dicola abound throughout the text, while tricolon is found more often in rhetorical flourishes; chiasmus occurs

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occasionally at the level of phrase, sentence and paragraph; hyperbaton remains largely within the norms of Ciceronian prose; few sentences are written in strict period form, but metrical clausulae are unmistakably employed with some care, apparently highlighted by the use of frequent paragraph breaks in the printed text, which I have retained in this edition. But Williamson’s style is frequently colloquial (observe, for instance, his taste for omitting ut in consecutive clauses), and at times he indulges in striking brevitas and anacoluthon, both of which are used to arrest the attention of the listeners and sometimes to reinforce wit or humour. On occasion, Williamson seems consciously to avoid the appearance of rhetorical amplification through diminution in length of members in doublets, dicola and tricola, a feature that sometimes seems aimed at cultivating brevity or pointed wit. Nouns are sometimes used adverbially in an elliptical manner that recurs often enough to appear to be a conscious stylistic affectation. Early modern writers who cultivate brevitas, anacoluthon and ellipsis run the risk of departing from the norms of classical syntax, but for the most part Williamson’s more daring syntactical adventures can be shown to have classical precedent. The strongest intertextual presence in the oration are the Panegyrici Latini, a collection of twelve ancient orations known to Renaissance Latinists since Giovanni Aurispa discovered a manuscript containing them in 1433 in the library of St Martin’s cathedral in Mainz. These are mined for both ideas and phrases, sometimes creatively, sometimes not. Cicero and Seneca are predictable resources; extensive use of Velleius Paterculus is perhaps more surprising. At the level of phrase-making, idiom and imagery, Williamson employs the same technique of rhetorical elaboration that all humanists were trained to apply to the entries in their commonplace books – dead metaphors are brought to life, extended and mixed with borrowings from other authors. On the whole, what is most surprising about the speech (and notably different from Williamson’s subsequent oration in honour of Charles II) is its use of wit and humour to manage the extremely sensitive subject matter at a dangerous and uncertain, but apparently optimistic moment for Dublin University.

Notes 1 For an account of the College in this period see McDowell and Webb 1982: 17–21. – I am grateful to Catherine Ware for her valuable comments on this text. 2 On Winter see Clavin 2009; the most pertinent discussion of Henry Cromwell in this context is Barnard 2009.

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3 On the purchase of Ussher’s library, see Barnard 1971 and Fox 2014: 25–33. 4 I have previously discussed Williamson and aspects of this oration: see Harris 2017. 5 Fox 2014: 28–9.

Bibliography Barnard, T. C. (1971), ‘The Purchase of Archbishop Ussher’s Library in 1657’, Long Room, 4: 9–14. Barnard, T. C. (2009), ‘Cromwell, Henry’, in J. McGuire / J. Quinn (eds), Dictionary of Irish Biography, Dublin. Clavin, T. (2009), ‘Winter, Samuel’, in J. McGuire / J. Quinn (eds), Dictionary of Irish Biography, Dublin. Fox, P. (2014), Trinity College Library Dublin. A History, Cambridge. Harris, J. (2017), ‘Latin Oratory in Seventeenth-century Dublin’, in K. Miller / C. Gribben (eds), Dublin: Renaissance City of Literature, 185–201, Manchester. Knoppers, L. L. (2000), Constructing Cromwell: Ceremony, Portrait, and Print 1645–1661, Cambridge. McDowell, R. B. / Webb, D. A. (1982), Trinity College Dublin 1592–1952. An Academic History, Cambridge. Russell, J. (1634), The Two Famous Pitcht Battles of Lypsich and Lutzen, Cambridge.

Source of the Latin text Caesar Williamson: Panegyris in Excellentissimum Dominum, Dominum Henricum Cromwellum, Deputatum Hiberniae, Cancellariumque Academiae Dubliniensis (Dublin 1658), with minor amendments made in respect of punctuation and orthography.

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Latin text Passage 1 [pages 1–4] Si nunquam tam probabilis, tam iusta suspicio sit venturi e caelo fulminis, quam in media tranquillitate et laetitia, cum Dei benignitate, ingentibus beneficiis1, mortalium vota superentur: nescio an exspectationem vestram decipere2 deberem, meisque lacrimis hanc extinguere laetitiam, quae maior est, quam ut videatur secura esse posse et diuturna.3 Esset hoc novum et inopinatum dicendi genus,4 si bonum principem5 cum lacrimis laudarem.6 Non sic Traianum suum Plinius, non sic Theodosium Latinus Pacatus;7 quorum orationes fragoribus atque plausibus, laeta auditorum admiratio prosecuta est. . . . Primum mihi enitendum est, ut nihil de deputato nostro ita dicam, ut idem illud de alio dici potuisse videatur.8 Taceo quod sit9 in sermone affabilis, in convictu splendidus. Magna haec cum sine arte fiant; sed in illo non magna. Nec se admiratio nostra in eius gestu confitebitur,10 nec intuebimur eius vultum, ad severitatem imperii cum suavitate temperatum,11 in quo privata modestia cum publica maiestate12 certat. Haec aliis in suo principe pro materia laudationis essent, quippe adulatio quibuslibet contenta est. laudat Cytharaedos principes,13 laudat aurigandi et pingendi artifices; formosos, elegantes, qui armati saltant, pugnant inermes,14 nec nisi ad speculum de republica consultant.15 Nam necesse est ut in principibus non virtutem adeptis horum similia laudentur, desperatione meliorum.16

At vero in deputato nostro excellentissimo, cum tantam magnitudinem animi cum pari fortuna innocenter coniunctam cernimus, cum in summis opibus liberalitatem, non avaritiam, in securitate innocentiam, non libidinem; quem amicitia non infidelem experta est, non gloria superbum, non imperium crudelem; quo denique vix triennio praesidente, rediit cultus agris, sacris honos, securitas hominibus, certa cuique rerum suarum possessio,17 et qua nulla res pretiosior est, certa cuique conscientiae suae possessio, in tantis eius virtutibus, tantaque melioris in homine partis gloria, ineptus essem, si a bonis corporis laudationis materiam emendicarem.18

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English translation Passage 1 [pages 1–4] If there be never so probable, never so justified a suspicion that lightning is about to strike from the skies, as, in the midst of tranquillity and happiness, when the prayers of mortals have been more than answered by the generous and abundant gifts of God1, then I know not whether I should deceive your expectations2 and, with my tears, extinguish this jubilation, which is greater than seems likely to be safe or sustainable.3 My manner of speaking would be new and unexpected,4 were I to praise a virtuous prince5 with tears.6 Not thus did Pliny praise his Trajan nor Latinus Pacatus his Theodosius,7 yet their orations met with clamour and applause expressing the joyful admiration of the audience. . . . First of all, I must endeavour to say nothing about our deputy that could seem applicable to anyone other than him.8 I shall not mention9 his affability, his splendid conviviality. These things are great when they are not contrived; yet in him they seem unremarkable. Neither shall our admiration dwell upon his comportment,10 nor shall we gaze upon his face, stern and imperious but tempered with charm,11 where private modesty vies with public majesty.12 For others, these qualities in their prince would form the subject matter of a panegyric; to be sure, flattery is content with anything at all. It praises princes who play the lyre;13 it praises those who excel as charioteers or painters, the handsome and the elegant, those who bear weapons on the dance floor but enter the battlefield unarmed,14 and those who only deliberate on affairs of state when standing in front of the mirror.15 For it is necessary, when the princes concerned are not virtuous, that things of this sort should be praised, faute de mieux.16 By contrast, in our most excellent deputy we perceive not only such greatness of spirit combined with equal fortune without ill effect, but also liberality rather than avarice amid an abundance of resources, and upright character rather than degenerate behaviour in time of peace; a man whom friendship has not found disloyal, nor glory found proud, nor power found cruel; during whose rule of scarce three years, cultivation has returned to the fields, honour to religion, security to the people, and to each man the sure possession of his own property,17 as well as that than which nothing is more precious, to each man the sure possession of his own conscience. Given the greatness of his virtues and of that glory that pertains to the better part in man, I would be a fool were I to seek out the material for his praise from his mere physical qualities.18

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Passage 2 [pages 16–20] Parcam consilium dare, nec vel leviter, tantummodo monebo quid sit ex usu reipublicae futurum, quid ex deputati incolumitate et prudentia.19 Nihil stultius est quam e collegio senator. Veruntamen, si dum alii in rebus gerendis occupati fuerint, nos in legendis20 aliquid observaverimus, liceat temeritatis notam fugere in proponendo: ut dum vestra iudicii gloria fuerit, diligentiae venia nostra sit.21

Tria igitur sciscitabor a vobis. Primo, quod censetis de consilio Pansae atque Hirtii, qui semper praedixerant Iulio Caesari, ut principatum armis quaesitum, armis teneret? Secundo, quid arbitramini de Caesaris responso: qui dictitabat, mori se, quam timere malle. Postremo, considerate eventum: dum Caesar clementiam quam praestiterat exspectat, incautus ab ingratis occupatus est.22 Haec inquam a nobis legi, a vobis audiri possint. Non sequamini rogo,23 dum non inania putetis esse. Neque enim deputatus in periculo est, sed nos in metu; tam non possumus non timere, quam non potest ille non esse mortalis, non possunt esse malevoli, esse audaces, esse Jesuitae.24 Ego vero de excellentissimo deputato dies noctesque, ut debeo, cogitans, totis artubus nonnunquam contremiscere, dum revolvam illa Ciceronis, qui Iulium praesentem sic affatus est: Si (inquit) ad humanos casus, incertosque eventus valetudinis, sceleris etiam accedat, insidiarumque consensio: quem Deum etiamsi cupiat, opitulari posse Reipublicae credamus.25

Sed felix deputatus est, qui tam metuere dedignatur, quam metu digna facere. Novit experimento fidelissimam esse custodiam principis ipsius innocentiam.26 Hinc erudiantur Christiani principes: nullos a vulnere, nullos a veneno tutiores esse, quam qui suis virtutibus, aliorum precibus armati sunt. Quin contemnantur igitur satellitia, nisi quae ad dignitatem, non ad metum maiestas Reipublicae circumdederit. Armis enim arma irritantur (ut monet Plinius)27 at deputatus qui charitate et innocentia septus est, incolumis vel inter Jesuitarum scelera versari potest.

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Passage 2 [pages 16–20] I will refrain from offering advice, even in passing; I will only indicate what may tend towards the good of the state, the deputy’s well-being and prudence.19 There is nothing more foolish than an academic-turnedpolitician. But on the other hand, if, while others have been occupied in practical affairs, we should have spotted something useful in our reading,20 grant that we may escape reproach for temerity in putting forward our ideas, and hence, so long as you attain glory for your judgement, may we be granted indulgence for our solicitude.21 Three things, therefore, I will ask you. First, what do you think of the advice of Pansa and Hirtius, who forever forewarned Julius Caesar that he needed to use arms to maintain a principality that had been gained through arms? Second, what is your opinion of Caesar’s response, who often said that he would prefer to die than to live in fear? Lastly, consider how it all turned out: while Caesar expected the same clemency that he had displayed, he was unexpectedly attacked by ungrateful men.22 Such things, I say, may be read by us, heard by you. I don’t ask that you follow their lead,23 so long as you don’t think them inane. And indeed, the deputy is not in any danger; but we are in fear. We are as unable to live without fear as he is unable to not be mortal, or as we are able to live in a world without bad people, brazen people, Jesuits.24 For my part, when I think about our most excellent deputy, day and night, as is my duty, sometimes a shudder runs through my every limb as I turn over in my mind the words that Cicero spoke in the presence of Julius Caesar: ‘If ’, he says, ‘to the lottery of human life and the uncertain outcome of our health, there also be added treachery and criminal conspiracy, what god shall we suppose capable, should he so desire it, of bringing succour to our commonweal?’25 But happy is our deputy, who disdains to fear just as he disdains to do anything to arouse fear. He has found out by experience that the most trusty safeguard for a prince is his own innocence.26 Henceforth let Christian princes be taught that there are none so safe from injury, none so safe from poison as those who are armed with their own virtues and the prayers of others. In fact, let them have no thought of a personal retinue, apart from that which the majesty of the state has arranged for them, not out of fear, but with regard to dignity. For, as Pliny advises,27 arms only provoke more arms. Whereas our deputy, being fenced around by love and innocence, can proceed unharmed even amid the heinous crimes of the Jesuits.

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Atque haec de armis obiter dicta, me in memoriam ingentis beneficii28 ducunt eius, quod nuper in nos ab exercitu collatum, deputati ipsius hortatu et exemplo, omnium gentium admirationem in militari benevolentia concitavit. Nec iniuria. Quid enim militibus cum bibliotheca? Quid hominibus sanctitatem profitentibus cum libris archiepiscopi superstitiosis?29 Quantum autem tibi milites, excellentissime deputate, tantum nos et tibi et illis debemus. Ceteri exercitus omnes contenti vincere fuerunt; nostri milites deputati auspiciis ultra progressi sunt, quaeque rara est in castrensi disciplina gloria, non tam vincere quam sapere didicerunt.

Quid consenescimus in academia? Et praeceptorum inertium rubigine, ingeniorum nostrorum nobiles acies deterimus?30 Si docti, si eruditi esse volumus, induamus arma, in castrisque versemur. Optima schola est exercitus: milites nobis pro magistris, milites pro doctoribus erunt; quos deputatus docuit primum armorum usum, deinde honorum.31 Ubi sunt iam qui errore malitiae32 milites nostros indoctos arbitrentur esse, hostesque academiae, qui bonis artibus bellum indixerunt? Notum est apud Graecos, Herculem, quem pro militaris fortitudinis numine colebant, Musagetem appellatum esse, (id est) comitem ducemque musarum.33 Hoc milites nostros legisse siquis dubitet, bibliotheca testatur. Legerunt, quia imitati sunt: imitati sunt quia superaverunt.34 Quippe minus est quod fecerunt Graeci, quod postea Constantius Caesar; qui signa Camaenarum ex Ambraciensi oppido translata, sub tutela fortissimi numinis in Gallia consecravit. Quare ita fecit? Quid spectavit? Dicat Eumenius Rhetor, quin exercitus noster dicat potius: quia mutuis operibus et praemiis iuvari ornarique deberent, Musarum quies defensione Herculis, et virtus Herculis voce Musarum.35

Iam pudet nominare illa praemia quae olim Romanis exercitibus dari solebant. Qui post victoriam, si vel civicam coronam, vel obsidionalem, vel denique triumphalem accepissent, quid illis superbius?36 Inter virorum foeminarumque undique acclamantium plausus, pedibus in terra, animis supra caelos ambularent, iamque Diis suis immortalibus controversiam de gloria facturi viderentur. In hac media pompa si forte exercitum nostrum conspexissent, non tam gladiis quam libris armatum, nec coronas in capitibus

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But these passing remarks about arms lead me to recall the great gift28 lately conferred upon us by the army at the request and example of the deputy himself, which aroused the wonder of all nations at the benevolence of our soldiery. And justly so. For what have soldiers to do with a library? What have men who profess holiness to do with the superstitious books of an archbishop?29 And indeed, as much as the soldiers owe to you, most excellent deputy, so much are we in debt to both you and them. All other armies have been content to win wars, but our soldiers, under the auspices of the deputy, have gone further and have obtained a distinction that is rare in the context of military instruction – they have learned not so much how to win wars as how to be wise. Why are we growing old in a university? Why do we allow the noble blades of our wit to be blunted by the rust of our incompetent teachers?30 If we want learning, if we want an education, let us take up arms and spend time in the camps. The best school is the army. We shall have soldiers for our lecturers, soldiers for our professors, those whom the deputy taught first the use of arms and then the use of [academic] honours.31 Where now are those who, misled by malice,32 suppose that our soldiers are unlearned, the enemies of academe, who have declared war on the scholarly arts? It is known that Heracles, who was worshipped as a god of military fortitude, was called Musagetes by the Greeks, that is, the companion and leader of the Muses.33 If anyone should doubt that our soldiers have read of this, our library stands witness. They must have read it, for they have imitated it; they must have imitated it, for they have outdone it.34 Certainly, a lesser deed is what the Greeks accomplished and what later the Emperor Constantius did, who transported the statues of the Muses from the town of Ambracia and consecrated them in Gaul under the protection of the most powerful deity. Why did he do this? What was he trying to achieve? Let the orator Eumenius speak; or rather, let our army do so: because by this means they could aid and adorn one another with mutual services and rewards, the Muses could enjoy peace under the protection of Heracles, and the virtue of Heracles could be sung by the Muses.35 I am now ashamed to mention those rewards that at one time used to be given to Roman armies. If, after obtaining victory, they were presented with a crown of oak, of grass or, lastly, of laurel, was ever anyone prouder than they?36 Amid the applause and acclamation of men and women all around them, they would walk with their feet on the ground but their spirits aloft in the heavens, and they would seem all set to compete for glory with their own immortal gods. In the midst of such a procession, if they had chanced to

