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Not dight full proud, nor buttoned up in gold, His cope and jape17 were grey, and eke were clean;

A Limitoris he was of order seen;
And from the pathway-side then turned he,
Where the poor beggar lay beneath the hol-
man tree.

12

"An alms, sir priest!" the drooping pilgrim said,

"For sweet Saint Mary and your order's sake.''

The Limitor then loosened his pouch-thread, And did thereout a groat of silver take; The needy pilgrim did for gladness shake, "Here, take this silver, it may ease thy care, We are God's stewards all, naught of our own we bear.

13

"But ah! unhappy pilgrim, learn of me. Searce any give a rentroll to their lord; Here, take my semicope, 19 thou 'rt bare, I see, "Tis thine; the saints will give me my reward." He left the pilgrim, and his way aborde.20 Virgin and holy Saints, who sit in gloure,21 Or give the mighty will, or give the good man power!

FROM THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS*

17

And now Duke William marèshall'd his band,
And stretched his army out, a goodly row.
First did a rank of arcublastries1 stand,
Next those on horseback drew th' ascending
flo;2

Brave champions, each well learned in the bow,
Their asenglave3 across their horses tied;
Or with the loverds squires behind did go,
Or waited, squire-like, at the horse's side.
When thus Duke William to a monk did say,
"Prepare thyself with speed, to Harold
haste away.

18

"Tell him from me one of these three to take:
That he to me do homage for this land,
Or me his heir, when he deceaseth, make,
Or to the judgment of Christ's vicare stand.''

17 A short surplice (?). 18 licensed begging friar 19 short cape

1 cross-bowmen

2 arrow

3 lance? (Skeat)

20 For "pursued." 21 For "glory."

4 either

5 lords

G the Pope

He said; the monk departed out of hand,
And to King Harold did this message bear,
Who said, "Tell thou the duke, at his likand,7
If he can get the crown, he may it wear."
He said, and drove the monk out of his sight,
And with his brothers roused each man to
bloody fight.

19

A standard made of silk and jewels rare, Wherein all colours, wrought about in bighes,s An armèd knight was seen death-doing there, Under this motto-"He conquers or he dies.'' This standard rich, endazzling mortal eyes, Was borne near Harold at the Kenters' head, Who charged his brothers for the great emprise,

That straight the hest10 for battle should be spread.

To every earl and knight the word is given, And cries "a guerre!''11 and slogans shake the vaulted heaven.

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So did the men of war at once advance,
Linked man to man, appeared one body light;
Above, a wood, y-formed of bill and lance,
That nodded in the air, most strange to sight;
Hard as the iron were the men of might,
No need of slogans to enrouse their mind;
Each shooting spear made ready for the fight.
More fierce than falling rocks, more swift than
wind;

With solemn step, by echo made more dire, One single body all, they marched, their eyes on fire.

22

And now the grey-eyed morn with violets drest,

There are two versions of this poem, one of Shaking the dewdrops on the flowery meads,

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Then sank to glory and eternal rest.
Neville, a Norman of all Normans best,
Through the joint cuishè did the javelin feel,
As he on horseback for the fight addressed,
And saw his blood come smoking o'er the steel;
He sent the avenging flo into the air,

And turned his horse's head, and did to leech repair.

27

And now the javelins, barbed with deathès wings,

Hurled from the English hands by force aderne,22

Whizz drear along, and songs of terror sings,
Such songs as always closed in life eterne.
Hurled by such strength along the air they
burn,

Not to be quenchèd but in Normans' blood.
Where'er they came, they were of life forlorn,
And always followed by a purple flood.
Like clouds the Norman arrows did descend,
Like clouds of carnage full, in purple drops
did end.

SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784)

FROM THE PLAN OF AN ENGLISH
DICTIONARY*

To the Right Honourable Philip Dormer, Earl
of Chesterfield, One of His Majesty's
MY LORD,
Principal Secretaries of State.

When first I undertook to write an English Dictionary, I had no expectation of any higher patronage than that of the proprietors of the copy, nor prospect of any other advantage than in which I engaged is generally considered as the price of my labour. I knew that the work drudgery for the blind, as the proper toil of artless industry; a task that requires neither the light of learning, nor the activity of genius, higher quality than that of bearing burthens but may be successfully performed without any with dull patience, and beating the track of the alphabet with sluggish resolution.

