put it all bloody in the hand of Gisippus, being fast asleep, and so departed. Soon after, the dead man being found, the officers made diligent search for the murderer: at the last they entering into the barn, and finding Gisippus asleep, with the bloody knife in his hand, awaked him; wherewith he entered again into his old sorrows, complaining his evil fortune. But when the officers laid unto him the death of the man, and the having of the bloody knife, thereat rejoiced, thanking God that such occasion was happened, whereby he should suffer death by the laws, and escape the violence of his own hands. Wherefore he denied nothing that was laid to his charge, desiring the officers to make haste that he might be shortly out of his life. Whereat they marvelled. Anon, report came to the Senate, that a man was slain, and that a stranger, and a Greek born, was found in such form as is before-mentioned. They forthwith commanded him to be brought unto their presence, sitting there at that time, Titus being then Consul, or in other like dignity. The miserable Gisippus was brought to the bar, with bills and staves like a felon, of whom it was demanded if he slew the man that was founden dead. He nothing denied, but in most sorrowful manner cursed his fortune, naming himself of all other most miserable. At the last one demanding him of what country he was, he confessed to be an Athenian, and therewith he cast his sorrowful eyen upon Titus with much indignation, and burst out into sighs and tears abundantly. That beholding Titus, and espying by a little sign in his visage, which he knew, that it was his dear friend Gisippus, and anon considering that he was brought into despair by some misadventure, rose out of his place where he sat, and falling on his knees before the judges, said that he had slain the man for old malice that he bare toward him, and that Gisippus, being a stranger, was guiltless, and all men mought perceive that the other was a desperate person. Wherefore to abbreviate his sorrows, he confessed the act whereof he was innocent, to the intent that he would finish his sorrows with death, wherefore Titus desired the judges to give sentence on him according to his merits. But Gisippus, perceiving his friend Titus (contrary to his expectation) to offer himself to the death for his safeguard, more importunately cried to the Senate to proceed in their judgment on him, that was the very offender. Titus denied, and affirmed with reasons and arguments that he was the murderer, and not Gisippus. Thus they of long time, with abundance of tears, contended which of them should die for the other, whereat all the Senate and people were wonderfully abashed, not knowing what it meant. The murderer in deed happened to be in the preace' at that time, who, perceiving the marvellous contention of these two persons, which were both innocent, and that it proceeded of an incomparable friendship, was vehemently provoked to discover the truth. Wherefore he brake through the preace, and coming before the Senate, spake in this wise: "Noble fathers, I am such a person, whom ye know have been a common barrator and thief by a long space of years: ye know also, that Titus is of a noble blood, and is approved to be alway a man of excellent virtue and wisdom, and never was malicious. This other stranger seemeth to be a man full of simplicity, and that more is desperate for some grievous sorrow that he hath taken, as it is to you evident. I say to you, fathers, they both be innocent; I am that person that 1 Prease, press, crowd. 2 Barrator, exciter of strife. Old French, "barat," discord, confusion, fraud. slew him that is founden dead by the barn, and robbed him of his money. And when I found in the barn this stranger lying asleep, having by him a naked knife, I, the better to hide mine offence, did put the knife into the wound of the dead man, and so all bloody laid it again by this stranger. This was my mischievous desire to escape your judgment. Whereunto now I remit me wholly, rather than this noble man Titus, or this innocent stranger, should unworthily die." Hereat all the Senate and people took comfort, and the noise of rejoicing hearts filled all the court. And when it was further examined, Gisippus was discovered; the friendship between him and Titus was throughout the city published, extolled, and magnified. Wherefore the Senate consulted of this matter, and finally, at the instance of Titus and the people, discharged the felon. Titus recognised his negligence in forgetting Gisippus. And Titus, being advertised of the exile of Gisippus, and the despiteful cruelty of his kindred, was therewith wonderful wroth, and having Gisippus home to his house (where he was with incredible joy received of the lady, whom some time he should have wedded) honourably apparelled him; and there Titus offered to him, to use all his goods and possessions at his own pleasure and appetite. But Gisippus, desiring to be again in his proper country, Titus, by the consent of the Senate and people, assembled a great army, and went with Gisippus unto Athens, where he, having