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sed bibliothecam gerentem: coronis suis, credo, abiectis atque spretis, nova ambitione huius gloriae, sic redimiri, sic incedere optarent.37

Pergat invictissimus exercitus, rudimenta haec liberalitatis suae, ut cogitat, absolvere fastigiumque imponere.38 Iam fervet Dei gratia; angelus aquas turbat:39 quid cessatis nova collegia aedificare? Ut sint novi socii, novi discipuli, a quibus haec libraria legatur, a quibus intelligatur.40 Hunc igitur exercitum,41 eiusque ducem sacratissimum, deputatum, nonne venerabimur? Non solum sacramento eius iurantes,42 sed ei nomina nostra dantes ut quemadmodum ecclesia ad miseriae suae significationem militaris dicta sit; nos contra meliore omine, bibliothecam militarem, collegium militare appellemus.43

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catch sight of our troops, armed with books rather than swords, bearing a library rather than crowns on their heads, I believe they would have cast aside their own crowns with contempt and, [filled] with a new ambition for this form of glory, they would have wished to be adorned thus, to proceed thus.37 Let this indomitable army go further, as it intends, to complete and put the capstone on these first stages of its liberality.38 God’s grace is already bubbling up; an angel is stirring the waters.39 Why wait to build new colleges? Then there may be new fellows, new students by whom these books may be read, by whom they may be understood.40 And so, shall we not treat with reverence this army41 and its most hallowed general, our deputy? Not only by taking his oath of allegiance,42 but also by giving him our names, so that, just as we speak of the Church Militant in order to signify its sufferings, so, conversely, may we rather more propitiously name this the Library Militant, the College Militant.43

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Commentary 1 Dei benignitate, ingentibus beneficiis: I have interpreted this as hendiadys, though the stark use of asyndeton raises the possibility of viewing the construction either as a simple definitio through apposition or as a doubled ablative of means qualifying superentur, i.e. ‘by God’s benevolence expressed through great acts of kindness’. The point of this opening passage is to indicate that Henry Cromwell has brought about a time of peace and prosperity, but that Williamson is well aware of past and present threats to the welfare of all. 2 exspectationem . . . decipere: the phrase is characteristically Ciceronian, coming from two passages in De oratore (2.260 and 2.289) where Cicero states that humour is created by disrupting expectations. Williamson wittily twists the phrase to apply to a situation in which good humour might (humorously) be interrupted by tears. 3 The hyperbaton allows Williamson to end the first sentence with a heroic clausula. Lest anyone may suppose this be accidental, note how natural it would have been to employ a standard Ciceronian word order: quam ut secura et diuturna esse posse videatur. Although Cicero warns against the effect of using poetic clausulae in oratory, he himself uses them occasionally. Williamson quite frequently employs this clausula at the end of sentences, though somewhat less often before the paragraph breaks in the printed text. In this instance, perhaps he intended to affect mock grandeur to enhance the jocular tone of the exordium. 4 hoc novum et inopinatum dicendi genus: echoing Cicero, Pro Archia 3, where, just as here, the intent is to draw attention to the literary character of the orator’s style. 5 principem: this word need not imply royal or even aristocratic lineage. Henry Cromwell was officially titled Lord Lieutenant in Ireland, and Williamson customarily refers to him simply as deputatus, but he elevates his status here to princeps in a manner that sets up the subsequent allusion to the panegyrics addressed to the emperors Trajan and Theodosius. This was a very sensitive question in 1657. Although Henry’s father Oliver Cromwell decisively rejected the title of king in April, the matter remained a subject of debate and speculation, as did Henry Cromwell’s opinion about the matter. For discussion, see Knoppers 2000: 107–31. Williamson develops the theme of majesty and princely virtue throughout the speech, raising the issue of kingship directly in a section discussing the merits of the Cromwell family. 6 The verb-initial position of esset, aside from adding a concessive tone, creates a structural chiasmus that is not in itself unusual in unreal conditions,

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but notice that it also serves to create a larger architectural chiasmus that encompasses the first two sentences: protasis, apodosis, apodosis, protasis. 7 The reference here is to two of the ancient Panegyrici Latini: Pliny the Younger’s Panegyricus Traiano imperatore dictus dates to around 100 ce; Latinus Pacatus’ Panegyricus Theodosio augusto dictus was delivered in the Roman senate in 389 ce. 8 enitendum . . . videatur: this whole sentence is taken from Plin. Pan. 2: equidem non consuli modo sed omnibus civibus enitendum reor, ne quid de principe nostro ita dicant, ut idem illud de alio dici potuisse videatur (‘It is my view that not only the consul but every citizen alike should endeavour not to say anything about our ruler in such a way that the very same thing could have been said of another one’). The intended effect was presumably wry humour – the author borrows words just at the point at which he claims only to say things that could not be said about anyone else. The passage was well known, and Williamson could reasonably have hoped that at least some of his audience would recognize the irony, which might be said to encompass the whole tradition of panegyric, characterized by the use of conventional themes, tropes and verbiage, coupled with empty claims to sincerity, originality and specific relevance to the subject at hand. Williamson observes tradition, with a knowing wink. 9 taceo quod sit: the verb taceo often has the sense of praetermitto (‘I pass over / I say nothing of ’) in classical Latin, and it occasionally has an indicative quod-clause as its object. The use of the subjunctive in this context appears to be a medievalism that remained quite common in the writings of humanists. 10 se . . . confitebitur: the use of confiteri with se, meaning ‘reveal itself ’, is classical, but here it seems to be used in place of a future passive form of the deponent. The adjunct phrase in eius gestu is elliptical in this context and would be helpfully completed by a gerund such as describendo. Williamson seems to be saying that he will not waste time revealing how greatly he admires the deputy’s comportment, but his decision to personify admiratio as the subject of the sentence – a recourse to abstraction that is habitual in his prose – results in a phrase that stretches the meaning of the verb and the syntax of its adjunct rather further than seems warranted. 11 ad severitatem imperii cum suavitate temperatum: this striking zeugma combines two non-standard constructions. Firstly, the use of ad with the verb temperare is rare in antiquity, but Williamson may have noted its appearance in Mamertinus’ panegyric addressed to the Emperor Julian in 362 ce: quorum opera ad motum signorum caelestium temperanda sunt (‘whose performance

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must be regulated according to the movement of the heavenly signs’) (Mamertinus, Gratiarum actio 23). Secondly, the instrumental use of cum instead of the simple ablative appears occasionally in classical Latin and becomes more common in late antiquity, but it was condemned by Valla in his Elegantiae: for discussion, see Gilbert Tournoy / Terence O. Tunberg, ‘On the Margins of Latinity? Neo-Latin and the Vernacular Languages’, Humanistica Lovaniensia, 45 (1996), p. 143, esp. n. 45. Williamson’s use of zeugma is jarring, but serves to strengthen the juxtaposition of severitas and suavitas. It also creates a curious admixture of parallelism (severitate imperii cum suavitiate | privata modestia cum publica maiestate) and syntactical inconcinnitas that is redolent of the structural variatio of Sallust or Tacitus. 12 maiestate: the juxtaposition of Cromwellian modestia and maiestas was directly relevant to the contemporary debate about kingship, a theme developed more explicitly later in this oration. 13 Cytharaedos principes: cf. Juvenal, Satires 8.198: citharoedo principe, where the specific reference is to Nero, and the general theme is the folly to which flatterers are prepared to descend. Since Williamson immediately proceeds to refer to princes who engage in chariot racing and painting (aurigandi et pingendi artifices), he may be thinking specifically of Tacitus’ account of Nero in Annales 13.3 and 14.14. Awareness of such intertextuality was far from recherché; indeed, early modern commentaries on Juvenal’s eighth satire customarily pointed to and quoted these intertexts, e.g. Isaac de la Grange’s Commentarii in Decimi Iunii Iuvenalis Aquinatis satyras secdecim (Paris 1614), 329. 14 armati saltant, pugnant inermes: chiasmus underscores the inversion that Williamson is describing. Dancing as a sign of effeminacy or decadence, in contrast to military pursuits, is commonplace in Roman literature, notwithstanding Cornelius Nepos’ defence of it as a Greek custom, citing Epaminondas as an example (Nepos, Praefatio 2). Nevertheless, saltatio armata is elsewhere a sign of ferocity, while being prepared to enter battle inermis was sometimes cited as a sign of the courage of barbarians. Clearly, Williamson intends nothing of the sort; indeed, the word inermis here simply connotes weakness. 15 ad speculum: the idea seems to be of a prince so dissolute as to be ever posing in front of the mirror, concerned about his appearance to such a degree that he cannot be torn away even to discuss matters of state, so that advisors are compelled to offer their counsel while the monarch preens before the looking-glass. Perhaps this passage alludes to Puritan criticisms of the court of Charles I.

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16 desperatione meliorum: this adverbial use of desperatio without the prepositions sine, cum, in or ex, and when it is not obviously a standard ablative argument of a verb or participle, is relatively rare in classical Latin, but can be found, for instance, in Cic. Orat. 235 and Fam. 12.2.3. Neo-Latin authors use the construction liberally; an apposite example can be found in Erasmus’ discussion of the expression auloedus sit, qui citharoedus esse non possit (‘let him become a flautist who cannot play the lyre’), where Erasmus notes nec male quadrabit in eos qui desperatione meliorum ad humiliora sese conferunt (‘this expression is not bad for describing those who, faute de mieux, apply themselves to more humble things’). Given the proximity of citharoedus and desperatione meliorum, as well as the overall pertinence of the theme of this adage to this passage of the oration, it is possible that Williamson had it in mind when composing the text. However that may be, the postponement of the adverbial desperatione meliorum to the end of the sentence not only creates a metrical clausula of the esse videatur type, but also adds a wry tone to what would otherwise be a commonplace remark. 17 rediit cultus agris, sacris honos, securitas hominibus, certa cuique rerum suarum possessio: this is a direct quotation of Velleius Paterculus, Historia Romana 2.89, an oft-cited passage which celebrates the end of the Civil War and the beginning of the reign of Augustus. Ireland had certainly not witnessed any such restitution of justice and order at the conclusion of the Civil War in the three kingdoms, but Williamson’s English-rose-tinted view corresponds to the outlook of Henry Cromwell and the circle of scholars, prospectors and property developers around them who were inspired by the ‘new learning’ and the scientific projects to ‘improve’ society that were then in vogue. 18 Syntactically this paragraph amounts to two sentences: 1) At vero . . . suae possessio; 2) in tantis . . . emendicarem; I have preserved this structure in my translation. But I suspect Williamson conceived of it as a single periodic sentence built on three membra, followed by the apodosis and protasis of a conditional construction. The first membrum contains a tricolon marked by diminishing length, gapping and internal parallelism; the underlying structure is: cum magnitudinem animi . . . cum liberalitatem . . . cum innocentiam cernimus. The second membrum contains another tricolon with gapping of the verb (experta est), the three subjects being amicitia, gloria and imperium. The third membrum, introduced by the ablative absolute quo . . . praesidente, consists of the above-noted quotation from Velleius Paterculus. In the conditional construction, the rhythmical contrast between the abrupt ineptus essem and the more fulsome materiam emendicarem brings the period to a satisfying conclusion.

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19 ex usu reipublicae: a common ancient idiom meaning ‘to the benefit of the state’, but here it is paralleled with ex deputati incolumitate, which may be plausibly interpreted in the same way, and prudentia, which cannot. Williamson seems deliberately to play such syntactical tricks elsewhere; here, it is hard to be sure if the effect is intended. 20 in legendis: a syntactical surprise. Instead of in legendo Williamson has chosen a more direct parallel to in rebus gerendis, creating ellipsis through gapping. But the verb legere, when it means ‘to read’, never has the noun res as its direct object, except in the collocation res gestae (cf. Cicero, Lucullus, 2). Hence in legendis is either a solecism for in legendo or a highly elliptical expression of in rebus gestis legendis. The latter interpretation is possible, given Williamson’s taste for ellipses, but I have taken the less constructive route in translation. 21 The two present-perfect subjunctives in the protasis express the fact that Williamson does not determine whether or not he actually has discovered something valuable in his reading; by contrast, the imperfect or pluperfect subjunctive would signify an unreal condition, while the present subjunctive would merely suggest future possibility. I take liceat to be jussive, while dum . . . fuerit expresses a proviso, and sit is the final subjunctive of a purpose clause. 22 The advice of the consuls Pansa and Hirtius, Caesar’s response and the description of the outcome are drawn verbatim from Vell. Pat. 2.57. 23 non sequamini rogo: Williamson seems to mean that he does not want Cromwell to follow Caesar’s example and end up dead, so he goes on to note that it is merely an instructive general lesson rather than an exact parallel to the situation Henry finds himself in. The use of a jussive subjunctive with rogo, eliding ut, is licit but rare. It is found once in Caesar (B Gall. 1.20.5), where it seems to be a form of narrative repraesentatio. Cicero never uses the construction in the speeches, but once in the treatises (Leg. 13.1.3), where the tone is very abrupt, and in three examples from his correspondence listed by Kühner–Stegmann (2.229), two of which (Att. 7.12.1 and Fam. 13.1.3) are, however, to be explained by the close proximity of another ut (repetition would have been inelegant – contra Shackleton Bailey, who prints ut at Fam. 13.1.3), while the third (Att. 4.14.2) is in a valediction, where similar colloquial constructions are often found (and cf. the letters from Plancus, and from Brutus and Cassius, where the same locution is used: Fam. 10.24.8 and 11.2.3). The construction is often found in Pliny’s letters, but never in his Panegyricus. Perhaps Williamson did not recognize its colloquial tone as being ill-suited to formal oratory, but at any rate its effect here is to enhance the brevitas of the surrounding passage.

