“To make his English sweet upon his tongue.”
It was the general clownishness against which he revolted, and we owe him our thanks for it. To show of what brutalities even recent writers could be capable, it will suffice to mention that Golding, in his translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, makes a witch mutter the devil’s pater-noster, and Ulysses express his fears of going “to pot.” I should like to read you a familiar sonnet of Sidney’s for its sweetness:—
“Come, Sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
The indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof, shield me from out the press
Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw;
O make in me those civil wars to cease:
I will good tribute pay if thou do so.