delivered to him all those which were causers of banishing and despoiling of his friend Gisippus, did on them sharp execution; and restoring to Gisippus his lands and substance, stablished him in perpetual quietness, and so returned to Rome. This example in the effects of friendship expresseth (if I be not deceived) the description of friendship, engendered by the similitude of age and personage, augmented by the conformity of manners and studies, and confirmed by the long continuance of company. It would be remembered, that friendship is between good men only, and is engendered of an opinion of virtue. Then may we reason in this form: A good man is so named, because all that he willeth or doth is only good; in good can be none evil, therefore nothing that a good man willeth or doth can be evil. Likewise virtue is the affection of a good man, which neither willeth nor doth anything that is evil. And vice is contrary unto virtue, for in the opinion of virtue is neither evil nor vice. And very amity is virtue. Wherefore nothing evil or vicious may happen in friendship. Therefore in the first election of friends resteth all the importance: wherefore it would not be without a long deliberation and proof, and, as Aristotle saith, in as long time as by them both, being together conversant, a whole bushel of salt mought be eaten. For oftentimes with fortune (as I late said) is changed, or at the least minished, the ferventness of that affection, according as the sweet poet Ovid affirmeth, saying in this sentence "Whiles Fortune thee favoureth, friends thou hast plenty. Of emmets innumerable unethe thou find'st one. But if any happeneth in every fortune to be constant in friendship, he is to be made of above all things that may come unto man, and above any other that be of blood or kindred, as Tully saith; for from kindred may be taken benevolence, from friendship it can never be severed. Wherefore benevolence taken from kindred, yet the name of kins man remaineth; take it from friendship, and the name of friendship is utterly perished. But since this liberty of speech is now usurped by flatterers, where they perceive that assentation and praises be abhorred, I am therefore not well assured how a man nowadays shall know or discern such admonition from flattery, but by one only means: that is to say, to remember that friendship may not be but between good men. Then consider if he that doth admonish thee be himself voluptuous, ambitious, covetous, arrogant, or dissolute, refuse not his admonitions; but by the example of the Emperor Antonine, thankfully take it, and amend such default as thou perceivest doth give occasion of obloquy, in such manner as the reporter also by thine example may be corrected. But for that admonition only, account him not immediately to be thy friend, until thou have of him a long and sure experience. For undoubtedly it is wonderful difficult to find a man very ambitious or covetous to be assured in friendship. For where findest thou (saith Tully) that will not prefer honours, great offices, rule, authority, and richesse before friendship? Therefore (saith he) it is very hard to find friendship in them that be occupied in acquiring honour, or about the affairs of the public weal; which saying is proved by daily experience. For disdain and contempt be companions with ambition, like as envy and hatred be also her fellows. On the 6th of July, 1535, Sir Thomas More was executed for his conscientious dissent from Henry the Eighth's claim to be the Pope of England. In 1539, Hugh Latimer was deprived of his bishopric of Worcester, for conscientious dissent from the King's Act for abolishing Diversity of Opinion, by enforcing with penalties against his subjects Roman Catholic opinion upon six points in dispute between the churches. In the same year, Sir Thomas Wyatt, thirty-six years old, returned from an embassy to Charles V. in Spain. Sir Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey were the most accomplished poets among many nobles of that time who wrote good verse. He had been sent to Spain in 1537, the year of the birth of Edward, afterwards King Edward VI., and from Spain he addressed these letters to his only son, that Thomas Wyatt the younger, who was executed in 1554, for rebellion against the marriage of Queen Mary to Philip of Spain. SIR THOMAS WYATT FROM OUT OF SPAIN, TO HIS SON WHEN SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD. LETTER I. In as much as now ye are come to some years of understanding, and that ye should gather within yourself some frame of honesty; I thought that I should not lese1 my labour wholly if now I did something advertise you to take the sure foundations, and stablished opinions that leadeth2 to honesty. And here, I call not honesty that men commonly call honesty, as reputation for riches, for authority, or some like thing; but that honesty, that I dare well say your grandfather (whose soul God pardon) had rather left to me than all the lands he did leave me; that was, wisdom, gentleness, 1 First English, "leo'san," passed into the two forms lese and