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24 On the classical basis for the pleonastic use of negatives in humanist Latin, see Tournoy / Tunberg 1996: 137–8. The whole passage is characterized by asyndeton (except for the elliptical neque), antitheses and unexpected syntactical turns, while the closing tricolon avoids incremental lengthening and has a sudden, unexpected climax in the word Jesuitae. The transition from non potest ille non esse mortalis to non possunt esse malevoli is particularly abrupt and confusing, since it feels like gapping has gone wrong and that Williamson is saying that malevolent people either cannot be mortal or cannot exist. However, the context makes it clear that he is saying his inability to cast aside fear corresponds to two things: the mortality of the deputy and the existence of those who might wish him harm. The Jesuits were the bêtes noires of English Puritans, but here the tone seems derisive rather than genuinely alarmed. 25 Cicero, Pro Marcello 22–3. The borrowing begins before the italicized passage, as the words dies noctesque, ut debeo, cogitans are taken from the Ciceronian source. Notice also the vivid effect of the historic infinitive contremiscere, reworking another passage from Cicero: tota mente atque artubus omnibus contremiscam (De or. 1.121). 26 Plin. Pan. 49.3. Williamson uses Pliny’s authority to circumvent the then topical view of Machiavelli that it was better for a prince to be feared than to be loved by his people, a perspective that is elegantly dismissed with the paronomastic phrase tam metuere dedignatur, quam metu digna facere. 27 Plin. Pan. 49.4. 28 Williamson turns towards the central point of his oration – offering thanks for Cromwell’s procurement for Trinity College Dublin of the huge book collection of Archbishop Ussher, who had recently died (21 March 1656) in England. The use of the army to deliver the books not only affords Williamson much opportunity for merriment, but also allows him subtly to develop his obiter dicta about the need for demobilization, as the army has already been redeployed to assist the propagation of learning. 29 hominibus sanctitatem profitentibus: a Ciceronian circumlocution for ‘Puritans’, as is made clear by the antithetical reference to Ussher’s books as superstitiosi. Notice that the transferred epithet avoids directly calling Ussher superstitious, since he was greatly admired by many on the Puritan side of the Church despite his support for episcopacy and royalism. The idiom quid . . . militibus cum bibliotheca? quid hominibus . . . cum libris . . .? is common, being analogous to expressions like controversiam . . . quae mihi fuit cum avunculo tuo (‘a debate . . . that I held with your uncle’; Cic. Fin. 3.6.11) and mihi fuit

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cum Aquinio amicitia (‘I have been friends with Aquinius’; Cic. Tusc. 5.63.14). Notice, however, that the datives in the next sentence (quantum . . . tibi . . . tantum . . . tibi et illis) are the indirect object of the verb in final position, debemus – another instance of Williamson’s taste for syntactical red herrings. 30 The metaphor ingeniorum acies rubigine praeceptorum inertium deterere is a blend of three different idioms. The phrase acies ingenii is a common way of describing sharpness of intellect. Indeed, so commonplace was it that Ovid could drop the reference to acies and simply refer to his ingenium growing rusty through lack of use during his exile – ingenium longa rubigine laesum torpet (‘my talent, injured by long neglect, is dull’) (Tristia 5.12.21–2). Williamson seems to strengthen the metaphor of disuse through the doublemeaning of inertium – his teachers are both idle and unskilled. But his employment of the verb deterere implies that the blades of the students’ minds are being blunted through active use (though Pliny uses the phrase ferri acie deterenda to refer not to wearing down, but to sharpening a blade with a whetstone). Of course, by extension, rubigo can mean any kind of decay, and deterere can in like manner mean any kind of weakening, if these terms are treated as dead metaphors. By combining these three idioms, Williamson seems to have wanted to bring the metaphors to life. The result is a rather paradoxical mixed metaphor: rubigine deterere. 31 Optima schola est exercitus: perhaps the idea of learned soldiery is inspired by Panegyrici Latini 6(7).16.3–4, where the army is said to have learned wisdom from Constantine. The terms magister and doctor refer to specific teaching positions within the university system, and in this context honores denotes academic qualifications. 32 errore malitiae: this adverbial use of errore is rare in the classical period. Outside of Pliny’s Historia naturalis, where nearly a dozen examples may be found, I have been able to identify only two comparable instances: eo errore dixisti (Cic. Nat. D. 2.73) and opinionis errore finxerat (Cic. Off. 1.26). 33 Musagetem: Williamson has taken the term and its gloss directly from Eumenius, Panegyricus 7. 34 While gradatio is sometimes used to articulate strict inferential reasoning, here it is evidently intended to be witty rather than logical. 35 The source is Eumenius, Panegyricus 7. As often elsewhere, Williamson begins to quote prior to saying that he is doing so. The passage signa Camaenarum . . . consecravit is taken directly from Eumenius, as is the cited passage mutuis operibus . . . voce Musarum. The purpose of this section about Hercules is to provide a display of rhetorical amplification on the theme of

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soldiery and learning, but in this instance Williamson has not taken much care to elaborate upon his source material. 36 The corona civica was made of oak and awarded to someone who saved another Roman citizen by slaying an enemy. The corona obsidionalis was made of grass and awarded for saving an army under siege. The corona triumphalis was made of laurel and was awarded to a general victorious in battle. 37 For the use of the imperfect subjunctive in unreal past conditions, see E. C. Woodcock, A New Latin Syntax, Bristol 1959: 155. 38 rudimenta absolvere is military language, referring to the completion of the novitiate in the army, whereas fastigium imponere is an architectural metaphor. What at first sight may appear to be a clumsy mixture of metaphors marks a transition from offering thanks for the gift of books to making a request for the foundation of a new college. 39 John 5:4. The idea here is that the spirit is willing. Notice that the first invocation of biblical language comes in conjunction with the first mention of the real business at hand, i.e. the foundation of a new college. 40 libraria: a post-classical synonym of bibliotheca. It is unusual for Williamson to employ a non-classical word that has a classical equivalent. 41 The text reads exercitium, but this is clearly a typographic error, as the masculine hunc confirms. 42 sacramento eius iurantes: an apt military metaphor – the sacramentum was an oath sworn by newly enlisted troops. Here, it doubtless alludes to the imposition of the Oath of Abjuration in Ireland in 1657, requiring renunciation of papal supremacy upon pain of forfeiture of property rights. The systematic disenfranchisement of the majority Catholic population in Ireland directly benefitted Williamson and his colleagues in Trinity College Dublin, all of whom were part of the Protestant Ascendancy, but there was great concern in Dublin (a concern shared by Henry Cromwell) that the oath risked fomenting rebellion and that the Commonwealth should have proceeded more circumspectly; hence, Williamson’s affirmation that the dons of the university would accept the oath, while not in itself surprising, was not utterly devoid of significance. 43 The Church Militant is a common appellation derived from the metaphor of Christians as soldiers who do battle against adversity and vice. Notice that the last two paragraphs employ a chiastic structure to bring the section to a close: new college, library, library, new college.

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Herrings, Linen and Cheese: Celebrating the Treaty of Westminster in 1654 The Musarum Oxoniensium Elaiophoria (Oxford) and the Oliva Pacis (Cambridge) Caroline Spearing

Introduction On 5 April 1654 the first Anglo-Dutch War was brought to an end by the Treaty of Westminster. The universities were quick to respond with anthologies of commemorative verse, mostly in Latin, published that same year. These volumes represented the universities’ first literary offerings to Oliver Cromwell, who had been officially inaugurated as Lord Protector in December 1653. While providing appropriate panegyric, therefore, the contributors to such volumes needed to negotiate the delicate task of maintaining that Cromwell’s new appointment represented the culmination of a genuine revolution rather than merely the replacement of one tyrant with another. Although the United Provinces of the Netherlands were England’s closest Protestant neighbour, tensions grew during the 1640s over trade and over the support given by the Dutch to exiled Royalists – William II, Prince of Orange (1626–50), was married to Charles I’s daughter Mary (1631–60), and his court at The Hague also sheltered Charles’ sister, the exiled Queen of Bohemia (1596–1662), and her sons, the Royalist commanders Prince Rupert (1619– 82) and Prince Maurice (1621–52). In 1651 these tensions were exacerbated when England passed the Navigation Act, designed to protect trade with Asia and the Americas, which prohibited foreign – and, above all, Dutch – merchant ships from entering English ports unless carrying goods from their own country. Meanwhile, the Dutch were unresponsive to proposals from Cromwell that the English and Dutch should unite in order to take possession of Spanish and Portuguese colonies. When war broke out in 1652, although the English were victorious in several naval battles, the Dutch were able to prevent English ships from trading in the Baltic and the Mediterranean. 243

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Protracted peace negotiations opened in 1653: under the eventual Treaty of Westminster, the Navigation Act technically remained in force, but in practice was largely ignored by the Dutch. In turn, the English East India Company was blocked from trading with the Dutch East Indies. The Dutch were successful in including their ally Denmark in the treaty; the English managed to secure a secret clause blocking the infant son of William of Orange from major political office (ironically, given that the child was to become William III of England in 1689). Overall, the Dutch did rather well from a war they had technically lost, something made much of by John Maplet’s contribution to the commemorative volume. The tradition of commemorative university anthologies originated in the sixteenth century, when poems were affixed to walls and doors on occasions such as royal visits or the deaths of prominent university figures. In the second half of the century, poems began to be collated and printed, notably on the death of Sir Philip Sidney in 1587. Throughout the early Stuart period, both Oxford and Cambridge produced volumes of predominantly Latin poetry to mark royal births, marriages and deaths as well as significant university occasions. These collections typically contained over 150 poems, in English, French, Greek and Hebrew as well as Latin, contributed by representatives of the entire scholarly community, from the Vice-Chancellor, heads of houses and regius professors down to ambitious undergraduates. Lavishly bound in velvet or satin, they were presented to the monarch as well as to important courtiers, presumably in the hope of patronage; for senior members of the university they provided a means not only of reinforcing the relationship between crown and gown, but also of negotiating and inflecting it. They hold significant interest for a number of reasons: as well as their literary merit (which, though uneven, is greater than has often been supposed), they contain work by prominent individuals of the period, at various stages of their careers; and they provide valuable evidence of the shaping of the discourse of panegyric to suit both contemporary events and the agenda of the individual or the institution. While the two universities chose to mark the occasion of the Treaty of Westminster, they did so from widely differing standpoints. Oxford had housed Charles I and his court from January 1644 until April 1646, melting down college plate to help the war effort, and had been punished with a Parliamentary visitation from 1647. Cromwell was appointed Chancellor in 1650. This period saw the ejection of numerous fellows and college heads, often in the face of energetic resistance, and the ‘intrusion’ of Parliamentary nominees. John Owen (passage 1), a prominent Independent minister and theologian, was such a person, rewarded first with the Deanery of Christ Church (1651) and with the Vice-Chancellorship in the following year; the Royalist John Maplet (passage 2) was ejected from his position as Principal of

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Gloucester Hall around the same time and became a medical practitioner in Bath. Over eighty members of the university contributed to the Oxford volume of 1654. On the one hand it represents a peace-offering, an attempt to mark a fresh start after past royalist allegiance – Elaiophoria is literally the bearing of an olive branch, accompanied by the pun on ‘Oliver.’ Celeusma ad vada Isidis of the title suggests the call to rowers to keep time, implying a less deferential tone. Moreover, Owen, who as Vice-Chancellor will have had oversight of the volume, takes care to assert the importance of a symbiotic relationship between Protector and university (Holberton 2008: 84–5): while Oxford needs its chancellor’s active engagement, Cromwell needs the university to ensure that his achievements are properly commemorated. Owen includes poems from those, like Maplet, who retain a Royalist identity and whose praise of the Protector is equivocal at best. Cambridge had enjoyed a less colourful time during the Civil War and early Protectorate. A number of Royalist sympathizers had been expelled in 1644 and again in 1650–1, including the Chancellor, the moderate Parliamentarian Earl of Manchester (1602–71). He was replaced by Cromwell’s friend and kinsman by marriage, the MP and lawyer Oliver St John (c. 1598– 1673). The title of the Cambridge volume, Oliva Pacis, again puns on ‘Oliver’, but the olive here represents the peace that Cromwell has brought to the nation as opposed to Oxford’s peace-offering. It is a much slimmer volume than its Oxford equivalent, with fewer than fifty contributions. And where Owen was happy to offer the Protector some critical and dissident views, Lazarus Seaman, as Cambridge Vice-Chancellor, is unquestioningly loyal, looking forward to a future where, like Virgil’s Tityrus in Eclogue 1, the university community will be free to pursue its intellectual interests under the protection of its great alumnus.

Bibliography Abrams, P. (1967), John Locke: Two Tracts on Government, Cambridge. Binns, J. W. (1990), Intellectual Culture in Elizabethan and Jacobean England: The Latin Writings of the Age, Leeds. Bliss, P., ed. (1813–20), Anthony à Wood: Athenae Oxonienses. An Exact History of all the Writers and Bishops who have had their Education in the Most Ancient and Famous University of Oxford, from . . . 1500 to the end of . . . 1690 . . . To Which are Added, the Fasti or Annals of the Said University for the Same Time, 4 vols, London. Greaves, R. L. (2013), ‘Owen, John (1616–1683), Theologian and Independent Minister’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford (DOI: 10.1093/ ref:odnb/21016).

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Holberton, E. (2008), Poetry and the Cromwellian Protectorate: Culture, Politics, and Institutions, Oxford. Liu, T. (2008), ‘Seaman, Lazarus (d. 1675), Clergyman and Ejected Minister’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford (DOI: 10.1093/ ref:odnb/24985). Milton, J. R. (2008), ‘Locke, John (1632–1704), Philosopher’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford (DOI: 10.1093/ref:odnb/16885). Milton, J. R. (2019), John Locke: Literary and Historical Writings, Oxford. Money, D. (2000), ‘Free Flattery or Servile Tribute? Oxford and Cambridge Commemorative Poetry in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, in J. Raven (ed.), Free Print and Non-Commercial Publishing since 1700, 48–66, London. Moul, V. (2015) ‘Horace’, in P. Cheney / P. Hardie (eds), The Oxford History of Classical Reception in English Literature: Volume 2 (1558–1660), 542–5, Oxford. Norgate, G. L. G. / Wallis, P. (2007), ‘Maplet, John (1611x15–1670), Physician’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford (DOI: 10.1093/ ref:odnb/18017). Piepho, L. (2015), ‘International Protestantism and Commemorative Anthologies on the End of the First Anglo-Dutch War’, in A. Steiner-Weber / K. A. E. Enenkel (eds), Acta Conventus Neo-Latini Monasteriensis. Proceedings of the Fifteenth International Congress of Neo-Latin Studies (Münster 2012), 420–9, Leiden. Power, H. (2018), ‘ “Eyes without Light”: University Volumes and the Politics of Succession’, in P. Kewes / A. McRae (eds), Stuart Succession Literature, 222–40, Oxford.

Source of the Latin text There is no modern edition of these volumes. Passages 1–3 have been transcribed from: Musarum Oxoniensium elaiophoria. Sive, Ob fædera, auspiciis serenissimi Oliveri Reipub. Ang· Scot. & Hiber. Domini Protectoris, inter Rempub. Britannicam & ordines fæderatos Belgii fæliciter stabilita, gentis togatæ ad vada Isidis celeusma metricum, Oxford, Excudebat Leonardus Lichfield Academiæ typographus, 1654. Passage 4 has been transcribed from: Oliva pacis. Ad illustrissimum celsissimúmq: Oliverum, reipub. Angliæ, Scotiæ, & Hiberniæ dominum protectorem; de pace cum fœderatis Belgis feliciter sancita, carmen Cantabrigiense, 1654. Spelling has been modernized throughout. Punctuation has been largely retained, with minor adjustments. Abbreviations of names and titles have been expanded.

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Latin text Passage 1 John Owen (1616–83) graduated BA from The Queen’s College in 1632 and was ordained deacon three years later (not to be confused with his namesake, the famous Welsh epigrammatist John Owen, c. 1564–1622). At the outbreak of the Civil War he moved to London and rapidly became a prominent preacher and theologian. From anti-Laudianism he progressed via Presbyterianism to Independence, remaining an opponent of an established church for the rest of his life. Having come to the attention of senior army officers when he ministered to parliamentary troops at the siege of Colchester, he preached to the House of Commons on the day after the regicide, 31 January 1649, and on a number of subsequent occasions. He was appointed Dean of Christ Church in 1651; the following year he became a member of Oxford’s new board of visitors, appointed to revise and reform university and college statutes. On 26 September 1653 he was appointed Vice-Chancellor of the university, a post that he held until 1657. At the Restoration he was ejected as Dean of Christ Church, but continued to write and to minister to a small Independent congregation, even when this became dangerous following the formal ejection of non-conforming ministers from the Church in 1662. He died of kidney stones in 1683. That staunch Anglican Anthony à Wood writes critically of Owen’s ViceChancellorship, commenting on his ‘wonderful knack of entitling all the proceedings of his own party, however villainous and inhuman’ and providing a vividly disapproving portrait of his adoption of casual rather than academic dress, ‘with powdered hair, snakebone bandstrings (or bandstrings with very large tassels) lawn band, a large set of ribbonds pointed, at his knees, and Spanish leather boots, with large lawn tops, and his hat mostly cock’d.’ (Bandstrings were used to fasten the broad collar [‘bands’] that had replaced the earlier ruff; ‘snakebone bandstrings’ were plaited, so as to resemble the backbone of a snake [Bliss 1813–20: 4.98].) Nonetheless, while Owen was certainly close to the centre of Protectorate power, he was no Cromwellian stooge. As Vice-Chancellor he appears to have been more tolerant than his high Calvinist theology would suggest. Christ Church retained its Anglican chaplain, and he turned a blind eye to private use of the Book of Common Prayer. Edward Holberton (2008: 84–5) has shown that these verses in the Elaiophoria make the case for a symbiotic relationship between Protector and university: while Oxford needs its chancellor’s active engagement, Cromwell needs the university to ensure that his achievements are properly commemorated.

