Which envy dothe pursue.”
On the 22nd of April, 1602, he was with great ceremony advanced to the honour of Lancaster Herald. He never surrendered his patent, and as his successor entered on that post in November, 1608, he is supposed to have died about that date, though some postpone his death till 1611. He married Elizabeth, daughter and co-heiress of Thomas de la Rivers of Bransbe, but left no issue.
There are many points of interest to be picked out of the following honest and straightforward bit of criticism, if we examine it closely: and, firstly, as to its author? Is there not something very characteristic in its general tone, something dimly sketching a shadowy outline of a kindly, fussy, busy, querulous old man, much given to tiny minutiæ, a careful copier with a clean pen, indefatiguable in collecting “contributions” to minor history; one jealous of all appearance of slight to his office, even to being moved to wrath with Master Speight for printing “Harolds” instead of “Harlotts,” and letting him know how mightily a “Harold” like himself would be offended at being holden of the condition of so base a thing as False Semblance? Perhaps the more so from a half-consciousness that the glory of the office was declining, and that if the smallest opening were given, a ribald wit might create terrible havock amongst his darling idols. How delicately he snubs Master Speight for not calling on him at Clerkenwell Green (How would Speight have travelled the distance in 1598? It was a long uphill walk for an antiquarian, and the fields by no means safe from long-staff sixpenny strikers); and how modestly he hints that he would have derived no “disparagement” from so doing; showing all the devotion to little matters of etiquette of an amiable but irritable old gentleman of our own day.
But mark this old gentleman’s description of his father’s collection of Chaucer’s MS.! Had ever a Bibliophile a more delightful commission than that one of William Thynne’s, empowering him to rout and to rummage amongst all the monasteries and libraries of England in search of the precious fragments? And had ever a Bibliophile a greater reward for his pleasant toils? “Fully furnished with a multitude of books, emongst which one coppye of some part of his works subscribed in various places ‘Examinatur Chaucer’!” Where is this invaluable MS. now? It is worth the tracing, if it be possible, even to its intermediate history. Was it one of those stolen from Francis Thynne’s house at Poplar by that bibliomaniacal burglar? or was it one of those which in a fit of generosity, worthy of those heroic times, he gave to Stephen Batemann, that most fortunate parson of Newington? Is this commission to be regarded as some slight proof that the spoliation of the monasteries was not carried on with the reckless Vandalism usually attributed to the reformers?
We learn from this tract that William Thynne left no less than twenty-five copies of Chaucerian MS. to his son, doubtless but a small tything of the entire number extant, showing that there were men amongst the monks who could enjoy wit and humour even when directed against themselves, and that there must have been some considerable liberality if not laxness of rule amongst the orders of the day. It would, I fancy, be difficult to find amongst the monkeries of our own time (except possibly those belonging to that very cheery order the Capuchines) an abbot inclined to permit his monks to read, much less to copy, so heretical a work as the Canterbury Tales, however freely he winked at the introduction of French nouvellettes.
But though some may have enjoyed Chaucer in all good faith, there were others who saw how trenchant were the blows he dealt against the churchmen of his time, and what deadly mischief to their pre-eminence lurked under his seeming bonhommie. Wolsey thought it worth his while to exert his influence against him so strongly as to oblige William Thynne to alter his plan of publication, though backed by the promised protection of Henry VIII. And the curious action of the Parliament noticed in the tract ([p. 7]) was doubtless owing to the same influence:[2] an assumption of the right of censure by the Parliament which seems to have gone near to deprive us of Chaucer altogether. The Parliament men were right in regarding the works of Chaucer as mere fables, but they forgot that fables have “morals,” and that these morals were directed to the decision of the great question of whether the “spiritual” or the “temporal” man was to rule the world, a question unhappily not quite settled even in our own time.
The notice of that other sturdy reformer, John Skelton ([p. 7]) is also very interesting, and gives us a hint of the existence of a “protesting” feeling in the Court of Henry VIII. before there was any reason for attributing it to mere private or political motives. From the way in which it is mentioned here, I suspect that the more general satire “Colin Clout” preceded the more directly personal one of “Why come ye nat to court?” which lashes Wolsey himself with a heartily outspoken virulence which would hardly have been tolerated by him when in the zenith of his power. It was not improbably written whilst its author was safe in sanctuary under Bishop Islip. William Thynne, court favourite though he was, could never have kept Skelton’s head on his shoulders after so terrible a provocation.
Wherever he may be placed, John Skelton stands alone amongst satirists, there is no one like him: possibly from a feeling that he was writing on the winning side, and sure of sympathy and protection, he scorns to hide his pearls under a dunghill like Rabelais, and utters fearlessly and openly what he has to say. Even in our own time,
“Though his rime be ragged
Tattered and iagged