lose. 2 Leadeth, the old southern plural in ath. soberness, desire to do good, friendliness to get the love of many, and truth above all the rest. A great part to have all these things, is to desire to have them. And although glory and honest name are not the very ends wherefore these things are to be followed, yet surely they must needs follow them as light followeth fire, though it were kindled for warmth. Out of these things the chiefest and infallible ground is the dread and reverence of God, whereupon shall ensue the eschewing of the contraries of these said virtues; that is to say, ignorance, unkindness, rashness, desire of harm, unquiet enmity, hatred, many and crafty falsehoods, the very root of all shame and dishonesty. I say, the only dread and reverence of God that seeth all things, is the defence of the creeping in of all these mischiefs into you. And for my part, although I do well say there is no man that would his son better than I, yet on my faith I had rather have you lifeless, than subject to these vices. Think and imagine always that ye are in presence of some honest man that ye know; as Sir John Russell, your fatherin-law, your Uncle Parson, or some other such, and ye shall, if at any time ye find a pleasure in naughty touches, remember what shame it were afore these men to do naughtily. And sure this imagination shall cause you remember, that the pleasure of a naughty deed is soon past, and the rebuke, shame, and the note thereof shall remain ever. Then, if these things ye take for vain imaginations, yet remember that it is certain, and no imagination, that ye are alway in the presence, and sight of God; and though ye see Him not, so much is the reverence the more to be had for that He seeth, and is not seen. Men punish with shame as greatest punishment on earth; yea, greater than death. But His punishment is: first, the withdrawing of His favour, and grace, and, in leaving His hand to rule the stern, to let the ship run without guide to its own destruction; and suffereth so the man that He forsaketh to run headlong as subject to all mishaps, and at last with shameful end to everlasting shame and death. Ye may see continual examples both of the one sort, and of the other; and the better, if ye mark them well that yourself are come of; and consider well your good grandfather,3 what things there were in him, and his end. And they that knew him noted him thus. First, and chiefly to have a great reverence of God and good opinion of godly things. Next, that there was no man more pitiful; no man more true of his word; no man faster to his friend; no man diligenter nor more circumspect, which thing, both the Kings his masters noted in him greatly. And if these things, and specially the grace of God that the fear of God alway kept with him, had not been, the chances of this troublesome world that he was in had long ago overwhelmed him. This preserved him in prison from the hands of the tyrant that could find in his heart to see him racked; from two years and more prisonment in Scotland in irons and stocks; from the danger of sudden changes and commotions divers, till that well beloved of many, hated of none, in his fair age, and good reputation, godly and christianly he went to Him that loved him, for that he always had Him in reverence. And of myself, I may be a near example unto you of my folly and unthriftiness, that hath, as I well deserved, brought me into a thousand dangers and hazards, enmities, hatreds, prisonments, despites, and indignations; but that God hath of his goodness chastised me, and not cast me clean out of His favour; which thing I can impute to nothing but to the 3 Sir Henry Wyatt. The grandfather on the mother's side was John Skinner, of Reigate. goodness of my good father, that, I dare well say purchased with continual request of God His grace towards me more than I regarded, or considered myself; and a little part to the small fear that I had of God in the most of my rage, and the little delight that I had in mischief. You therefore if you be sure, and have God in your sleeve to call you to His grace at last, venture hardily by mine example upon naughty unthriftiness, in trust of his goodness, and besides the shame, I dare lay ten to one ye shall perish in the adventure. For trust me, that my wish or desire of God for you shall not stand you in as much effect, as I think my father's did for me: we are not all accepted of Him. Begin, therefore, betimes. Make God and goodness your foundations. Make your examples of wise and honest men: shoot at that mark: be no mocker, mocks follow them that delight therein. He shall be sure of shame that feeleth no grief in other men's shames. Have your friends in a reverence; and think unkindness to be the greatest offence, and least punished among men; but so much the more to be dread, for God is justicer upon that alone. Love well, and agree with your wife; for where is noise and debate in the house there is unquiet dwelling; and much more, where it is in one bed. Frame well yourself to love and rule well and honestly your wife as your fellow, and she