Metre: elegiac couplet

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Ad Protectorem Pacifica Augusti quem non fecere poetam? Sanctior, ingenium et musa mihi, genius: concolor haud cycnis, vano nec percitus oestro, ex humili subitus vate poeta cano. 5 Quin magis ut placeam numero, numerisque refertus advolo: nempe omnis musa chelisque tua est. Quod nisi consiliis Academia fulta fuisset Caesaris, auspiciis gensque togata tuis; excideras Auguste tibi, victoria noctem senserat, haud pacis gloria tanta foret. 10 Has tibi pro Musis grates Academia mittit, qui pax una foris diceris, una domi. Nomine utroque tuas laudes haec pagina gestit tollere, qui pacis nomen et omen habes. 15 Accipias facilis merito quos reddit honores, heroi invicto, pacis amica cohors. Iohannes Owen Academiae Procancellarius

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To the Protector The peace-making of Augustus, whom did it not make a poet? My patron is more godly, my intelligence and my muse: not the same colour as swans, nor driven by a vain gadfly: once a lowly bard, I sing as a new-made poet. No, rather, to give pleasure with my verse, and with verses stuffed full, 5 I fly forward: to be sure, every muse and every lyre is yours. For, were it not for the fact that the University was supported by the counsels of Caesar, and the people of the gown by your authority; Augustus, you would have been lost to yourself, and your victory would have felt the night, and the glory of this peace would be nowhere near as great. 10 The University sends these thanks to you on behalf of the Muses, you who are spoken of as one form of peace abroad, another at home. This page aims to raise your praises under both names, you who possess both the name of peace and its promise. May you readily accept the honours owed 15 to an unconquered hero, which the cohort, friend of peace, renders you. John Owen Vice-Chancellor of the University

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Passage 2 John Maplet (1611 or 1615–1670), like so many contributors to the university anthologies, was educated at Westminster School and Christ Church, Oxford. In 1647 he graduated Doctor of Medicine and was appointed principal of Gloucester Hall (subsequently re-founded as Worcester College) , and, although he is said to have submitted to the parliamentary visitation, he subsequently left Oxford to travel on the Continent as tutor to Lucius and Henry Cary. These were the sons of Lucius Cary, second Earl Falkland, centre of the (largely) royalist intellectual circle based at Great Tew in Oxfordshire, and whose possibly suicidal death at the Battle of Newbury in 1642 had been one of the first highprofile losses of the Civil War. With these royalist connections, it is not surprising that he seems to have been ejected from his post at Oxford, and when he returned to England, he practised as a physician at Bath. It is not clear how he came to contribute to the Elaiophoria, whether from Oxford or Bath, or indeed why: if he was angling for reinstatement, his lukewarm and double-edged praise of Cromwell and the new regime would hardly have inspired confidence. In any case, he had to wait until the Restoration to return to Gloucester Hall: he retired in 1662 and died eight years later. Anthony à Wood describes him as ‘learned, candid and ingenious, a good physician, a better Christian, and an excellent Latin poet’ (Bliss 1813–20: 4.909). The modern reader must judge whether Maplet’s elaborate allusions and convoluted syntax are the mark of a skilled poet adroitly concealing his ambivalence towards the regime he purportedly eulogizes or whether they instead reveal an ambitious writer not entirely in control of his chosen medium.

Metre: dactylic hexameter Exito, Batavum terris erratica pinus, (ulla tamen terris arbor si nascitur istis) Oceani insulta gremio: iam vulnera pacis prora facit, curvae fastum posuere carinae. 5 I, fuge pauperiem velis, et pascito remis innumeram prolem, panes in retia coge, et nummos nostrisque latens halecibus aurum, e pelago posthac procerum persolve tributa: haec tibi, Belga, parit pactum miracula foedus. 10 Parva loquor: fractos quaestus, et funera lucri, atque accisa diu plorantem commoda civem,

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Go, wandering pine from the lands of the Batavians, (provided any tree grows in those lands) leap on the lap of Ocean: already the prow inflicts the wounds of peace, [and] the curved ships have laid aside their disdain. Go, flee poverty with your sails, and with your oars feed your countless offspring, pack bread into your nets, and as for the money, [and] the gold lying hidden in our herrings, pay it as your leaders’ tribute from now on from the sea: these are the miracles, Belgian, [which] the peace we have concluded bears you. I speak of trivial matters: as for the citizenry, long bewailing the shattered profits, and the buried hopes of gain, and their ruined wealth,

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longinquis solare bonis: per litora nostra, iam tua, iam nullo crucis exhorrenda rubore, per nostrosque tuosque exstructos robore muros, serpe canens, qua terra patet, qua luceat aether, et refer orbis opes, et vastus congere mundum. Serica pro lino venient squamosaque longe quam portas sanies, genialia munera Baccho exprimet, isque tuis reddet sua vina salitis. Nil deerit felix umquam: tua prata reducent Hesperidum fructus, fulvum remeare metallum iam poterit, patriis qui caseus ibit ab oris. Te vocat Arcturus, gaudet prodire leonem ursa ferox, catulosque procul Cynosura salutat. Te Phoebus, geminus te rursum convocat Indus, qui parat exultans, auctoque calentior aestu, thura diis et aroma tibi, quo cinnama spirent antennae, paci similisque odor imbuat auram, lintea quae retro tremulumque impellit aplustre. Intrato Gangen, comitis cum flumine Rheni miscens Mosa choros; nunc influat amnis Hydaspen Amstelius, gemmisque suas permutet arenas: nam Tamisin sapitis, Tamisis perfusus utrique est. Audimus: trabium sub onusta mole, gemiscit Bosphorus; Adriacae caeduntur navibus irae. O calor, o glacies, quae nostrum accersit amicum, dissimilesque vices rerum! Te dissitus axis, immensae solisque viae, sed et inviae soli, te plaga, te fluvius, teque astrum respicit omne. Nam postquam triplex, tibi facta est ancora, tellus, Belgarumque leo nostrum gerit ungue tridentem: quae maris occludet, rupesve, hostisve meatus? Quae gens, quae natura valet, per caerula ponti currere coniunctas vires sociasque relabi? Prospera nec vobis tribuit leviora, Britanni, Anglicus halcyon, sed vobis temperat undas, qui didicit cantu cytharae componere fluctus,

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comfort them with goods from afar: over our shores, now [over] yours, at which the cross-beam no longer needs shudder in shame, over our walls, and yours too, [walls] built from oak, spread, sounding your song, where the earth lies open, wherever the air lights up, and both bring back the wealth of the earth, and heap up the ornaments of the deep. Silks shall come in place of linen: and the scaly brine which you transport from afar, shall squeeze out delightful gifts for Bacchus, and he will give wine of his own in return for your salted goods. Nothing good will ever fail you: your meadows will restore the fruit of the Hesperides, the cheese that travels from its native shores will now be able to return as golden metal. Arcturus summons you, the savage Bear rejoices that the Lion goes forth, the Little Bear greets its whelps from afar. Phoebus calls you again, and the twofold Indus, who triumphantly, and warmed by a greater heat, prepares incense for the Gods and fragrance for you, so your sail-yards can breathe out cinnamon, and a scent likened to peace may perfume the breeze that sends back your sails and the plunging figurehead. Flow into the Ganges, Meuse, joining the dances with the current of your partner the Rhine; now let the River Amstel flow into the Hydaspes, and let it exchange its sands for jewels: for you have the taste of the Thames, and the Thames imbues you both. We can hear it: the Bosporus groans beneath the laden weight of the wooden fleet; the rages of the Adriatic are quelled by the ships. O heat, o cold, which summons our ally, and the changing cycle of the universe! To you the remote North Pole, and the boundless paths of the sun, yet also those places where the sun cannot go, to you looks the shore, the river and every star. For after the threefold land became a haven for you, and the lion of the Belgians [now] bears our trident in its claw, what powers of the sea, what rocks, what movement of the enemy can stop you? What people, what Nature are strong enough, that conjoined and allied powers which run across the blue waters of the sea should sink back again? Nor has the English halcyon assigned lesser prosperity to you, Britons, but smoothes the waters for you, he who learned to calm the waves with the song of the harp

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et sibi figendum meruit sacrare Colossum. Carbasa vestra volant, gestorum et gloria iuxta convolat, et merces vestras comitantur honores. Iura in vestra dedit Neptunia regna redire atque potens tanto pars est in munere Belga. Milite si vestro neget Ulissinga teneri, et signis rutilare Anglis, urbs nota Brielae at vult amplexu, fidei vult tegmine claudi integer accurrens populus, sive accola Mosae, seu plebs Texaliae: regionum pectora Septem accedunt vestrae tot propugnacula Dunae. Urbes sueta suas olim, nunc extera vobis moenia, terribiles nunc tradit Belgica gentes. Discite, praesidium bellatrix Dania vestrum est: Arctoum robur, vestrum; quod regia virgo et formae radiis et mentis lumine fulgens, frigore concretum vobis emolliit, Angli, et nivea foedus firmavit amabile dextra. Cetera pars orbis, quae nescit vincula blanda, vestra metu est, vobis trepidisque adnexa catenis. Istis quid maius, quae vim detrivit Iberam, illa invicta maris vindex, optasset Elisa? Qui sapis et dubio rimaris mystica nutu, quisquis es, hoc pacto sanus nihil erue ficti: rebus crede; vide, varia dum classe superbit ornatuque micat, damnantem proelia Martem torpentemque suae velut ad spectacula pompae. Litus Erythraeum proprias removemus ad oras, aut alio saltem crudescet sanguine Nereus. Verum est, o augur, nobis certamina restant cum Batavis, prisci restat certamen amoris, rixamur tumidas quis nostrum promptius iras deleat, et socium generoso vincat honesto.

Iohannes Maplet, Medicinae Doctor Ex Aede Christi.

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and earned the right to dedicate a Colossus to be built to him. Your sails fly forth, and the glory of your deeds flies alongside, and honours go hand in hand with your profits. The Belgian has granted that the realms of Neptune should return to your sway: and has a powerful role in so great a gift. Though Flushing refuses to be held by your soldiery, and the famous city of Brielle to redden with English flags, still the whole populace, rushing up, wants to be enclosed in our embrace, and in the yoke of our trust, be it the inhabitant of the Meuse or the people of Texel: the hearts of the seven regions come to make as many bastions on your Dune. Belgium now hands over to you her terrible tribes, formerly accustomed to protect their own cities, now external city-walls for you. Understand that warlike Denmark is your protection: the strength of the North is yours; that which the royal maiden shining both with the rays of her beauty and the light of her mind, softened for you when it was solid with cold, Englishmen, and established a treaty of love with her snowy hand. The remaining part of the world, which does not know the ties of affection, is yours through fear and is bound to you with trembling chains. What more could she have wished for them, she who ground down the might of Spain, that unconquered avenger of the sea, Eliza? You who are wise and prise open mysteries with ambiguous nod, whoever you are, be of sound mind and overturn nothing fashioned by this peace. Put your trust in events; see, while he glories in the allied fleet and glitters in his armour, Mars despising battles and settling down as if to watch his own triumphal procession. We are pushing back the shore of the Red Sea to its own beaches, or at any rate Nereus will be enraged by different blood. Certainly, O prophet, contests lie in store for us with the Batavi, there lies in store a contest of ancient love, and we wrestle as to which of us can wipe out our bloated rage more promptly, and vanquish our ally in noble integrity. John Maplet, Doctor of Medicine Christ Church.

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Passage 3 This poem, together with an English one in the same volume, represents the earliest published work of the great philosopher John Locke (1632–1704). It is a neatly obsequious epigram, based on the conceit that Cromwell combines the respective talents for war and peace of Julius and Augustus Caesar, and is hence superior to both. As such it is typical of the general run of contributions to university verse anthologies. From a minor gentry family, Locke had – like Maplet – attended Westminster School and proceeded to Christ Church in 1652, while John Owen was Dean. As a boy at Westminster, he would have been trained in Latin and Greek verse composition; among his later writings are a Latin speech welcoming Prince Christian of Denmark (?September 1662) and the Second Tract on Government (c. 1662; cf. Abrams 1967: 185–209; Milton 2019: 210–12). However, it was in English that he contributed to later verse anthologies: Britannia Rediviva (1660), published to mark the Restoration, and the Domiduca Oxoniensis (1662), which celebrated the marriage of Charles II and Catherine of Braganza. Locke’s family had Puritan and parliamentary leanings, but certainly by the late 1650s Locke displayed a pragmatic desire for peace and stability. His praise of Charles II, while representing a startling departure from the pro-Cromwellian rhetoric of the present poem, to some extent represents a genuine change of attitude. At this stage of his life there was little indication of the philosopher that he was to become: he seems to have spent some time studying medicine in the late 1650s, but did not encounter the new ideas of mechanical philosophy until 1700. The present poem sheds an interesting sidelight on a young man unsure of his future direction, but capitalizing on the skills acquired at school and on his university connections in order to catch the eye of prospective patrons.

Metre: elegiac couplet Pax regit Augusti, quem vicit Iulius, orbem: ille sago factus clarior, ille toga. Hos sua Roma vocat magnos, et numina credit, hic quod sit mundi victor, et ille quies. 5 Tu bellum et pacem populis das, unus utrisque maior es; ipse orbem vincis, et ipse regis. Non hominem e caelo missum te credimus; unus Sic poteras binos qui superare deos! Iohannes Locke, ex Aede Christi.

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The peace of Augustus rules the world that Iulius conquered: one made more famous by the soldier’s cloak, one by the toga. Their [native] Rome calls them great and believes them gods, the latter because he is the conqueror of the world: and the former, the peace. You give war and peace to the nations, you, one man, 5 are greater than both; you yourself conquer the world, and you yourself govern it. We cannot believe you a mere man sent from heaven; you who, one single man, were thus able to surpass a pair of gods! John Locke, Christ Church.

