but a kind of tuning and rhyming fall in what they write. It runs and slides, and only makes a sound. Women's-poets they are called, as you have women'staylors. They write a verse, as smooth, as soft as cream; You may sound these wits, and find the depth of them with your middle finger. They are cream-bowl, or but puddle. Some that turn over all books, and are equally searching in all papers; that write out of what they presently find or meet, without choice; by which means it happens that what they have discredited, and impugned in one work, they have before, or after, extolled the same in another. Such are all the essayists, even their master, Montaigne, These in all they write, confess still what books they have read last; and therein their own folly, so much, that they bring it to the stake raw and undigested: not that the place did need it neither; but that they thought themselves furnished and would vent it. Some again, who after they have got authority, or which is less, opinion, by their writings, to have read much, and dare presently to feign whole books, and authors, and lye safely. For what never was, will not easily be found; not by the most curious, And some by a cunning protestation against all reading, and false ventitation of their own naturals, think to divert the sagacity of their readers from themselves, and cool the scent of their own fox-like thefts; when yet they are so rank, as a man may find whole pages together usurped from one author. Their necessities compelling them to read for present use, which could not be in many books; and so come forth more ridiculously, and palpably guilty, than those, who because they cannot grace, they yet would slander their industry. But the wretcheder are the obstinate contemners of all helps and arts; such as presuming on their own naturals, which perhaps are exellent, dare deride all diligence, and seem to mock at the terms, when they understand not the things; thinking that way to get off wittily, with their ignorance. These are imitated often by such as are their peers in negligence, though they cannot be in nature: and they utter all they can think, with a kind of violence and indisposition; unexamined, without relation, either to person, place, or any fitness else; and the more wilful and stubborn they are in it, the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, through their excellent vice of judgment: who think those things the stronger that have no art; as if to break, were better than to open; or to rent asunder, gentler than to loose. * * * * For a man to write well, there are required three necessaries. To read the best authors; observe the best speakers; and much exercise of his own style. In style, to consider what ought to be written, and after what manner; he must first think, and excogitate his matter; then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing and ranking both matter and words, that the composition be comely; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be laboured and accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward conceits, or first words that offer themselves to us, but judge of what we invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we have formerly written; which beside that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, it quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the time of setting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest, that fetch their race largest: or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our loose the stronger. Yet if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sail, so the favour of the gale deceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth; else we would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our judgment, and handle over again those things, the easiness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best writers in their beginnings. They imposed upon themselves care and industry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By little and little, their matter shewed itself to them more plentifully; their words answered, their composition followed; and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing; yet, when we think we have got the faculty, it is even then good to resist it; as to give a horse a check sometimes with a bit, which doth not so much stop his course, as stir his mettle. Again, whether a man's genius is best able to reach thither, it should more and more contend, lift, and dilate itself, as men of low stature raise themselves on their toes; and so oft-times get even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown and able writers to stand of themselves, and work with their own strength, to trust and endeavour by their own faculties: so it is fit for the beginner and learner, to study others and the best. For the mind and memory are more sharply exercised in comprehending another man's things, than our own; and such as accustom themselves, and are familiar with the best authors, shall ever and anon find somewhat of themselves, and in the expression of their minds, even when they feel it not, be able to utter something like theirs, which hath an authority above their own. Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a man's study, the praise of quoting another man fitly and though a man be more prone and able for one kind of writing than another, yet he must exercise all. For, as in an instrument, so in style, there must be a harmony, and consent of parts. I take this labour in teaching others, that they should not be always to be taught: and I would bring my precepts into practice. For rules are ever of less force and value than experiments. Yet with this purpose, rather to shew the right way to those that come after, than to detect any that have slipt before by error, and I hope it will be more profitable. For men do more willingly listen, and with more favour to precept, than reprehension. Among divers opinions of an art, and most of them contrary in themselves, it is hard to make election; and therefore, though a man cannot invent new things after so many, he may do a welcome work yet to help posterity to judge rightly of the old. But arts and precepts avail nothing, except nature be beneficial and aiding. And therefore, these things be no more written to a dull disposition, than rules of husbandry to a [barren?] soil. * * * Custom is the most certain mistress of language, 1 |