shall love and reverence you as her head. Such as you are unto her, such shall she be unto you. Obey and reverence your father-in-law, as you would me; and remember that long life followeth them that reverence their fathers and elders; and the blessing of God for good agreement between the wife and husband is fruit of many children. Read oft this my letter, and it shall be as though I had often written to you; and think that I have herein printed a fatherly affection to you. If I may see that I have not lost my pain, mine shall be the contentation, and yours the profit. And, upon condition that you follow my advertisement, I send you God's blessing and mine, and as well to come to honesty, as to increase of years. LETTER II. I doubt not but long ere this time my letters are come to you. I remember I wrote to you in them, that if ye read them often it shall be as though I had written often to you. For all that, I cannot so content me but still to call upon you with my letters. I would not for all that, that if any thing be well warned in the other that ye should leave to remember it because of this new. For it is not like with advertisements as it is with apparel, that with long wearing a man casteth away when he hath new. Honest teachings never wear; unless they wear out of his remembrance that should keep and follow them, to the shame and hurt of himself. Think not also that I have any new or change of advertisements to send you; but still it is one that I would. I have nothing to cry and call upon you for but honesty, honesty. It may be diversely named, but alway it tendeth to one end. And as I wrote to you last, I mean not that honesty that the common sort calleth an honest man. Trust me, that honest man is as common a name as the name of a good fellow; that is to say, a drunkard, a tavern haunter, a rioter, a gamer, a waster. So are among the common sort of all men honest men that are not known for manifest naughty knaves. Seek not I pray thee, my son, that honesty which appeareth, and is not indeed. Be well assured it is no common thing, nor no common man's judgment to judge well of honesty; nor it is no common thing to come by; but so much it is the more goodly, for that it is so rare and strange. Follow not therefore the common reputation of honesty. If ye will seem honest, be honest; or else seem as ye are. Seek not the name without the thing; nor let not the name be the only mark ye shoot at. That will follow though ye regard it not; yea, the more you regard it, the less. I mean not by regard it not, esteem it not; for well I wot honest name is goodly. But he that hunteth only for that, is like him that had rather seem warm than be warm, and edgeth a single coat about with a fur. Honest name is to be kept, preserved, and defended, and not to employ all a man's wit about the study of it; for that smelleth of a glorious and ambitious fool. I say, as I wrote unto you in my last letters, get the thing, and the other must of necessity follow; as the shadow followeth the thing that it is of. And even so much is the very honesty better than the name, as the thing is better than the shadow. The coming to this point that I would so fain have you have, is to consider a man's own self what he is, and wherefore he is. And herein let him think verily that so goodly a work as man is, for whom all other things were wrought, was not wrought but for goodly things. After a man hath gotten a will and desire to them, is first to avoid evil, and learn that point alone: "Never to do that, that within yourself ye find a certain grudging against." No doubt in any thing ye do, if ye ask yourself, or examine the thing in yourself afore ye do it, ye shall find, if it be evil, a repining against it. My son, for our Lord's love keep well that repining; suffer it not to be darked and corrupted by naughty example, as though anything were to you excusable because other men do the same. That same repining, if it did punish as he doth judge, there were no such justicer. And of truth, so doth it punish; but not so apparently. Here however it is no small grief, of a conscience that condemneth itself; but be well assured, after this life it is a continual gnawing. When there is a custom gotten of avoiding to do evil, then cometh a gentle courage. Be content to be idle, and to rest without doing any thing. Then too had ye need to gather an heap of good opinions and to get them perfectly, as it were on your fingers' ends. Rest not greatly upon the approving of them; take them as already approved, because they were of honest men's leavings. Of them of God, there is no question. And it is no small help to them, the good opinion of moral philosophers: among whom I would Seneca your study; and Epictetus, because it is little, to be ever in bosom. These things shall lead you to know goodly [guides]; which when a man knoweth and taketh pleasure in them, he is a beast that followeth not them: no, nor he cannot but follow them. But take this for conclusion and sum of all; that if God and His grace be not the foundation, neither can ye avoid evil, nor judge