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Passage 4 Lazarus Seaman (d. 1675) came from a poor family and, after graduating BA from Emmanuel College, Cambridge, in 1628 and MA in 1631, was compelled by straitened circumstances to leave Cambridge and become a schoolmaster. By the middle of the decade he was preaching in London parish churches and had become associated with the Puritan community. He was chaplain to the moderate Parliamentarian Earl of Northumberland, with whose assistance he became minister of the London parish of All Hallows, Bread Street. As a Presbyterian, he supported church governance by a group of elders (Presbytery), unlike Congregationalists such as John Owen, who believed in the autonomy of individual congregations. In 1643, he was appointed to the Westminster assembly of divines, where he was an active participant; the following year, when the master of Peterhouse, Cambridge, was ejected, he was appointed as his successor. He served as ViceChancellor in 1653 and 1654. However, his focus remained on the metropolis: he preached before both Houses of Parliament, sat on committees for the Westminster assembly and served on the London provincial assembly from May 1647. In 1648 he visited the Isle of Wight to discuss church government with the imprisoned Charles I; in January 1649 he opposed the trial of the king, but continued to preach submission to the Commonwealth. He seems to have spent relatively little time at Peterhouse, where he quarrelled with the fellows, not least over the appointment of his son to a fellowship. At the Restoration, he was ejected from Peterhouse and, in 1662, from Bread Street. He died in 1675, leaving a library of over 5,000 volumes, which was the first to be sold by public auction in England. While his Oxford counterpart emphasized the university’s importance in underpinning Cromwell’s success, and claimed an advisory role, Seaman places Cambridge in a supplicatory position. Addressed to the Lord Protector, the poem asks forgiveness for past monarchical panegyric and proceeds to imagine Cromwell’s triumphal procession. Metre: elegiac couplet Ad Illustrissimum Celsissimumque Oliverum Reipublicae Angliae, Scotiae, et Hiberniae, Dominum Protectorem. Plurima Grantigenae cecinerunt carmina Musae, carmina temporibus congrua quaeque suis. Floribus his regum thalamos, tumulosque superbos conspersos cernas, quos dedit una manus.

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To the most Illustrious and Most High Oliver, Lord Protector of the Republic of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Abundant are the songs that sang the Muses born by the Granta, songs each apt to their own times. With these flowers you can see the bridal chambers of kings and their haughty tombs bestrewn, [flowers] that a single hand gave.

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5 Des veniam; nomen, Dux Invictissime, vestrum nostris inscriptum versibus esse sinas. Te Protectorem respublica nostra salutat, te Dominum, domino tu mihi maior eris. Quam facile est, Olivere, tuum grandescere nomen, si meritis titulos accumulare licet. 10 Primus Marte, nec arte minor, pietate secundus nulli, militiae gloria, pacis amor. Te duce, solemnes agit Anglia laeta triumphos, iuncto cum Batavis foedere tuta magis. 15 Te duce, divisos currat mercator ad Indos, et quocunque velit quisque viator eat. Quae fera grandisono tumuerunt aequora vento, depositis rident fluctibus, atque canunt. Quique ferox dubio certavit Marte, serena felix pace sedet, non sine pace tua. 20 Ad nomen pacis vultus in morte gravatos erigimus, Musae surgite, Phoebus adest. Praemisit natum mater veneranda, suasque ancillas praesto spondet adesse novem. 25 Tarda licet veniat, vitio ne verte; sororem praepositam sequitur, quae comes esse solet. Utraque iure tuos amplexus deperit; ulnis ambas ambabus suscipe iure tuas. In tanto rectore suo supereminet una, altera te natum vendicat esse suum. 30 Neutra tuas laudes, vel praemia digna rependat, proelia quis numeret, queis modo victor eras? O si perpetuo frueremur tegmine fagi, et quae magna satis gaudia, tuta forent. 35 Ite leves venti, placido mandate susurro ne mare compositum saeviat, ite leves. Qui sedet ad clavum prora puppique beatus praesideat, nullas obrutus inter aquas. Lazarus Seaman, Academiae Procancellarius Collegii Petrensis Praefectus

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Forgive us, I pray; most unconquered leader, please allow your name to be inscribed in our verses. Our Republic hails you as Protector, [hails] you as Lord, [but] to me you shall be more than a lord. How easy it is, Oliver, to enlarge upon your name, if one may heap up titles on your merits. First in warfare, nor any less in skill, second in piety to none, the glory of our soldiery and the beloved of peace. Under your leadership, joyful England enacts her ceremonial triumphs, [England made] safer by the pact agreed with the Batavi. Under your leadership the merchant can travel to the far-off Indies, and each traveller can go wherever they wish. The wild seas, which swelled beneath the booming wind, laugh, their waves stilled, and sing. And he who strove fiercely in a close-fought battle, sits happily in untroubled peace, and not without the peace that comes from you. At the name of peace we lift the countenances oppressed in the experience of death, arise Muses, Phoebus is here. Your venerable mother has sent her son on ahead, and vows that the nine handmaidens are here close at hand. Though she may come slowly, do not hold it against her: she follows a sister set in front of her, who is your habitual companion. Each rightly longs for your embrace, rightly take both these women of yours in both your arms. One stands out supreme in possessing so great a governor, the other is proud to call you her own son. Neither can repay you the praise [you deserve] or [give you] fit reward, who can count the battles in which you were just now victorious? If only we could enjoy the eternal shade of the beech tree, and if these great delights in our offspring were to be safe! Go, light breezes, and with a gentle murmur command the tranquil sea not to rage, go lightly. May he who sits at the tiller rule blest in prow and poop, and not be submerged among the waves. Lazarus Seaman, Vice-Chancellor of the University Master of Peterhouse

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Commentary Passage 1 (Owen) 1 Pacifica Augusti: Cromwell’s peace with the Dutch is compared to the pax Augusta, the Roman emperor’s ending of the decades of Civil War following the naval Battle of Actium in 31 bce. Augustus and his close associate Maecenas were notable for their deployment of the arts in support of the new regime, particularly the poets Virgil, Horace and Propertius. 2 Sanctior: Owen contrasts the pagan Augustus with the godly Cromwell. 3 cycnis: According to legend, the swan sang only immediately before its death. 4 ex humili . . . vate: Holberton reads this as an allusion to Owen’s lowly origins (2008: 84). It may equally refer to the sudden inspirational effect of the Treaty of Westminster: formerly a mere prophet-bard, Owen has now become a true poet. 7–8 consiliis . . . | Caesaris: an allusion to Cromwell’s role as Chancellor. 8 gens . . . togata: Used in classical Latin to denote the toga-wearing Romans, the term here refers to academic dress. 9–10 excideras . . . foret: Owen makes the bold claim that Cromwell and his achievements are only fully realized when commemorated in the verses of the university. 12 pax una foris diceris, una domi: Owen reminds Cromwell of the importance of domestic settlement as well as international glory (see Holberton 2008: 84–5). 14 nomen et omen: Cromwell’s reputation as a peacemaker needs to be validated further by future achievements.

Passage 2 (Maplet) 1 Exito . . . pinus: the metonymy recalls the opening of Euripides’ Medea. There the Nurse wishes that the pine tree from which the Argo was hewn had never been felled; here the intertextual echo gives an ominous tone to the exhortation. The Dutch ship is able to set sail because of the restrictions on trade lifted by the Treaty of Westminster. The second person imperative in -to denotes a command to be obeyed in the future (E. C. Woodcock, A New Latin Syntax, Bristol 1959: 96).

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Batavum: a contracted genitive plural of Batavi, the Roman name for the inhabitants of the islands in the Rhine delta, here (and elsewhere) used to denote the citizens of the Dutch Republic. 2 Maplet regards the sands of the Rhine delta as an unlikely provider of timber. 3 vulnera pacis: an allusion to Petronius, Satyricon 119, part of an inset hexameter poem of 300 lines on the Roman Civil War, which traces the origin of the conflict to the greed and corruption arising from the burgeoning of international trade. 5 fuge pauperiem: compare Horace, Epistles 1.46: per mare pauperiem fugiens (‘traversing the sea in flight from poverty’). Horace’s merchant rashly endangers his life in the pursuit of wealth. 7 nostrisque latens halecibus aurum: Maplet wrongly implies that the Navigation Act of 1651 has been repealed and that the Dutch have unfettered access to the rich fishing grounds of the North Sea. 9 Belga: as with Batavi (1), Maplet uses the Roman ethnonym Belgae to denote the Dutch. 12 solare: imperative of the deponent verb solari (‘to console’). 13 nullo crucis exhorrenda rubore: lit. ‘to be shuddered at with no blush of the cross-beam.’ This alludes to Cromwell’s edict that foreign ships in the North Sea or the Channel must dip their flags in salute. It was the failure of a Dutch fleet to carry out this obligation that led to the first battle of the war, in May 1652. 17–18 squamosaque longe | quam portas sanies: picked herrings, traded for wine. 21 Hesperidum fructus: an allusion not only to the trade in exotic citrus fruits, but also to the House of Orange. The peace negotiations in 1653 had reached deadlock over Cromwell’s demand that Charles I’s grandson, the four-year-old Prince of Orange (and later William III of England) be excluded from future government appointments; while a compromise was reached in a secret clause, it is unlikely that Maplet would have known this. The reference to the golden fruit of the Hesperides represents a veiled wish for the prosperity of Cromwell’s enemies. 23 Arcturus: the brightest star in the constellation Boötes (the Herdsman) and in the northern celestial hemisphere.

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leonem: in 1584, the newly formed Dutch Republic took a lion as its emblem. 24 ursa ferox: Ursa Maior, the Great Bear. Cynosura: Ursa Minor, the Little Bear. 27 aroma: the spices acquired from the East Indies. 30 Intrato: see note on exito, 1. The influx of Dutch shipping into Indian waterways is envisaged as a mingling of rivers. Gangen: Greek accusative of the river Ganges. 31 Mosa: the river Meuse, which rises in France and flows through presentday Belgium and the Netherlands before discharging into the North Sea via the Rhine-Meuse Delta – hence the Rhine’s designation as comes (‘companion’ or ‘partner’). Hydaspen: Greek accusative of the river Hydaspes, the modern Jhelum of northern India and Pakistan, site of the legendary battle between Alexander the Great and the Indian king Porus in 326 bce. 32 Amstelius: the River Amstel on which Amsterdam is founded. 33 Tamisin: Greek accusative of the River Thames. England – the Thames – lies behind all this mercantile activity. perfusus utrique: the dative indicates that the water of the Thames is added to the Dutch rivers. 34–5 gemiscit | Bosphorus: so productive is the trade with the Indies that the waters of the Bosporus groan beneath the weight of the ships. 35 Adriacae . . . irae: the notorious storms of the Adriatic are no match for the trading fleet. 36 quae nostrum accersit amicum: this may allude to attempts to find the Northwest Passage from Europe to East Asia. 40 triplex . . . tellus: the three united kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland. Thanks to the treaty, British harbours are open to Dutch ships. 41 nostrum . . . tridentem: The range of Dutch ships now emulates those of Britain, as symbolized by the Dutch lion holding Britannia’s trident. 42 quae maris: The text as it stands makes no sense. It seems plausible that Maplet intended or wrote quid maris, which was attracted to quae under the influence of the following line, and this is how it has been translated. I am extremely grateful to Stephen Anderson for advice.

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43–4 Quae gens . . . relabi: Strictly, this operates as an indirect statement (‘that conjoined powers run over the blue waters of the sea . . .’). 46 Anglicus halcyon: Maplet’s focus switches from the Netherlands to Britain with a mention of the halcyon, whose aitiology is told by Ovid at Metamorphoses 11.382–748 and who is a legendary bird that builds its nest on calm waters. By this period it was associated with peace, most particularly that enjoyed by England during the personal rule of Charles I in the 1630s (D. Palomo, ‘The Halcyon Moment of Stillness in Royalist Poetry’, Huntingdon Library Quarterly, 44, 1981: 205–21). Maplet’s apparent praise of Cromwell as peacemaker is thus undercut by a reminder of his predecessor. 51 Neptunia regna: echoes the Saturnia regna of the Golden Age in Virgil, Eclogue 4.6. 53 Ulissinga: the Dutch port of Vlissingen (Flushing), garrisoned by English troops between 1585 and 1616. 54 Brielae: Brielle (Brill) was similarly garrisoned. 56 Mosae: see note on 31. 57 Texaliae: the island of Texel in North Holland, the largest of the West Friesian islands. pectora Septem: the seven villages of Texel. 58 Dunae: the Dunes of Texel, on the island’s western coast, which today form a national park. 59–60 The force of this couplet seems to be that the ferocious Dutch tribes, which once guarded their own cities, are now protecting Britain against foreign aggression. 61 bellatrix Dania: Denmark, a Dutch ally during the war, had been included in the Treaty of Westminster at Dutch insistence. 62 regia virgo: Anne of Denmark (1574–1619), sister of King Christian IV (d. 1648), wife of James I and hence mother of Charles I. Hardly a tactful reminder to Cromwell of European dynastic networks. 66 Cetera pars: England’s traditional enemies, notably Catholic Spain. 69 optasset: a contracted form of the pluperfect subjunctive optavisset. Elisa: Elizabeth I (1533–1603), who in 1588 defeated Philip II’s Spanish Armada.

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70 Qui sapis . . . nutu: a puzzling allusion. Maplet may imply an identification between Cromwell and Apollo in his role as god of prophecy and oracles, which he then undercuts with quisquis es (71). 75 Litus Erythraeum: Now that peace has come, the sea is no longer red with the blood of naval battles. The only red sea, says Maplet, is the Red Sea – or at least one far away.

Passage 3 (Locke) 1 Augusti . . . Iulius: Julius Caesar had added Gaul (modern France and Belgium) to the Roman Empire in the 40s bce before defeating Pompey in the Civil War and declaring himself dictator; after his assassination in 44 bce his great-nephew and adopted son Octavian defeated his assassins and subsequently his former ally Mark Antony, ending decades of internal strife. While de facto monarch, he maintained the fiction of having restored the Republic, using the titles Princeps, ‘first citizen’, and Augustus, ‘revered’. 2 sago: sagus, the Roman military cloak. toga: The Roman citizen’s toga, worn especially by members of the senate, signifies peacetime government. 3 Julius Caesar was deified by the senate in 42 bce; Augustus on his death in 14 ce. 5 bellum et pacem: Cromwell conquers abroad and governs at home, combining the successes of both Augustus and Julius Caesar.

Passage 4 (Seaman) 1 Grantigenae: the Muses of the river Granta, properly the name of two of the tributaries of the river Cam, but here used as a synonym for the main river. 3 regum thalamos, tumulosque superbos: Seaman alludes to the publication of occasional anthologies (from the Greek for ‘flower’, hence floribus) on the marriages and deaths of kings. 5 Des veniam: the lines, and the eulogy that follows, illustrate the difficulty encountered by Protectorate poets in finding a discourse of praise that sufficiently differentiates the Cromwellian regime from monarchy. 7 Protectorem: Cromwell had officially ruled as Lord Protector since 16 December 1653.

