HENRY CONSTABLE. [Born about 1555: died before 1616. His Diana was first published in 1592. An edition by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt was published by Pickering in 1859.) Almost nothing is known of the life of Henry Constable. He belonged to a Yorkshire family; he was educated at Cambridge; he was acquainted with the Earl of Essex, with Anthony Bacon, with the Earl of Shrewsbury and his wife, with the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Rich. His sonnets to the soul of Sir Philip Sidney seem to prove that he was honoured with the friendship of the auther of the Defence of Poesie. As a Catholic and an honest man,' as he calls himself, Constable could not escape suspicion in the suspicious England of his time. He passed much of his life in exile, wandering in France, Scotland, Italy, and Poland, and was acquainted with prisons and courts. In The slight but graceful genius of Constable is best defined by some of the epithets which his contemporary critics employed. They spoke of his 'pure, quick, and high delivery of conceit.' Ben Jonson alludes to his 'ambrosiac muse.' His secular poems are 'Certaine sweete sonnets in the praise of his mistress, Diana,' conceived in the style of Ronsard and the Italians. The verses of his later days, when he had learned, as he says, 'to live alone with God,' are also sonnets in honour of the saints, and chiefly of Mary Magdalene. They are ingenious, and sometimes too cleverly confuse the passions of divine and earthly love. addition to the sonnets we have four pleasant lyrics which Constable contributed to England's Helicon. We select two of these pastorals, one being an idyllic dialogue between two shepherdesses; the other, 'The Shepherd's Song of Venus and Adonis.' These things have at once the freshness of a young, and the trivial grace of a decadent literature, so curiously varied were the influences of the Renaissance in England. Shakespeare and Constable begin where Bion leaves off. Constable was neither more nor less than a fair example of a poet who followed rather than set the fashion. His sonnets were charged and overladen with ingenious conceits, but the freshness, the music, of his more free and flowing lyrics remain, and keep their charm. A. LANG, A PASTORAL SONG BETWEEN PHILLIS AND AMARILLIS, TWC NYMPHS, EACH ANSWERING OTHER LINE FOR LINE. Phillis. Fie on the sleights that men devise, Heigh ho silly sleights: When simple maids they would entice, Amarillis. Nay, women they witch with their eyes, And men once caught, they soon despise; Phillis. If any young man win a maid, Happy man is he: Ly trusting him she is betrayed; Fie upon such treachery. Amarillis. If Maids win young men with their guiles, Heigh ho guileful grief; They deal like weeping crocodiles, That murder men without relief. Phillis. I know a simple country hind, Heigh ho silly swain: To whom fair Daphne proved kind, Was he not kind to her again? Heigh ho shepherds God is he: Yet since hath changed, and broke his troth, Amarillis. She hath deceived many a swain, And plighted troth to them in vain, Phillis. If every maid were like to mc, Both love and lovers scorn'd should be, Amarillis. If every maid were of my mind Heigh-ho, heigh-ho lovely sweet: They to their lovers should prove kind, Kindness is for maidens meet. Phillis. Methinks, love is an idle toy, Heigh-ho busy pain : Both wit and sense it doth annoy, Both sense and wit thereby we gain. Amarillis. Tush! Phillis, cease, be not so coy, Phillis. Well, Amarillis, now I yield, Shepherds, pipe aloud: Love conquers both in town and field, Like a tyrant, fierce and proud. The evening star is up, ye see; THE SHEPHERD'S SONG OF VENUS AND ADONI Venus fair did ride, Silver doves they drew her, By the pleasant launds, Ere the sun did rise: Vesta's beauty rich Opened wide to view her, Philomel records Pleasing harmonies. Every bird of spring Cheerfully did sing, Paphos' goddess they salute; Now Love's Queen so fair Had of mirth no care: For her son had made her mute In her breast so tender, He a shaft did enter, When her eyes beheld a boy: Adonis was he named, By his mother shamed': Yet he now is Venus' joy. Him alone she met Ready bound for hunting; Him she kindly greets, And his journey stays; Him she seeks to kiss, No devises wanting; Him her tongue still prays He with blushing red Hangeth down the head, See the story of Myrrha in Ovid. VOL: Not a kiss can he afford; Still she woo'd him for a word. I for love implore thee;' Him herewith she forced To come sit down by her, He, like one transformed, Stirred no look to eye her; Yet no liking could be seen; Speak, I pray thee, my delight." Coldly he replied, And in brief denied To bestow on her a sight. 'I am now too young Tender are my years 'Fair thou art,' she said, Wert thou but a blossom, CC |