well, nor do any goodly thing. Let Him be foundation of all. Will these things; desire them earnestly, and seek them at his hands, and knowledge1 them to come of Him, and questionless He will both give you the use and pleasure in using them, and also reward you for them that come of Him; so liberal and good is He. I would fain see that my letters might work to frame you honest. And think that without that, I esteem nothing of you: no, not that you are my son. For I reckon it no small dishonesty to myself to have an unhonest taught child; but the fault shall not be in me. I shall do the part of a father: and if ye answer not to that I look for at your hands, I shall as well study with that that I shall leave, to make such [serve an] honest man, as you. 1 Knowledge, acknowledge. The model of style in these letters seems to have been Seneca; but the most genuine application of scholarship in those days to the writing of English prose, is to be found in the works of Roger Ascham. Ascham was a Yorkshireman, born near Northallerton, about the year 1515. He was one of the five children of a house-steward, in the family of Lord Scrope, and went to St. John's College, Cambridge, with small means for his support, but acquired high distinction as a scholar. He took his B.A. degree at the age of nineteen, and fastened upon Greek, which two young scholars, Thomas Smith and John Cheke, were then introducing into Cambridge. Cheke and Smith were both of the same age, and only about a year older than Ascham. Ascham caught his enthusiasm for Greek from Cheke, obtained a fellowship from his College, and in 1537, when about twenty-two years old, received a stipend from the University for teaching Greek. He remained at Cambridge, became not less famous for his Latin scholarship, and as he wrote also a beautiful hand, was made, in course of time, tutor and secretary to Henry VIII's children, serving successively Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth, who liked him, and left his opinions free. He did not disguise his Protestantism. In course of time, also, he was chosen Public Orator, and represented the scholarship of his University in all its correspondence. Henry VIII. was encouraging shooting at the butts, that he might have a people apt for military service, and Ascham first became known to the king, when his age was about thirty, by presenting to him an English book-"Toxophilus -which advocated use of the bow. It was published in 1545, and its preface contains the plea of a fine classical scholar, for the use of a true scholarship by educated men in writing their mother tongue. Ascham practised what he preached. In "Toxophilus" and in his later book, "The Schoolmaster," his English is clear, pure, and idiomatic. He does not corrupt it with Greek or Latin idiom; for he might as well spoil writing in Latin or Greek with Anglicisms. But he says in apt words, well fitted together, just what he has to say. We see very well in Ascham that a scholarly prose style is the reverse of formal or pedantic. This is, in its old spelling, Ascham's Preface to "Toxophilus": TO ALL THE GENTLEMEN AND YOMEN OF ENGLANDE. Bias the wyse man came to Cresus the riche Kinge, on a time, when he was makinge newe shippes, purposinge to have subdued by water the out isles lying betwixte Grece and Asia Minor. "What newes nowe in Grece ?" sayth the Kinge to Bias. "None other newes but these," sayth Bias: "that the isles of Grece have prepared a wonderful company of horsemen to over-run Lydia withal." "There is nothing under heaven, sayth the Kinge, that I would so soone wish, as that they durst be so bolde, to meete us on the land with horse." "And thinke you," sayth Bias, "that there is any thinge which they would sooner wishe, then that you should be so fonde, to meete them on the water with shippes?" And so Cresus, hearing not the true newes, but perceyving the wyse mannes minde and counsell, both gave then over makinge of his shippes, and left also behinde him a wonderful example for al common wealthes to followe: that is, evermore to regarde and set most by that thinge wherunto nature hath made them most apt, and use hath made them most fitte. By this matter I meane the shooting in the longe bow, for Englishemen which thinge, with al my hart I do wishe, and if I were of authority, I would counsell al the gentlemen and yomen of Englande, not to chaunge it with any other thinge, howe good soever it seeme to be, but that stil, according to the olde wont of Englande, youth should use it for the most honest pastime in peace, that men might handle it as a most sure weapon in warre. Other stronge weapons, which both experience doth prove to be good, and the wisedome of the Kinges Majesty and his counsel provides to be had, are not ordayned to take awaye shooting: but that both, not compared together, whether should be better than the other, but so joyned together, that the one should be alwayes an ayde and helpe for the other, might so strengthen the realme on all sides, that no kinde of enemye, in any kinde of weapon, might passe and go beyonde us. For