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respublica: In English literature the term often merely carries the sense of ‘commonwealth’ or ‘state’. Here it indicates a government that has explicitly set its face against monarchy. 11 Marte: Mars, god of war, used as a metonym for ‘warfare’. arte: as well as providing an internal rhyme, the mention of Cromwell’s ‘art’ provides a reminder of his Cambridge education, though he never took his degree. 14 Batavi: the Dutch. See note on passage 2, line 1. 15 currat mercator ad Indos: cf. Horace, Epistles 1.45: currit mercator ad Indos (‘the merchant sets course for the Indies’). See also note on passage 2, line 5. The allusion generates an ambivalence over foreign trade and the pursuit of wealth, even in this celebratory context. 18 rident . . . atque canunt: an echo of the pathetic fallacy found in Psalm 65 (BCP): ‘the valleys stand so thick with corn that they laugh and sing’. The valleys laugh in neither the Vulgate (clamabunt) nor the King James Bible (‘they shout for joy’). – Cromwell’s dominion extends over sea as well as land. 19 dubio . . . Marte: literally ‘uncertain Mars’, used in classical Latin to denote a battle of uncertain outcome. 22 Phoebus: Phoebus Apollo traditionally commands the Muses in his role as god of poetry. The Roman Emperor Augustus claimed a special affiliation with the god. Seaman thus neatly alludes both to the artistic renaissance enabled by the coming of peace and to Cromwell’s similarity to his ancient predecessor as both military leader and peacemaker. 23 mater veneranda: in these lines Seaman cleverly blurs the distinction between Apollo and Cromwell. Here he may refer either to Apollo’s mother, the goddess Leto or Latona, or to Cromwell’s widowed mother Elizabeth, who took up residence with the family in the royal apartments at Whitehall and Hampton Court following Cromwell’s inauguration as Protector. 23–4 suasque | ancillas . . . novem: By specifying the number nine, Seaman implies a reference to the Muses, who might reasonably accompany Leto. The maidservants could also represent the women of the Cromwell household. 25 sororem: this could allude to Apollo’s twin sister, the goddess Diana (Greek Artemis), or ‘sister’ could be meant more metaphorically, to denote Cromwell’s wife, also Elizabeth (members of Puritan communities routinely referred to one another as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’). The absence of pronouns helps the text to resist interpretation until tuos . . . tuas in lines

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27–8, which makes it clear that the mother and ‘sister’ belong to Cromwell, the addressee of the poem. The gradual slippage from Apollo to Cromwell is eased by the intervening lines. 32 queis: alternative form of quibus. 33 tegmine fagi: Virgil, Eclogues 1.1. Virgil’s shady beech tree was regularly used in early modern literature to denote the shade cast by a patron or protector, and in mid-seventeenth-century England it had acquired strong royalist connotations. This instance of the image denoting the Cromwellian peace shows the difficulty of reading imagery and allusion along strictly partisan lines. It also suggests the extent of the challenge faced by writers attempting to devise a genuinely republican panegyric discourse. 34 satis: translated as ‘offspring’, but sata can equally well be translated as ‘crops’. Coming immediately after the clear allusion to Eclogue 1, Seaman’s satis gaudia may recall the laetae segetes, ‘happy crops’ of the opening line of Virgil’s Georgics. Seaman longs for a lasting peace that will enable him and his poetry to reside in the bucolic and agricultural world of the Eclogues and Georgics, not the martial and heroic one of the Aeneid. 37–8 The poem closes with the metaphor of the ship of state, an image originating in archaic Greek lyric, but read by early modern English writers above all in the poetry of Horace, especially Odes 1.14 and 2.10 (Moul 2015: 542–5). Horace’s helmsman steering a course through stormy seas was used as a symbol of government by writers on both sides of the Civil War, notably Andrew Marvell in the poem ‘The First Anniversary of the Government under Oliver Cromwell’ (1655). By ending the prayer for prosperity with an image of drowning, Seaman sounds an ominous note of uncertainty in the poem’s final words.

11

Political Poetry from Late Stuart Cambridge Cambridge Poems on the peace of 1697 David Money

Introduction Half their lives had been spent in wartime. For the younger students at Cambridge, peace might seem a far-off dream. At morning prayers they would hear the familiar, moving words: ‘Give peace in our time, O Lord. Because there is none other that fighteth for us, but only thee, O God’ (from the Book of Common Prayer). Inward, spiritual peace might have seemed more attainable than a cessation of worldly conflict. Though war did not touch their university city, it was not so very distant. For the British Isles war had erupted after the so-called ‘Glorious Revolution’ (1688–9), in which William III (reigned 1689–1702, initially as co-ruler with his wife Mary II) forced Mary’s father James II from the throne. Mary died in December 1694. That had been a shattering blow; it had also emboldened the Jacobites, supporters of James (Latin Jacobus), who was still alive and fuming in exile. With William as sole monarch – a Dutch usurper, in their view – there seemed every prospect for a Jacobite restoration. Elsewhere in Europe there were different causes of conflict: the chief issues were the desire of Louis XIV to expand the power of France and the determination of rival states to resist this expansion. Other wars have overshadowed the Nine Years’ War (1688–97) in the historical imagination. But it was fought on a large scale. A ‘Grand Alliance’ (chiefly William’s Dutch and English; the Holy Roman Empire; and Spain) faced Louis XIV. Great fleets clashed in the Channel; privateers were a constant danger to trade and travel. Besides Flanders, the main theatre of war, there was fighting on the Rhine, in Catalonia and Savoy, in Scotland and Ireland, even in North America and India. Towards the end, a force of 50,000 men might besiege a city (like Namur, 1695: mentioned in Passage 4), covered by a field army of 100,000, facing an opponent of similar size: very large numbers for the early 271

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modern period. Both sides were becoming exhausted, their treasuries drained. Throughout the summer and autumn of 1697 peace negotiations took place at William III’s palace of Ryswick (Rijswijk, Latin Resvica) near The Hague. Several treaties were agreed, on different dates; peace between France and England was signed on 20 September. The main advantage, for William, was the acknowledgement by the French of his status as England’s king and the removal of official French support for the Jacobites. Louis XIV also withdrew from some earlier conquests on the Rhine, while the Dutch gained defensive security, garrisoning fortresses in the Spanish Netherlands. With better luck, the Peace of Ryswick might have lasted longer; what doomed it was the failure to find a solution for the future of Spain, whose king was infirm and childless. There followed the better-known War of the Spanish Succession (1702–13). One might compare the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars a century later: in both cases, two decades of conflict, separated by a brief peace. In 1697, though, the peace seemed genuinely worth celebrating. When news of peace arrived, Cambridge chose to celebrate in Latin verse. The focus, strictly speaking, was on William’s return to England ‘after peace and liberty had been happily restored to Europe’ (Cambridge 1697: see Bibliography for full Latin title). Royal occasions were the normal topics for university verse collections: most recently in 1695, when both Oxford and Cambridge had lamented the death of Queen Mary. The 1697 Cambridge volume was an impressive one; well over 100 poets contributed. There was pride, too, in the phrase Typis Academicis (‘[printed] at the University’s press’) on the title page. Only in 1696 had the University chosen to take full control of its printing, having previously licensed commercial printers to act on its behalf. In fact, though his name does not appear, it seems that the commercial printer John Hayes did the work, his compositors being paid extra to speed their efforts; they had available new Roman types (ordered from Holland for the niversity). They could not wait for the arrival of new, larger Greek type; seven Greek poems (printed in the smaller font available) and one Hebrew (Money and Olszowy 1995) were relegated, with apologies, to a separate section at the end. Avoidance of delay, to remain topical, was always the principle behind the volumes (some Oxford examples: Money 2000). Thus the 1697 volume ‘was brought out with the usual despatch, being presented to the King on 2 December, less than three weeks after his return from Ryswick’ on 16 November (Forster 1982: 145). Accounts for the printing, dated 26 November (about two months after the news of peace will have reached Cambridge) record 200 copies of ‘Verses on the Peace &c’ at

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two shillings and sixpence each, and 100 on ‘best paper’ at three shillings each: totalling £25 and £15 respectively (McKenzie 2010: 79). Oxford chose not to produce a volume for the peace (the town did have a celebratory bonfire: Childs 1991: 341). That seems to fit the general picture of Cambridge as more Whig (and pro-William), Oxford as more Tory and Jacobite; but it is perhaps unwise to read too much into it. Both universities had plenty of supporters of both sides; and writers also concealed their true opinions. The Oxford Latin poet, Anthony Alsop, wrote patriotic odes on Britannia and Mary, and a long hexameter dialogue on the burning of the French town of Givet (1696): ‘in its contribution to the coming of peace, Givet was the greatest strategic blow delivered by the Allies’ (Childs 1991: 311), since it proved their ability to harm France on its own territory. At the very same time Alsop was writing verse for manuscript circulation, which made clear his strong Jacobite sympathies (Money 1998: 138–41, 272–4, 332–4, 336–41). In the opening poem (not included here) the unnamed Cambridge ViceChancellor (he was Henry James, President of Queens’ College: Cambridge 1697: sig. *2r) identified one problem with the peace: nec tamen hoste subacto (‘with the enemy yet undefeated’) – though that perhaps enhances the diplomatic achievement. Other writers handle a range of classical forms and models, sometimes with flashes of potential humour, in praise of William’s success. Some chose pastoral eclogues (Money 2006: 185–6); others produced irregular prose-poems, imitating inscriptions. The youngest poet, Charles North, was to die during the next war. He addresses the University with self-confidence, in an epigram of just four hexameter lines. The oldest and most accomplished Latinist here, John Laughton, is also the most childish in his vituperation of the French, with whom peace had just been made. He shows an unusual familiarity with contemporary French writers, whose propaganda for Louis he ridicules. The Jacobite danger had not gone away: it was to continue for more than half a century – that is, for the whole remaining lifetime of all our Cambridge writers, one of whom, Robert Walpole, perhaps did more than any other individual to prevent Jacobite success. In his youthful elegiacs, Walpole gives a clear view of why James II had to be removed, and strongly attacks those who continued to support him. Also included are two shorter elegiac pieces and two examples of Horatian-style odes. Since first encountering university verse collections, over thirty years ago, I have regularly found them worth looking at, for the variety and spirit shown in approaching their compulsory themes (see Money 2012 and 2015 for further references). Seven poets represent them here (Laughton in part, six others in full): I hesitate to call them ‘magnificent’ – but perhaps the ‘moderately interesting’ seven will do?

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Bibliography Cambridge [University] (1697), Gratulatio Academiae Cantabrigiensis de reditu serenissimi regis Gulielmi III, post pacem et libertatem Europae feliciter restitutam anno MDCXCVII , Cambridge. Childs, J. (1991), The Nine Years’ War and the British Army, 1688–97, Manchester. Forster, H. (1982), ‘The Rise and Fall of the Cambridge Muses (1603–1763)’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society, 8.2: 141–72. Gaines, J. (2013), ‘The Triple Failure of Boileau’s Ode sur la prise de Namur’, L’Erudit Franco-Espagnol, 4: 13–23. McKenzie, D. (2010), The Cambridge University Press, 1696–1712: A Bibliographical Study, Volume 2, Cambridge. Money, D. (1998), The English Horace: Anthony Alsop and the Tradition of British Latin Verse, Oxford. Money, D. (2000), ‘Free Flattery or Servile Tribute? Oxford and Cambridge Commemorative Poetry in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, in J. Raven (ed.), Free Print and Non-Commercial Publishing since 1700, 48–66, Aldershot. Money, D. (2006), ‘Eclogues and the English Universities’, Canadian Review of Comparative Literature, 33.1–2: 172–93. Money, D. (2012), ‘The Latin Poetry of English Gentlemen’, in L. Houghton and G. Manuwald (eds), Neo-Latin Poetry in the British Isles, 125–41, London. Money, D. (2015), ‘Epigram and Occasional Poetry’, in S. Knight and S. Tilg (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Neo-Latin, 73–86, Oxford. Money, D. / Olszowy, J. (1995), ‘Hebrew Commemorative Poetry in Cambridge, 1564–1763’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society, 10.5: 549–76.

Source of the Latin text Apart from Passage 2, all poems are complete. The source for all texts is Cambridge 1697: sig. A1v (Passage 1); D1r–D2v, lines 1–16, 57–78 (Passage 2); K1v–K2r (Passage 3); N1v–N2r (Passage 4); Q1r (Passage 5); Q2r (Passage 6); Cc2v–Dd1r (Passage 7).

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Latin text Passage 1 Ad Academiam, by Charles North, MA, of Magdalene College, son of the late Baron North of Kirtling, Cambridgeshire. Charles North is the youngest of these authors (c. 1679–1710), though he had been at Cambridge longer than most. He came to Magdalene, aged twelve, in 1691, on the same day as his elder brother William (aged thirteen), who had just succeeded as sixth baron. Charles became a fellow in 1698, later served in the English army, and died in Flanders, 1710. (William also fought in the English army, became a general, and survived; he was arrested for Jacobite plotting in 1722, dying in exile in Madrid, 1734. The eighth baron, Prime Minister 1770–82, lost some colonies.)

Metre: dactylic hexameter Ad Academiam Regem iamdudum longe super aethera notum Icariis plusquam pennis tua Musa sequatur, donec sublimi tangas tu vertice caelum; tunc tandem magni regis requiesce sub umbra.

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English translation

To the University May your Muse, on wings finer than those of Icarus, follow the King, who has long been famed far above the sky, until you touch heaven with the height of your head. Then, at last, rest under the shade of a great King.

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Passage 2 Lines from Indignatio Libera, by John Laughton, MA, of Trinity College. One of the most prolific and enthusiastic contributors to the university verse collections, John Laughton’s offering in 1697 covers four full pages, running to 162 lines, very long for an epode. From Yorkshire, John Laughton (c. 1649– 1712) is the oldest of these authors, having been at Trinity since 1665 and MA since 1672. He was University Librarian, 1686–1712, and had recently (1696) become a prebendary of Lichfield; he was working at this time on an edition of Virgil (published Cambridge, 1701). Metre: epode (alternating hexameters and iambic dimeters) Indignatio Libera

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Proiicite ampullas, solitosque remittite flatus, Galli canori rhetores, vatesque, historicique, quibus vox ferrea, Grandis Lodoix! nihilque aliud crepat. Scilicet audierit Lodoix, non pluribus impar! Dominator orbis! Unicus sol! Heros! Dux fulmineus! Diis proxima cervix! Populisque adorandum caput! Cymbala ad haec, Phrygiae matris ceu tympana, cristas semiviri, ut auresque arrigunt: thyrso ut, Iacche, tuo, aut Bellonae percita Maenas fanatico oestro; tinnula sic sistra haec quassant, Francum exululantque per urbes, Evoe Lodoix! Evoe, Lodoix! His crotalis senio delira anus, atque fatiscens Sorbona, mulcet Veiovem. [. . .] Sit pudor et finis. Clamorem inhibete profanum, et nenias sistite impias. Cernite quot risus vestri movere tumultus, stomachumque ut orbi moverint! Cernite ut obvertunt ora! Utque hinc surgit et illinc, liberrima indignatio! Hos, Tu, Richelidae fundata Academia, fumos quousque venditaveris? Hem! Quo grandisoni tibi concidit oris hiatus! Urbanitatis Gallicae

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Free Indignation Forget your bombast and set aside your usual proud words, melodious French orators and poets and historians, from whom an iron voice screeches ‘Great Louis’ and nothing else. No doubt he was used to hearing himself called ‘Louis, not unequal to many’, ‘Master of the world’, ‘Single sun’, ‘Hero’, ‘Lightning leader’, ‘Neck nearest to the gods’ and ‘Head to be adored by the populace’. To these cymbals, like the Phrygian mother’s drums, the unmanly raise up their cock’s combs, as they do their ears; like a Maenad stirred up by your thyrsus, Bacchus, or by the fanatical frenzy of Bellona. Thus they shake these tinkling rattles and go whooping through the cities of France, ‘Hurrah, Louis! Hooray, Louis!’ With these castanets does an old woman, crazy and exhausted with age, soothe her basement-deity: she is the Sorbonne. [. . .] [57] There should be shame and an end [to this]. Curb your profane clamour and stop these impious dirges. See how much ridicule your tumults have caused and how they have made the world sick of you. See how faces turn, and how on this side and that there arises very independent indignation! How long will you, an Academy founded by Richelieu, keep offering for sale these [empty] bits of smoke? Hah! What gaping of your pompous mouth has

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hem iecur! Insulsi ecquando te nausea cantus? Nunquamne taedia ceperint? Hui mendax lyra Boilaei et tuba rauca Peralti! Vesaniente turbidos fastu Borbonidae tumidis sermonibus aures inflasse quid tot gloriis iuverit? O nullis abolenda infamia saeclis tui, Peralte, saeculi! Quin etiam inscripti Lodoicis nomina Fasti, procul hinc facessite lugubres. Mentitis titulis Franci ventosa Gradivi hui! detumescat pagina.

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affected you! Hah! The [bilious] liver of French urbanity! Will you ever get sick of tasteless song? Will you never get bored of it? Hah! Boileau’s lying lyre and Perrault’s harsh trumpet! What use was it for them, disordered with 70 insane pride, to have blown such a lot of ‘Gloire’, so many swelling speeches, into the ears of a Bourbon monarch? Ah, Perrault, the disgrace of your ‘Age’ cannot be blotted out, even over innumerable ages! And so get far away from 75 here, wretched ‘Records’ packed with all the names ascribed to Louis! Hah! Let the overblown page with its lying titles of the French Mars start to droop.

