THE GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER
Flee from the crowd and dwell with truthfulness,
Contented with thy good, though it be small.
Treasure breeds hate and climbing dizziness;
The world is envious, wealth beguiles us all.
Care not for loftier things than to thee fall,
Counsel thyself, who counsel'st others' need,
And Truth shall thee deliver without dread.
Pain thee not all the crooked to redress,
Trusting to her who turneth as a ball;
For little meddling wins much easiness.
Beware lest thou dost kick against an awl!
Strive not, as doth a clay pot with a wall.
Judge thou thyself, who judgest others' deeds,
And Truth shall thee deliver without dread.
All that is sent receive with cheerfulness:
To wrestle with this world inviteth fall.
Here is no home, here is but wilderness.
Forth! pilgrim, forth! Forth, beast, out of thy stall!
Look up on high, and thank thy God for all!
Cast by ambition, let thy soul thee lead,
And Truth shall thee deliver, without dread.
CHAUCER'S TOMB.
CHAPTER XV
SPENSER, ADDISON, AND THE POETS' CORNER
Chaucer was buried in the year 1400, and it was close upon two hundred years before another great poet, Edmund Spenser, "followed here the footing of his feet." During much of this interval England had been in a state of unrest and excitement. First the Wars of the Roses, then the Reformation, with the bitter persecutions that followed it, had stirred men to the very core. Their eyes had been dazzled by the sudden and vehement changes which had followed each other. English blood had flown freely, English life had been offered up on English soil, not only in the great battles of the Civil War, but on scaffolds and in fiery names. It had not been an age for poets or writers. Of the few who have left their mark on our literature during that time, John Wycliffe had not even been allowed to rest in peace after death, for his body was taken from its grave and burnt, and his ashes were thrown into the river Swift, while both Sir Thomas More and the Earl of Surrey had been executed at the command of Henry VIII. One important piece of work had indeed been commenced and carried on during those days of storm which affected both earlier and later writers, and which was distinctly connected with the Abbey. For in the year 1477, William Caxton had settled with his printing press in the Almonry at Westminster, and had issued his famous advertisement, in which he had made known the fact "that if it should plese ony man, spiritual or temporal, to bye ony pyes of two and three commemoracions of Salisbro's use, enpryntid after the forme of this present lettre, which been wel and truly correct, lete hym come to Westmonester into the Almonerye at the Red Pale, and he shal have them good chepe." He had learned his art in Cologne and Bruges, having lived for nearly thirty years in the latter place, where he traded as a merchant, and during those years he had translated a number of books into English. Why he settled on Westminster when at last he returned to England as a middle-aged man, we know not, unless it was that he fancied he should find quiet and security under the walls of the Abbey, or that the abbots and monks, as the patrons of learning, would prove themselves good friends to him. But here he came, and here from his study, "where lay many and diverse paunflettis and bookys," this wonderful man, who was master-printer, translator, corrector, and editor, worked and directed his apprentices. Over a hundred different books were issued from this press, among them being "The Canterbury Tales," the "fayre and ornate termes" of which gave Caxton "such greate playsir," that he desired to make them widely known. Many people, some friends, some strangers, found their way, full of curiosity and interest, to the quaint house, which was marked by a large white shield with a red bar, there to watch Master Caxton and his workmen at their strange new craft, and many shook their heads, declaring that "so many books could never find purchasers." But the wise printer heeded them not. He worked with a will from morn till eve, and marked his hours by the Abbey bells. It was not only Chaucer's writings that he gave to the public, but many other works which without him would long have remained unknown or forgotten, and more than any one else he helped to fix the language which Chaucer had used, by himself using the same in all his translations. His busy life came to an end in 1491, and he was buried in the Church of St. Margaret's, Westminster. But at the sign of the Red Pale his favourite apprentice, Wynken de Worde, carried on the master's work with the same extraordinary industry, producing no fewer than five hundred separate books up to the time of his death in 1535. This date brings us to within about twenty years of the time when Edmund Spenser, Walter Raleigh, and Philip Sidney, the singing birds and knightly spirits of the Elizabethan Court, were born. Like Chaucer, Spenser was a Londoner and he describes his birthplace as
"The merry London, my most kyndly nurse,
That to me gave this life's first active source."
He proudly declared that "he took his name from an ancient house," but we know little of his immediate family. His boyhood was spent at Smithfield, then within easy reach of woods and fields, and he has given us a glimpse of it in these words, which show that he was a boy very much like all other boys:—
"Whilome in youth, when flowed my joy full spring
Like swallow swift, I wandered here and there
for heat of headlesse lust me did so sting,
That I oft doubted daunger, had no fear:
I went the wastefull woodes and forrest wide
Withouten dread of wolves to bene espied.
"I wont to raunge amid the mazie thicket,
And gather nuttes to make my Christmas game,
And joyed oft to chase the trembling pricket,
Or hunt the hartlesse hare till she were tame.
What wrecked I of wintrie age's waste?
Tho' deemed I my spring would ever last.
"How often have I scaled the craggie oke,
All to dislodge the raven of her nest?
How have I wearied with many a stroke
The stately walnut tree, the while the rest
Under the tree fell all for nuttes at strife?
For like to me was libertye and life."