this purpose I, partlye provoked by the counsell of some gentlemen, partlye moved by the love which I have alwayes borne towards shootinge, have written this litle treatise; wherein, if I have not satisfyed any man, I trust he will the rather be content with my doinge, because I am (I suppose) the first, which hath said any thinge in this matter, (and fewe beginninges be perfect, sayth wyse men :) and also because, if I have saide amisse, I am content that any man amende it; or, if I had said to litle, any man that will to adde what him pleaseth to it. My minde is, in profiting and pleasing every man, to hurt or displease no man, intending none other purpose, but that youth might be stirred to labour, honest pastime, and vertue, and as much as laye in me, plucked from ydlenes, unthrifty games, and vice: which thinge I have laboured onlye in this booke, shewinge howe fit shootinge is for all kindes of men; howe honest a pastime for the minde; howe holsome an exercise for the bodye; not vile for great men to use, not costly for poore men to sustayne, not lurking in holes and corners for ill men at their pleasure to misuse it, but abydinge in the open sighte and face of the worlde, for good men, if it fault, by theyr wysedome to correct it. And here I would desire al gentlemen and yomen to use this pastime in such a meane, that the outragiousness of great gaminge should not hurt the honestye of shootinge, which, of his owne nature, is alwayes joyned with honestye: yet for mennes faultes oftentimes blamed unworthelye, as all good thinges have bene, and evermore shal be. If any man would blame me, eyther for takinge such a matter in hande, or els for wrytinge it in the Englishe tongue, this aunswere I may make him, that when the best of the realme thincke it honest for them to use, I, one of the meanest sorte, ought not to suppose it vile for me to wryte: and thoughe to have written it in another tongue, had bene both more profitable for my study, and also more honest for my name, yet I can thinke my laboure well bestowed, if with a little hindrance of my profite and name, may come any furtherance to the pleasure or commodity of the gentlemen and yomen of Englande, for whose sake I toke this matter in hand. And as for the Latine or Greeke tongue, everye thinge is so excellentlye done in them, that none can do better: In the Englishe tongue, contrary, everye thinge in a manner so meanlye both for the matter and handelinge, that no man can do worse. For therein the least learned, for the most part, have bene alwayes most readye to write. And they which had least hope in Latine have bene most bould in Englishe when surelye everye man that is most readye to talke, is not most able to write. He that will write well in any tongue, must follow this counsel of Aristotle, to speake as the comon people do, to thinke as wyse men do: as so shoulde everye man understand him, and the judgement of wyse men alowe him. Manye Englishe writers have not done so, but usinge straunge wordes, as Latine, Frenche, and Italian, do make all thinges darke and harde. Ones I communed with a man which reasoned the Englishe tongue to be enriched and encreased thereby, sayinge: "Who will not prayse that feast where a man shall drincke at a dinner both wyne, ale and beere?" "Truly (quoth I) they be al good, everye one taken by himselfe alone, but if you put malvesye and sacke, redde wyne and white, ale and beere, and al in one pot, you shall make a drincke not easye to be knowen, nor yet holsome for the bodye." Cicero, in following Isocrates, Plato and Demosthenes, encreased the Latine tongue after another sort. This way, because divers men that wryte, do not know, they can neyther folow it, because of theyr ignoraunce, nor yet will prayse it for over arrogancye, two faultes, seldome the one out of the others companye. Englishe writers, by diversity of time, have taken dyvers matters in hand. In our fathers time no thinge was read but bookes of fayned chevalrie, wherin a man by readinge should be lead to none other ende, but onely to manslaughter and baudrye. If anye man suppose they were good enough to passe the time with all, he is deceived. For surely vaine wordes do worke no small thinge in vaine, ignorant, and young mindes, especially if they be geven any thinge thereunto of their owne nature. These bookes (as I have heard say) were made the most part in abbayes and monasteries, a very likely and fit fruite of such an ydle and blind kind of lyving. In our tyme now, when every man is geven to know, much rather than to live wel, very many do write, but after such a fashion as very many do shoote. Some shooters take in hande stronger bowes, than they be able to maintaine. This thinge maketh them some time to over shoote the marke, some time to shoote far wyde, and perchaunce hurt some that looke on. Other that never learned to shoote, nor yet knoweth good shaft nor bow, wil be as busy as the best, but suche one commonlye plucketh down a side, and crafty archers which be against him, will be both glad of him, and also ever redye to lay and bet with him: It were