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Passage 3 By Isaac Bigot of Clare Hall. Isaac Bigot, or Biggot, from France (and presumably a Huguenot, a French Protestant), was admitted to Clare Hall in May 1697. He took his MA in 1704. (Clare Hall is now known as Clare College; the modern Clare Hall is a separate, recent foundation.) Metre: sapphic stanza

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Iam minae saevi cecidere belli Gallia et turmas revocare coepit, docta, quid noster potuit potentem Caesar in hostem. Ille Gallorum timor, ille magnae Caesar Europae moderator, Anglos mox triumphalem comitante classem pace reviset. Impleat ventis placidus secundis vela Neptunus, moderetur undis, gloriae ducat sibi Gulielmum reddere salvum. Pacis auctori tibi gratulatur civis adventum, tibi vulgus annos optat aeternos, resonatque totus plausibus aether. Ipse nos privat radiis Apollo, et peregrinis fit amicus oris, ut tibi myrrham, tibi dona succos stillet odoros. Iam per herbosos equus errat agros, nec tubae terrent strepitus sonorae, gestiunt pratis vituli, renident mollia prata. Supplici myrtus tibi servit umbra, serviunt lauri, tibi celsa longe quercus assurgit, tremuloque pinus vertice nutat. Musa quo tendis male sana? Parvis magna ne pergas tenuare, rege sufficit tanto voluisse dignas dicere laudes.

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Now the threats of savage war have fallen; and France begins to recall her squadrons, having learned what our Caesar could do against a powerful enemy. He, Caesar, [instils] fear in the French, he moderates the whole of Europe; soon he will revisit the English, with peace accompanying his triumphant fleet. May calm Neptune fill their sails with favourable winds and restrain the waves; may he consider it adds to his glory to return William safe. The citizen rejoices at your arrival, as you have brought peace; the populace wishes you eternal life; and the whole sky resounds with applause. Apollo himself deprives us of his rays and becomes a friend to foreign shores, so that he may distil myrrh and sweet-smelling draughts as gifts for you. Now the horse wanders over grassy fields, nor do the blasts of the loud trumpet terrify; the young foals gambol in the pastures, and the soft meadows shine. The myrtle serves you with its humble shade, the laurels serve you; for you the tall oak rises high, and the pine nods with its trembling head. Where are you heading, insane Muse? Lest you go on to diminish great things [by comparing them] to small ones, it is sufficient to have wished to give worthy praises, when the king is so great.

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Passage 4 By Francis Goode of King’s College. Francis Goode (c. 1677–1739) was admitted at King’s College in 1695, as a scholar from Eton; he became a fellow in 1699 and took his MA in 1703. He later returned to teach at Eton, where he was Lower Master (1716–34). Metre: alcaic stanza

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Montis sacrati culmina si tenet, aut si deorum concelebrat dapes, me Phoebus aspirans volentem digna deo doceat sonare: dum canto laudes, et titulos tuae, Wilhelme princeps optime principum, virtutis, o tutela Belgae, Saxonidumque stator ruentum. Seu vis scatentem mille periculis transire pontum, qua retegit domos Plutonis obscuras dehiscens, mox rapidus ferit astra vortex: seu vis per amplos agmina Flandriae campos coruscis horrida spiculis disponere, et praesente Gallo, rumpere per scopulos Namurci. Hic vis retusa est Gallica, turbidi torrentis instar quae modo proruit, hic dura Wilhelmus furori imposuit iuga saevienti: audire magnos iam videor duces, hinc Anglus, illinc Gallus, Iber, ruunt; cinctusque Belgarum corona Moscoviae venit ipse ductor: omnes salutant pacificum tui, Wilhelme, numen: sive aliquem deum refers sub humana figura seu veterum unus ades parentum: sinas vocari te patriae patrem, et cum sat Anglis et tibi vixeris, caelestium accedas deorum ad numerum, faveasque votis. Sic post quietem gentibus additam caelo vetustas reddidit Herculem, conviva sic Bacchus receptus nectareis epulis recumbit.

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Whether he occupies the summit of the sacred mountain or joins in the feasts of the gods, may Apollo, breathing [inspiration], teach me, as I desire to make sounds worthy of a god, while I sing your praises and the titles of your virtue, William, best prince of princes, guardian of the Dutchman and supporter of the tottering Saxons – whether you wish to cross the sea that bubbles with a thousand dangers, where the gaping whirlpool reveals the dark abodes of Pluto, then soon rushes to strike the stars, or whether you wish to deploy your troops through the wide fields of Flanders, with bayonets bristling and flashing, and in the presence of the French to break through the rocky defences of Namur. Here the force of the French was checked, which had just now rushed on like a wild torrent, here William imposed a harsh restraint on their savage fury. Now I seem to hear great leaders – from this side an Englishman rushes up, from there a Frenchman and a Spaniard; and surrounded by a crowd of Dutchmen, the ruler of Muscovy comes himself: they all salute your peace-bringing authority, William. Whether you represent some divinity in human shape or are here as one of the ancient patriarchs, may you permit us to call you ‘Father of the Fatherland’; and when you shall have lived long enough for your own desires and those of the English, may you join the number of the heavenly gods and favour our prayers. Thus, after he had brought peace to the nations, antiquity restored Hercules to heaven; thus Bacchus, received as a fellow-guest, reclines for feasts of nectar.

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Passage 5 By William Worts of St Catharine’s Hall. William Worts, or Woorts (d. 1709), son of the University’s esquire bedel, matriculated in 1695, took his MA in 1702 and on his early death left his estate to the University. (St Catharine’s Hall is now known as St Catharine’s College.) Metre: elegiac couplet Quod tandem nobis libertas cara, quiesque, et defaecatae relligionis opus, aurea quod nobis redierunt saecula, princeps, debemus studiis auspiciisque tuis. 5 Sceptra tenes meritis. Nunc altior Anglia surget legibus antiquis, imperioque levi. Decerpant alii cum caede et sanguine lauros, noster rex populi solus amore potest.

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That at last dear liberty has come back to us, and quiet, and the work of a purified religion, and that the golden age has returned to us: we owe [this] to your efforts and auspices, [as] our prince. You hold the sceptre on your 5 merits. Now England will rise higher, on its ancient laws and under light rule. Let others pluck their laurels with slaughter and blood: our King alone can do so with the love of the people.

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Passage 6 By Robert Walpole of King’s College. Robert Walpole, the future Prime Minister (1676–1745), was admitted at King’s College in 1695 as a scholar from Eton, though he resigned his scholarship in 1698. He then succeeded to the family estate in Norfolk (1700) and went into politics, rapidly rising to prominence among the Whigs. He served as Prime Minister from 1715 to 1717 and from 1721 to 1742, and he was created Earl of Orford on retirement. Metre: elegiac couplet

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Viderat instructos Europa in proelia Gallos, coeperat et tandem permetuisse sibi. Quo fraus, quo feritas, quo nota superbia tendat, cura, timor populis omnibus unus erat. Horruit ante omnes Britannia moesta, tueri quod quae deberet dextra negaret opem. Intremuit, cum (quo non infelicior alter) ipse suas vellet prodere pastor oves. Quisnam igitur praesens propiora pericula pellat? Quem vocet heroum, quem vocet illa deum? Quem? Nisi, qui potuit toties fulcire ruentem, victrici et toties reppulit arma manu, Wilhelmum. Is tandem docuit te, Gallia, pacem velle, prius visam nil voluisse minus. Ergone securas (o ingens gloria!) gentes tot, tantasque urbes fraus dedit esse tuas? Ut tandem bello repetitae (dedecus ingens!) urbes et gentes ad dominos redeant. Quod furor abstulerat, quod multos bella per annos, vindice Wilhelmo rettulit una dies. Omniaque agnoscunt dominos iam laeta priores, Communisque novo foedere iunxit amor. Iam rediisti igitur, princeps optate; tuorum spes exples, praesens gaudia nostra foves. Semper grata dies, nostris quae te attulit oris, quae cum pace ferat, gratior illa dies. Quam laete vel Marte gravem te excepimus olim, annua testantur munera voce patrum. Quam laete fulgebit honos et frontis oliva,

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Europe had seen the French drawn up for battle and finally began to be very afraid for herself. Where their fraud, their savagery and their well-known pride might lead was the sole cause of concern and fear for all nations. Sad Britain shuddered, beyond all others, because her right hand denied the defensive help it ought to give. She trembled, since (the most unfortunate state of all!) the shepherd was willing to betray his own sheep. Who, therefore, could be on hand to drive away these very near dangers? Which of the heroes, which of the gods could she call upon? Whom, if not William, who could so often support a collapsing [state] and so often repelled [enemy] arms with his victorious hand? He finally taught you, France, to wish for peace, when previously you seemed to want nothing less. And so, did your fraud give you control over so many peaceful peoples (what huge glory [was in that]!) and make such great cities yours? Yet at last (to your huge shame!) those cities are reconquered in war, and the peoples return to their original masters. What fury had taken away, what wars had taken away over many years a single day restored, with William as the liberator. And all places now happily acknowledge their previous masters, and communal love has joined them in a new treaty. So now, longed-for prince, you have returned; you fulfil the hopes of your people and encourage our joys in person. The day is always dear to us that brought you to our shores; even more dear is that day that can bring you along with peace. How happily we received you then, even heavily encumbered with war, is testified by the annual grants voted by parliament. How happily

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et patrum, et populi vox tibi testis erit. Felix, ter felix, quem sic amplectitur ulnis, sic amat, et votis Anglia laeta colit. At vos infesti (si quis iam insanior odit quem sic eximium, sic meruisse videt) 35 parcite vel tandem convicia fundere, vel quae et dedit, et servat, parcite velle frui. Nos trahit astrictos Gulielmi regia virtus, nos trahit armorum gloria, pacis honor. Ibimus, haud mora, confestim nos ibimus omnes, quocunque ille vocat, quam iubet ille viam. 40 30

Passage 7 By William Sutton of Corpus Christi College. William Sutton (c. 1677–1731), from Kent, was admitted as a sizar at Corpus Christi College in 1695; in 1698 he moved to Pembroke College, where he was a fellow (1703–9). Later he was a clergyman in Norfolk. Metre: elegiac couplet Quae per ter trinos obnixa est fortiter annos Aeacidae telis, Aeolidaeque dolis, vis Priami decimo succumbit victa Pelasgis, praedaque Graiugenis Martia Troia fuit: 5 per nonam aestatem nostrum quoque Gallia Achillem sustinuit, fortes Myrmidonumque manus, horruit at decimam, cladis praesaga futurae, armorum et metuens fulmina, foedus init.

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will shine your honour and the olive on your forehead, will be testified to you 30 by the voice of both parliament and people. Fortunate, thrice fortunate, is the one whom happy England thus embraces in her arms, whom thus she loves and honours in her prayers. But you, hateful opponents (if anyone, now even more insane, hates one whom he sees to be so outstanding and of such great deserts), either stop 35 pouring out your insults at last, or stop wanting to enjoy the things which he has granted and which he preserves. As for us, William’s royal virtue holds our loyalty to him, as does the glory of his arms and the honour of peace. We shall go without delay, we shall all go forthwith to wherever he calls, on 40 whatever road he bids us.

Having bravely held out for thrice three years against the weapons of Achilles and the tricks of Odysseus, the force of Priam succumbed to defeat in the tenth year at the hands of the Greeks, and warlike Troy became plunder for the Grecians. Through the ninth summer France, too, survived against our 5 Achilles and the strong hands of his Myrmidons. Yet she shuddered at the tenth, foretelling future disaster, and fearing the thunderbolts of arms, enters into a treaty.

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Commentary Passage 1 (North) 1 super aethera notum: cf. Virgil, Aeneid 1.379: fama super aethera notus (‘famed above the heavens’ – Aeneas about himself). 2 Icariis plusquam pennis: why refer to Icarus, aviation pioneer and sunseeker? We are reminded of risk: they will need better wings than Icarus, and to make wiser use of them. Perhaps plusquam would remind some of civil war, from Lucan’s opening bella . . . plusquam civilia (‘wars more than civil’), such as the strife within the Stuart family. 3 sublimi . . . vertice: cf. Horace, Odes 1.1.36: sublimi feriam sidera vertice (‘I shall strike the stars with my soaring head’). 4 requiesce sub umbra: cf. Virgil, Eclogues 7.10.

Passage 2 (Laughton) 1 Proiicite ampullas: cf. Horace, Ars Poetica 97: proicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba (‘forget their swelling and gigantic words’ in Roscommon’s translation). For Horace tragic heroes, when exiled and poor, should put aside their grand language. Laughton applies this to humbled (though not exiled or impoverished) French authors. This sense of ampulla (lit. ‘flask’) is rare, perhaps Horace’s coinage (imitating Greek lekythos). Laughton’s phrase may also suggest flasks filled with ink or wine. He alludes also to Virgil, Aen. 11.346, det libertatem fandi flatusque remittat (‘let him give freedom of speech and set pride aside’), in itself appropriate, though the wider context (a speech by the unattractive character Drances) is less supportive. 4–5 Lodoix: Louis XIV. The italicized phrases are shouted out ad nauseam by French propaganda. I leave them in italics (rather than using quotation marks) to help emphasize Laughton’s point; scilicet (‘certainly’) indicates that they are quoted with sarcasm. Louis had adopted the Latin motto nec pluribus impar – implying that he alone was the equal of many lesser monarchs – to accompany his image of the sun. 9 Laughton’s footnote to tympana: V[ide] Lib[rum] cui tit[ulus est] Apollo Francicus (‘see the book entitled The French Apollo’). 9–14 The French authors are compared first to emasculated devotees of Cybele (the ‘Phrygian mother’); cf. Catullus 63. The cock’s combs (cristas) may refer to the cock (gallus) as a symbol of France. Then they are likened to female Maenads, devotees of Bacchus: capable of great violence (cf. Euripides,

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Bacchae), here reinforced by Bellona, goddess of war. Evoe is the Bacchic shout of joy. 13 Francum: contracted genitive plural, for Francorum (with circumflex accent, Francûm, in the original text). 16 Sorbona: the Sorbonne. Veiovis was an Etruscan deity, a power of the underworld (a kind of negative Jupiter), sometimes conflated with Apollo: doubly appropriate for the malign ‘Apollo’ of France. A vivid, vicious picture of a rival academy. crotalum (‘castanet’, ‘rattle’) is a rare word, suggesting wild and orgiastic dances. In the following lines (not included here) other French institutions and authors are mentioned, buzzing like flies and wasps. King William finally appears at line 41. 59 movere: third person plural perfect (for moverunt), accented (movêre) in the original. 63 Richelidae fundata Academia: Cardinal Richelieu founded the Académie Française in 1635. 65–9 Hem . . . Hui: colloquial expressions of surprise or disgust, found in Roman comedy and Cicero’s letters. 69 Laughton’s footnotes: 1 V[ide] Boilaei Oda Pindarica, cuius titulus Namurcum expugnatum. 2 V[ide] Peralti Poema cui tit[ulus] Saeculum Ludovici Magni (‘1. See Boileau’s Pindaric ode, entitled ‘The Capture of Namur’. 2. See Perrault’s poem entitled ‘The age of Louis the Great’). Footnotes are very unusual in university verse collections; the note numbers appear before the relevant word (lyra 1 Boilaei . . . rauca 2 Peralti). Nicolas BoileauDespréaux (1636–1711), poet and historian: his ode on the French capture of Namur in 1692 appeared in 1693 (several Latin translations were also made). It was widely criticized (Gaines 2013). The subsequent loss of Namur (see Goode’s poem: Passage 4, line 16) added embarrassment. On Perrault see following note. 73–4 saeclis . . . saeculi: contracted, or not, for metrical reasons: two longs needed at the end of the hexameter; the iambic allows a short between two longs (sec’lis . . . seculi in the original). Charles Perrault (1628–1703), famous for fairy tales; his poem Le Siècle de Louis le Grand (1687) celebrated modern writers ahead of the ancients. Ironically, given Laughton’s conflation of the two Frenchmen, Perrault and Boileau were in fact on opposite sides of the subsequent controversy of ‘ancients and moderns’.