Whether this opinion, so long transmitted,

22 cruel

* Johnson's ponderous diction may have been in some measure due to his labors in the field of lexicography, though doubtless much more to his habit of thinking in general and abstract terms. It was jestingly said in his time that he used hard words in the Rambler papers on purpose to make his forthcoming Dictionary indispensable. Yet the diction confers a not unpleasing dignity upon the wisdom it clothes; and it grew more chastened with time, as is shown by the admirabl style of his Lives of the Poets. See Eng. Lit., 208-209.

and so widely propagated, had its beginning | prosecuted under your Lordship's influence; from truth and nature, or from accident and and I know that expectation, when her wings prejudice; whether it be decreed by the author- are once expanded, easily reaches heights which ity of reason, or the tyranny of ignorance, that performance never will attain; and when she of all the candidates for literary praise, the has mounted the summit of perfection, derides unhappy lexicographer holds the lowest place, her follower, who dies in the pursuit. neither vanity nor interest incited me to enquire. It appeared that the province allotted me was, of all the regions of learning, generally confessed to be the least delightful, that it was believed to produce neither fruit nor flowers; and that, after a long and laborious cultivation. not even the barren laurelf had been found upon it.

Yet on this province, my Lord, I entered, with the pleasing hope that, as it was low, it likewise would be safe. I was drawn forward with the prospect of employment, which, though not splendid, would be useful; and which, though it could not make my life envied, would keep it innocent; which would awaken no passion, engage me in no contention, nor throw in my way any temptation to disturb the quiet of others by censure, or my own by flattery.

I had read indeed of times in which princes and statesmen thought it part of their honour to promote the improvement of their native tongues; and in which dictionaries were written under the protection of greatness. To the patrons of such undertakings I willingly paid the homage of believing that they, who were thus solicitous for the perpetuity of their language, had reason to expect that their actions would be celebrated by posterity, and that the eloquence which they promoted would be employed in their praise. But I consider such acts of beneficence as prodigies, recorded rather to raise wonder than expectation; and content with the terms that I had stipulated, had not suffered my imagination to flatter me with any other encouragement, when I found that my design had been thought by your Lordship of importance sufficient to attract your favour.

How far this unexpected distinction can be rated among the happy ineidents of life, I am not yet able to determine. Its first effect has been to make me anxious lest it should fix the attention of the public too much upon me, and. as it once happened to an epic poet of France.‡ by raising the reputation of the attempt, ob struct the reception of the work. I imagine what the world will expect from a scheme The actual laurel is not barren, whatever be thought of the triumphs it symbolizes. Chapelain's La Pucelle, heralded for many years, was coldly received after publication.

Not therefore to raise expectation, but to repress it, I here lay before your Lordship the Plan of my undertaking, that more may not be demanded than I intend; and that, before it is too far advanced to be thrown into a new method, I may be advertised of its defects or superfluities. Such informations I may justly hope, from the emulation with which those, who desire the praise of elegance or discernment, must contend in the promotion of a design that you, my Lord, have not thought unworthy to share your attention with treaties and with wars.

[Then follows the plan, with many details of vocabulary, orthography, pronunciation, etc.] When I survey the Plan which I have laid before you, I cannot, my Lord, but confess that I am frighted at its extent, and, like the soldiers of Cæsar, look on Britain as a new world, which it is almost madness to invade. But I hope that though I should not complete the conquest, I shall at least discover the coast, civilize part of the inhabitants, and make it easy for some other adventurer to proceed farther, to reduce them wholly to subjection, and settle them under laws.

We are taught by the great Roman orator, that every man should propose to himself the highest degree of excellence, but that he may stop with honour at the second or third: though therefore my performance should fall below the excellence of other dictionaries, I may obtain, at least, the praise of having endeavoured well; nor shall I think it any reproach to my diligence that I have retired, without a triumph, from a contest with united academies and long successions of learned compilers. I cannot hope, in the warmest moments, to preserve so much caution through so long a work, as not often to sink into negligence, or to obtain so much knowledge of all its parts as not frequently to fail by ignorance. I expect that sometimes the desire of accuracy will urge me to superfluities, and sometimes the fear of prolixity betray me to omissions: that in the extent of such variety, I shall be often bewildered; and in the mazes of such intricacy, he frequently entangled: that in one part refinement will be subtilized beyond exactness, and evidence dilated in another beyond perspicuity. Yet I do not despair of approbation from those

who, knowing the uncertainty of conjecture, the scantiness of knowledge, the fallibility of memory, and the unsteadiness of attention, can compare the causes of error with the means of avoiding it, and the extent of art with the capacity of man; and whatever be the event of my endeavours, I shall not easily regret an attempt which has procured me the honour of appearing thus publicly,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's most obedient, and most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.

LETTER TO LORD CHESTERFIELD*

(Feb. 7, 1755)

To the Right Honourable the Earl of Chesterfield. MY LORD:

I have been lately informed by the proprietor of the World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by your Lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

When, upon some slight encouragement, first visited your Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre;1-that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little en couraged that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your Lordship in public, I had ex

1 "The conqueror of the conqueror of the world" (Boileau).