better for such one to sit down than shote. Other there be, which have very good bow and shafts, and good knowledge in shootinge, but they have been brought up in such evill favoured shootinge, that they can neither shoote fayre nor yet nere. If any man will applye these thinges together, shal not se the one far differ from the other. And I also, amonges all other, in wryting this litle treatise, have folowed some yong shooters, which both wil begin to shote, for a litle money, and also wil use to shoote ones or twise about the marke for nought, afore they begin a good. And therefore dyd I take this litle matter in hand, to assay myselfe, and hereafter, by the grace of God, if iudgement of wyse men, that loke on, thinke that I can do anye good, I may perchance cast my shaft among other, for better game. Yet in writing this booke, some man wil marveile perchance, why that I beyng an unperfect shooter, should take in hand to write of makyng a perfect archer: the same man, per-adventure, wil marveile howe a whetstone, whiche is blunt, can make the edge of a knife sharpe: I would the same man should consider also, that in going about any matter, there be four things to be considered, doing, saying, thincking, and perfectness: First, there is no man that doth so well, but he can say better, or els some men, whiche be now starke nought, should be too good: Again, no man can utter with his tongue, so wel as he is able to imagine with his minde, and yet perfectnes itselfe is far above al thinkinge. Then, seyng that saying is one step nerer perfectnes than doing, let every man leave marveyl ing why my worde shal rather expresse, than my dede shall perfourme, perfect shootinge. I trust no man will be offended with this litle booke, excepte it be some fletchers and bowyers, thinkinge hereby that many that love shootinge shall be taught to refuse such noughtye wares as they would utter. Honest fletchers and bowyers do not so, and they that be unhonest, ought rather to amende themselves for doing ill, than be angrye with me for saying well. A fletcher hath even as good a quarell to be angrye with an archer that refuseth an ill shaft, as a bladesmith hath to a fletcher that forsaketh to bye of him a noughtye knyfe; for as an archer must be content that a fletcher knowe a good shafte in every pointe for the perfecter makyng of it; so an honest fletcher will also be content that a shooter know a good shafte in everye pointe, for the perfecter usinge of it; because the one knowth like a fletcher howe to make it, the other knoweth like an archer how to use it. And seinge the knowledge is one in them both, yet the ende divers; surely that fletcher is an enemy to archers and artillery, which cannot be content that an archer knowe a shafte, as well for his use in shootinge, as he himselfe should knowe a shafte, for his advantage in sellinge. And the rather, because shaftes be not made so much to be sold, but chieflye to be used. And seinge that use and ocupyinge is the ende why a shafte is made, the makyng, as it were, a meane for ocupyinge, surelye the knowledge in every point of a good shafte, is more to be required in a shooter than a fletcher. Yet, as I sayde before, no honest fletcher will be angrye with me, seing I do not teache howe to make a shafte, which belongeth onlye to a good fletcher, but to knowe and handle a shafte, which belongeth to an archer. And this litle booke, I trust, shall please and profit both parties: for good bowes and shaftes shall be better knowen to the commodity of all shooters, and good shootinge may, perchaunce, be more occupyed to the profit of all bowyers and fletchers. And thus I praye God that all fletchers, getting their lyving truly, and all archers, usinge shootinge honestlye, and all manner of men that favour artillerye, maye live continuallye in healthe and merinesse, obeying theyr Prince as they shoulde, and loving God as they oughte: to whome, for all thinges, be all honour and glorye for ever. Amen. ROGER ASCHAM. Hall's Sir Thomas More's "History of Richard III." was not published until 1641. The latter part of it had then already appeared in the Chronicle, published as a history of "the Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Families of Lancastre and Yorke," by Edward Hall, who became one of the judges of the Sheriff's Court, in the reign of Henry VIII. chronicle ended with the year 1532, and was published in 1548, after its author's death. Its narrative of the closing incidents of Richard's life has some likeness to the undoubted work of More in the earlier part of his history, but the authorship is so far uncertain, that I give as from Hall's chronicle the account which is to be found in More's History: THE BATTLE OF BOSWORTH FIELD. When both the armies were ordered, and all men ready to set forward, King Richard called his chieftains together, and to them said, "Most faithful and assured fellows, most trusty and well-beloved friends and elected captains, by whose wisdom and policy I have obtained the crown and type of this famous realm and noble region, by whose puissance and |