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75 Laughton’s final footnote: 3 V[ide] Fasti Ludovici Magni Ed. Paris. 1694. Latine et Gallice. (‘See the ‘Records of Louis the Great’ published at Paris, 1694, in Latin and French.’) I take nomina as being (loosely) in apposition to Fasti, but am not certain what Laughton intends (possibly an error for nomine). 77 Gradivi: surname of Mars, the war god. We leave our selection here, with his impotence. Ridicule of the French continues to line 84; the second half of the poem focuses on William’s achievements.

Passage 3 (Bigot) 4–6 Caesar: it was normal for Renaissance kings to be compared to Roman emperors; Julius Caesar’s defeat of the Gauls adds another possible level of meaning. 11 gloriae ducat: duco with dative, ‘consider’. Bigot takes the first ‘u’ of Gulielmum as long (more often short: as at Passage 6, line 37). 14 civis . . . vulgus: the middle-class ‘citizen’ and the lower-class ‘mob’. 17–24 Pastoral, rather exotic imagery; a golden age of peace; cf. Virgil, Ecl. 4; also 10.42: mollia prata. 29 Musa quo tendis: a borrowing from Horace, Odes 3.3.70–2, the end of a powerful political ode, an appropriate model. The changed word order (from Horace’s alcaic quo, Musa, tendis?) reflects the needs of the sapphic metre; magna . . . parvis in Horace’s last line. 32 dicere laudes: Horace, Carmen Saeculare 76 (the last line).

Passage 4 (Goode) 1–2 Presumably Parnassus, sacred to Apollo and the Muses. 5 canto: with a short ‘o’. 7–8 William is guardian of the Dutch Republic; the Saxons are probably Anglo-Saxons (English), rather than from Germany. William has stabilized the ‘tottering’ (ruentum) English through the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688–9. 9–12 A dramatic and powerful stanza, bringing alive the dangers of the sea; cf. Virgil’s storm, Aen. 1 (103: waves ad sidera; 117: vertex / vortex); Horace, Odes 1.4.17: domus exilis Plutonia (‘Pluto’s house of exile’ – the underworld).

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13–16 The siege of Namur (1695) was the great success of Allied Forces in Flanders, remembered as an epic struggle in Laurence Sterne’s novel Tristram Shandy (first parts published 1759–60). Namur fell to the French in 1692 and was recaptured in the face of fierce opposition. 17 vis: this time, the noun. 21–4 The nations of Europe come to William for the peace negotiations. Peter the Great of Russia conducted a ‘grand embassy’ (officially incognito, but effectively public) during 1697–8; he met William in Holland in September 1697 and was invited to England, where he landed on 11 January 1698. 26–8 Flattery of monarchs as semi-divine beings is not unusual, in ancient or Renaissance writing. In the original text it is deûm, the accent indicating contraction of deorum. 29 The title pater patriae was adopted by Augustus in 2 bce, having been conferred by the senate on various heroes (Camillus, Cicero, Julius Caesar); among the ‘fathers’ of modern nations was William’s own ancestor, William the Silent (1533–84), a fittingly heroic model, though, like Caesar, assassinated. 30–2 Apotheosis: the ambition of Roman emperors and (at least in art) of seventeenth-century kings. Alluding to William’s death – hopefully distant (within five years, in fact) – by saying that he will only depart when he has lived enough for himself and for the English. 33–6 Two famous examples of mythical apotheosis; Hercules was seen as a model for Augustus (cf. Horace, Odes 3.14). There may be two senses to vetustas (34): ‘old age’ (Hercules achieved divinity at the end of his life) and ‘antiquity’ (myth); nectareis (36) recalls Horace, Odes 3.3.12 (where Augustus will be reclining to drink with Pollux, Hercules, and Bacchus).

Passage 5 (Worts) 2 The spelling of religio with double ‘l’ (to lengthen the ‘e’) is normal in verse. Worts means the established Church of England, saved from the dangers of Catholicism by the ‘Glorious Revolution’. 3 princeps: the term used for Roman emperors; in the Renaissance, applicable to any ruler. 5 Sceptra tenes meritis: the Revolution summed up in three words. William deserves the throne; James II did not. For Jacobites James’ right to the throne could not be so easily dismissed. Sceptra, plural (convenient metrically), reminds us of multiple ‘sceptres’, those of Scotland and Ireland as well as

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England (not yet a United Kingdom); William was also de facto ruler, though not king, of the Netherlands. 6 The mixture of tradition (ancient laws) and modernity (a lighter touch in government) in the Revolution settlement. Imperium – here ‘domestic government’ rather than ‘empire’ – with the adjective levis (‘light’) suggests the avoidance of oppression, of the kind seen under James II. 7–8 Not all subjects of William, naturally, would agree on his popularity; and as a war leader, even if not always the most successful, he too could claim laurels from bloodshed. But Worts makes a point that many English (if not quite so many Scots or Irish) would endorse.

Passage 6 (Walpole) 6 Britain is unable to help, while still ruled by James II. 8 James as the shepherd who betrayed his flock (he saw it differently). 9 The heavy-handed alliteration emphasizes the urgency; since dangers are propiora (‘very near’ or ‘closer’), the remedy needs to be praesens (‘present’). 10 deum: in the original text deûm (contraction of deorum). Cf. Horace, Odes 1.12.1–3: quem virum aut heroa . . . quem deum? 13 Wilhelmum: the enjambement, after the thrice repeated quem, is effective. The first of only two places in the poem (see 33–6) where Walpole does not pause at the end of a couplet. William’s achievement has been to tire out a previously over-confident and belligerent France sufficiently to bring her to the negotiating table. 15–16 A sarcastic reference to the Sun King’s pride in his ‘glorious’ conquests. 17 Ut: introduces a consecutive clause, to be taken with the previous couplet, i.e. ‘did you achieve all this illusory glory, only for it all to collapse in humiliation?’ 18 Walpole takes it for granted that the gentes (‘peoples’) are happier to return to their previous dominos (‘masters, rulers’) than remain under French domination; their previous condition was tranquil (securas, 15). 20 una dies: presumably the day on which peace was signed. The whole process in fact took months and involved various treaties signed on different days; but for any individual European state, perhaps there could be said to be a single day on which salvation (if that is what it was) was secured.

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21 Omnia . . . laeta: there seems no obvious reason (apart from metrical convenience) for these to be neuter; he has already used gentes in this context, and is perhaps wise to leave it vague. 23 optate: ‘longed-for’; perhaps recalling Christian imagery, as in the Latin hymn Optatus votis omnium (‘longed-for in the prayers of all’); a similar Virgilian vocative, Aen. 2.283: exspectate (‘long-expected’). 25–6 Walpole contrasts the day of William’s original landing, in his (successful) attempt to seize the English throne (5 November 1688 – the anniversary of another great event in the Protestant calendar, the defeat of the gunpowder plot in 1605), with the more recent great day of William’s return, bringing peace. 27 Marte: the God of war, very often identified with war itself. I take patrum (‘fathers’, 28) to be the politicians who enabled William’s takeover and continued to vote the funds to support nine years of war. 29 oliva: the olive-branch, as a symbol of peace; perhaps conflated with the idea of the laurel wreath, worn on the forehead. 31 amplectitur ulnis: cf. Ovid, Metamorphoses 11.63 – the doomed Eurydice, not the happiest parallel. 33–6 Walpole turns to address the Jacobites. His structure is compressed and hard to unpick: he packs much bile and bias into a few lines. It is notable that this is the only point in the poem where two couplets combine in a single sentence (at 13 he lets a single word run on into a new couplet). 37 astrictos: literally, ‘drawn close’ in loyalty to William.

Passage 7 (Sutton) 1 Nine years of Trojan resistance, before the Iliad narrative begins. Note the ‘-er’ sound three times (per, ter, fortiter). 2 Achilles was the grandson of Aeacus: cf. Virgil, Aen. 1.99: Aeacidae telo. Odysseus’ connection with Aeolus comes from an alleged affair of his mother with Sisyphus, son of Aeolus: cf. Virgil, Aen. 6.529: hortator scelerum Aeolides (‘Odysseus, encourager of crimes’). 3 Pelasgis: cf. Virgil, Aen. 2.83. 4 Graiugenis: cf. Virgil, Aen. 3.550. Martia with Troia may be Sutton’s idea; a martial city and supported by the god Ares (Mars) against the Greeks.

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An Anthology of Neo-Latin Literature in British Universities

5–6 Comparing William to Achilles is flattering, in a way; yet Achilles failed to survive or see Troy fall – and certainly did not return, as William is now doing. Myrmidons were Achilles’ Thessalian troops (cf. Virgil, Aen. 2.7). 7 Cf. Silius Italicus, Punica 9.1: cladisque futurae; Thomas May, Supplementum Lucani 3.137: cladis praesaga futurae. Sutton may have come up with the phrase himself, or possibly seen it in May’s popular work, regularly included in editions of Lucan. 8 The French are presented as less prepared than the Allies to continue the war, and as wiser than the Trojans in seeking peace. Notice how Sutton’s whole poem is a single connected sentence, over four couplets: quite different to Walpole’s method (Passage 6) of stopping at the end of almost every couplet.

Index of Names and Places This index includes the university cities discussed as well as the names of early modern authors, of the ancient authors referred to as inspirations and precedents and of the historical figures they interacted with as mentioned in the general introduction as well as in the introductions and commentaries to the selected texts. Aberdeen 2 Adair, William 179 Agricola, Rudolphus 11 Aikinhead, Alexander 180 Aikinhead, David 180 Aleandro, Girolamo 32, 59 Anne of Denmark (Queen) 14, 18, 89–117, 267 Aristophanes 32, 57, 151 Aristotle 8, 10, 11, 32, 33, 57, 80, 85, 149, 153, 179, 198, 199, 204, 214, 215 Ascham, Roger 13, 32, 34, 61 Bacon, Francis 12 Bacon, Roger 6 Baker, Philip 121 Barclay, Alexander 121 Baro, Peter 19, 119, 139, 152 Barrow, Isaac 203 Bellamy, Henry 157 Bigot, Isaac 282–3 Bing, Thomas 120 Boleyn, Anne 90 Bonner, Edmund 121 Bucer, Martin 120 Buchanan, George 14, 90, 91, 111, 113, 120, 135, 136, 177–201 Buckeridge, John 157 Cambridge 2, 3, 6, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, 19, 31–57, 59–87, 119–36, 137–54, 155, 156, 203–17, 219, 243–70, 271–98 Carr, Nicholas 15, 119–36 Catullus 292 Cecil, Mildred 120 Cecil, William 120 Charles I (King) 158, 236, 243, 244, 260, 265, 267

Charles II (King) 219, 221, 223, 258 Cheke, John 13, 31–57, 120 Cicero 8, 9, 13, 33, 54, 55, 57, 80, 81, 82, 83, 113, 114, 115, 116, 214, 222–3, 234, 238, 239, 293, 295 Clavius, Christoph 179, 196, 197, 199 Cleomedes 179 Colet, John 6, 84 Commandinus, Federicus 179, 196 Cooke, Sir Anthony 34 Copernicus, Nicolaus 196, 200 Cowley, Abraham 220 Croke, Richard 6, 10, 59–87 Cromwell, Henry 10, 219–41 Cromwell, Oliver 15, 219, 222, 234, 243, 244–5, 248, 252, 258, 264, 267–8, 269–70 Cromwell, Thomas 31, 32 Crowther, Joseph 157 Curione, Celio Secondo 34 Darby, Charles 206 Dillingham, William 121, 122 Dodington, Bartholomew 120 Drummond, William 179 Dublin 2, 3, 9, 219–41 Ducher, Gilbert 60 Duport, James 10, 203–17 Earl of Manchester 245 Edinburgh 2, 3, 12, 14, 177–201 Edward VI (King) 31, 138 Elizabeth I (Queen) 12, 13, 90, 119, 138, 139, 141, 267 Erasmus, Desiderius 6, 8, 32, 33, 54, 56, 59, 61, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 91, 140, 149, 237 Euclid 179

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Fisher, John 59, 84 Fleetwood, Charles 220 Fletcher, Giles 14–15, 119–36 Fletcher, Giles, the Younger 119 Fletcher, John 119 Fletcher, Phineas 119 Fox, Richard 60, 61 Foxe, John 18, 119 Fuller, Thomas 206 Gardiner, Stephen 13, 31–57 Gellius, Aulus 55, 61, 81, 82, 83 Glasgow 2, 89 Goode, Francis 284–5 Googe, Barnabe 121 Haddon, Clere 119 Haddon, Walter 13, 90, 119, 120 Hatcher, Thomas 120 Henry VIII (King) 31, 60, 85, 90, 138 Herbert, George 12 Heriot, David 180–1 Heriot, George 180–1 Hermogenes of Tarsus 8 Homer 82, 133, 203 Horace 54, 108, 109, 111, 112, 114, 115, 264, 265, 269, 270, 292, 294, 295, 296 James I and VI (King) 14, 18, 89–117, 181, 201, 267 James II (King) 270, 273, 295, 296 James, Henry 273 Juxon, William 157 Kepler, Johannes 179, 198, 199 King, Adam 178, 179, 180–1, 198, 199, 200, 201 King, Alexander 180 King, Clement 180 King, William 177–201 Laud, William 155, 157 Laughton, John 273, 278–81 Leland, John 90 Lipsius, Justus 90, 91, 110, 112, 115 Livingston, George 179 Locke, John 258–9 Lotichius Secundus, Petrus 120, 132 Lucretius 91, 110, 111, 112, 116

Maitland, Thomas 90 Malim, William 120 Maplet, John 244, 245, 252–7 Melanchthon, Philip 11 Melville, Andrew 14, 18, 89–117 Milton, John 14, 135–6 Montagu, Henry 12 More, Thomas 6, 60, 84, 85, 90 Nicolson, Thomas 180 North, Charles 273, 276–7 Osório, Jerómino 13 Ovid 55, 108, 109, 110, 111, 115, 122, 132, 133, 135, 152, 155–8, 162, 173 174, 175, 240, 267, 297 Owen, John 244–5, 248–51 Oxford 2, 3, 6, 7, 10, 12, 15, 17, 18, 24, 59, 60, 61, 70, 72, 76, 138, 141, 155–76, 204, 205, 219, 243–70, 272–3 Parsons, Philip 17, 155–76 Plato 32, 80–1, 179, 197, 198 Plotinus 197 Quintilian 8, 55, 61, 80, 82, 85, 86 Ramus, Petrus 11 Randolph, Thomas 206, 215 Ray, John 203 Redman, John 32 Robinson, William 158 Ruggle, George 17 Russell, John 220 St Andrews 2, 3, 14, 18, 24, 89–117 St John, Oliver 245 Sands, Patrick 180 Scaliger, Joseph Justus 90 Scaliger, Julius Caesar 196, 197 Seaman, Lazarus 245, 260–3 Seget, Thomas 180 Seneca (the Younger) 91, 112, 113, 115, 223 Seton, Alexander 181 Sidney, Sir Philip 119, 120, 244 Smith, Thomas 32, 34 Stubbes, Edmund 206 Sturm, Johannes 13 Sutton, William 290–1

Index of Names and Places Theocritus 121, 132, 133 Ussher, James 220–1 Valla, Lorenzo 11, 236 Velleius Paterculus 223, 237 Vintner, Henry 206 Virgil 56, 82, 83, 91, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 121, 122, 132, 133, 136, 245, 264, 267, 270, 292, 294, 297, 298

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Walpole, Robert 273, 288–91 Whitaker, William 120 Whitgift, John 139 William II (King) 243 William III (King) 15, 244, 265, 271, 272, 294, 295 Williamson, Caesar 10, 219–41 Willoughby, Francis 203 Wilson, Thomas 120 Winter, Samuel 219 Worts, William 286–7 Wren, Christopher 157

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