Johnson told me." says Boswell, "that there never was any particular incident which produced a quarrel between Lord Chesterfield and him but that his Lordship's continued neglect was the reason why he resolved to have no connection with him. When the Dictionary was upon the eve of publication. Lord Chesterfield, who, it is said, had flattered himself with expectations that Johnson would dedicate the work to him. attempted to conciliate him, by writing two papers in The World, in recommendation of the work." "Upon which," commented Johnson. "I wrote him a letter expressed in civil terms, but such as might show him that

did not mind what he said or wrote, and that I had done with him." Boswell later obtained a copy of this celebrated letter. and gave it to the world. Carlyle, in his essay on Boswell's Life of Johnson, speaks of it as "that far-famed Blast of Doom, proclaiming into the ear of Lord Chesterfield.

and, through him, of the listening world, that patronage should be no more." See Eng. Lit., p. 208.

hausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a Patron before.

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks.2

Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the Public should consider me as owing that to a Patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's most humble,
Most obedient servant.

SAM. JOHNSON.

FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY, 1755

In hope of giving longevity to that which its own nature forbids to be immortal, I have devoted this book, the labour of years, to the honour of my country, that we may no longer yield the palm of philology, without a contest, to the nations of the continent. The chief glory of authors: every people arises from its whether I shall add anything by my own writ ings to the reputation of English literature, must be left to time: much of my life has

2 Eclogue VIII, 43.

been lost under the pressure of disease; much readiness, and which will come uncalled into has been trifled away;* and much has always his thoughts to-morrow. been spent in provision for the day that was passing over me; but I shall not think my employment useless or ignoble, if by my assistance foreign nations and distant ages gain access to the propagators of knowledge, and understand the teachers of truth; if my labours afford light to the repositories of science, and add celebrity to Bacon, to Hooker, to Milton, and to Boyle.3

When I am animated by this wish, I look with pleasure on my book, however defective, and deliver it to the world with the spirit of a man that has endeavoured well. That it will immediately become popular I have not promised to myself: a few wild blunders and risible absurdities, from which no work of such multiplicity was ever free, may for a time furnish folly with laughter and harden ignorance into contempt; but useful diligence will at last prevail, and there never can be wanting some who distinguish desert; who will consider that no dictionary of a living tongue ever can be perfect, since, while it is hastening to publication, some words are budding, and some falling away; that a whole life cannot be spent upon syntax and etymology, and that even a whole life would not be sufficient; that he, whose design includes whatever language can express, must often speak of what he does not understand; that a writer will sometimes be hurried by eagerness to the end, and sometimes faint with weariness under a task which Scaliger compares to the labours of the anvil and the mine; that what is obvious is not always known, and what is known is not always present; that sudden fits of inadvertency will surprise vigilance, slight avocations will seduce attention, and casual eclipses of the mind will darken learning; and that the writer shall often in vain trace his memory, at the moment of need, for that which yesterday he knew with intuitive

3 Robert Boyle, the natural philosopher, 1627-1691. 4 A European scholar of the 16th century. * Boswell reports Johnson as saying: "I have been trying to cure my laziness all my life, and

could not do it." Johnson spoke prophetically. Among amusing entries, some of course intentional, Boswell has noted the following: Lexicographer. A writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge. Pension. An allowance made to any one without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his country. Oats. A grain which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.

In this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that much likewise is performed; and though no book was ever spared out of tenderness to the author, and the world is little solicitous to know whence proceed the faults of that which it condemns, yet it may gratify curiosity to inform it that the "English Dictionary" was written with little assistance of the learned, and without any patronage of the great; not in the soft obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of academic bowers, but amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness and in sorrow.‡ It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to observe, that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an attempt which no human powers have hitherto completed. If the lexicons of ancient tongues, now immutably fixed, and comprised in a few volumes, be yet, after the toil of successive ages, inadequate and delusive; if the aggregated knowledge and co-operating diligence of the Italian academicians did not secure them from the censure of Beni;§ if the embodied crities of France, when fifty years had been spent upon their work, were obliged to change its economy,5 and give their second edition another form, I may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, which, if I could obtain, in this gloom of solitude, what would it avail me? I have protracted my work till most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the grave, and success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise.

FROM THE PREFACE TO AN EDITION OF

SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS, 1765-1768

the revision, may now begin to assume the dig The poet, of whose works I have undertaken nity of an ancient, and claim the privilege of established fame and prescriptive veneration. He has long outlived his century, the term commonly fixed as the test of literary merit. Whatever advantages he might once derive from personal allusions, local customs, or temporary opinions, have for many years been lost; and every topic of merriment, or motive of sorrow, which the modes of artificial life

5 system

Johnson's wife died March 17, 1752, and the anniversary of her death he spent "in prayer and self-examination."

Network. Anything reticulated or decussated at equal distances, with interstices between § He objected to their basing their lexicon on the intersections.

Tuscan usage.

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