Elizabeth I: Translations, 1592-1598

ELIZABETH I

ELIZABETH I

T R A N S L AT I O N S 1592–1598

Edited by

Janel Mueller and Joshua Scodel

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS Chicago & London

JANEL MUELLER is the William Rainey Harper Distinguished Service Professor Emerita of the Department of English Language and Literature and of the College at the University of Chicago. She is the coeditor of Elizabeth I: Collected Works (2000) and Elizabeth I: Autograph Compositions and Foreign Language Originals (2003), both published by the University of Chicago Press. JOSHUA SC ODEL is Helen A. Regenstein Professor of English, Comparative Literature, and the College at the University of Chicago. His most recent book is Excess and the Mean in Early Modern English Literature (2002). The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637 The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London © 2009 by The University of Chicago All rights reserved. Published 2009 Printed in the United States of America 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 1 2 3 4 5 I SB N -13: 978-0-226-20132-0 (cloth) I SB N -10: 0-226-20132-5 (cloth) The University of Chicago Press gratefully acknowledges the generous support of the Division of the Humanities at the University of Chicago toward the publication of this book. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603. [Selections. 2009] Elizabeth I : translations, 1592–1598 / edited by Janel Mueller and Joshua Scodel. p. cm. Includes index. isbn-13: 978-0-226-20132-0 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn-10: o-226-20132-5 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Great Britain—History—Elizabeth, 1558–1603—Sources. 2. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—Literary art. 3. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—Knowledge and learning. 4. Classical literature—Translations into English. 5. Classical literature—Translations. 6. Kings’ and rulers’ writings, English—History and criticism. 7. Women and literature— England—History—16th century. I. Mueller, Janel M., 1938– II. Scodel, Joshua, 1958– III. Title. da350.a25 2009b 870—dc22 2008049637 o The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations vii For Acknowledgments and General Introduction, see Elizabeth I: Translations, 1544–1589. Elizabeth I: Translations, 1544–1589: List of Errata · viii

i

ca. 1592: cicero’s pro m. marcello introduction · 3 translation · 16

ii

1593: boethius’s de consolatione philosophiae introduction · 45 book 1 · 72 book 2 · 118 book 3 · 174 book 4 · 254 book 5 · 319

iii

1598: plutarch’s de curiositate (desiderius erasmus’s latin version) introduction · 369 translation · 390

iv

1598: horace’s de arte poetica, lines 1 – 178 introduction · 451 translation · 462 Index of Names · 485

I L LU S T R AT I O N S

1 Page from Elizabeth’s translation of Cicero’s Pro M. Marcello (ca. September 1592), fol. 6r · 2 2 Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae (October-November 1593), fol. 30r · 44 3 End of book 3 and beginning of book 4 of Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae (October-November 1593), fol. 49r · 253 4 Elizabeth’s translation of Erasmus’s Latin version of Plutarch’s De curiositate (November 1598), lines 278–99 · 368 5 Elizabeth’s translation of Horace’s De arte poetica (ca. November 1598), lines 1–24 · 450

ELIZABETH I: T R A N S L AT I O N S , 1 5 4 4 – 1 5 8 9 E R R ATA

p. 6, line 27: “republican Rome” should read “ancient Rome” p. 7, line 22: “September-October” should read “October-November” p. 13, line 8: “eighteen” should read “seventeen” p. 14, lines 27–30: “Elizabeth’s ‘thy familiar’ (intimate friend or associate) is cognate with but differs in sense from Boethius’s ‘tuorum quidam familiarum’ (one of your servants) in book 1, prose 4, while ‘palms’ does not accurately render ‘palmites’ ” should read “Elizabeth’s ‘palms’ does not accurately render Boethius’s ‘palmites’ ” p. 31, line 35: “582” should read “581” p. 77n139, line 4: “581–82” should read “581–83” p. 132, line 29: “nobilissimum” should read “nobilissimam” p. 150n64, line 1: “cogitations” should read “cogitationes” p. 153n80: Delete this footnote. p. 174n202, lines 2–3: Delete “Elizabeth probably misconstrued ‘priser’ (esteem) as equivalent to its English cognate ‘praise.’” Substitute “Elizabeth’s pairing of ‘priser’ and ‘louer,’ common in Renaissance French, idiomatically renders KP’s doublet.” p. 306n8: “mittit mittit” should read “mittitt mittit” p. 340, line 22: Delete “the historian Sallust (ca. 86–35 B.C.E.) and” p. 360n61, line 3: Delete “ne”

ELIZABETH I: TRANSLATIONS, 1544–1589 ERRATA

ix

p. 385n170, line 2: “contemnenetes” should read “contemnentes” p. 392n203, line 4: “repllendam” should read “repellendam” p. 414, line 19: “pre-1563 edition” should read “edition published by 1567” p. 431, line 22: “temporum meorum” should read “meorum temporum” p. 434n6, line 2: “circumstnaces” should read “circumstances” p. 441n5, line 1: “(4, 75, 82, 109)” should read “(5, 49, 75, 82, 109)”; “foot” should read “foot or extra syllable” p. 455n62, line 1: “three” should read “four”

ELIZABETH I

i

queen elizabeth’s t r a n s l at i o n o f c i c e r o ’ s pro m. marcello

ca. 1592

figure 1 Elizabeth’s translation of Cicero’s Pro M. Marcello (ca. September 1592), MS Bodl. 900, fol. 6r. Reproduced by courtesy of the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.

Unlike most of her other translations, Elizabeth’s autograph text of six and a half folio pages containing her English version of Marcus Tullius Cicero’s oration Pro M. Marcello gives no indication of its circumstances or date. This information may be lacking because the translation is clearly a draft with frequent heavy revisions. The manuscript is written throughout in the rapid, loosely formed italic hand of the queen’s later years (mid-1580s and thereafter). The paper on which it is written bears the same watermark as the paper used by Elizabeth for her translations of Boethius, Horace, and Plutarch, which are explicitly dated between 1593 and 1598.1 The Bodleian Library has been the continuous preserve of Elizabeth’s Pro Marcello translation, bound in a period binding together with an auditor’s transcription of the Latin speech that she delivered extemporaneously at the end of a visit she made to Oxford University between September 22 and 28, 1592. We hypothesize that Elizabeth drafted her translation of Pro Marcello during her week at Oxford and left it behind as a memento of her royal visit. In The Schoolmaster, Ascham recalled how he assigned Princess Elizabeth daily translations from Cicero, the master of classical eloquence. He claimed that the “diligent translating” of such works as Cic1. H. H. E. Craster described the Pro Marcello manuscript and compared its watermarks with The National Archives, State Papers 12 / 289, in “An Unknown Translation by Queen Elizabeth,” English Historical Review 29 (1914): 721–23.

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ero’s three speeches Ad Caium Caesarum—the group to which Pro Marcello belongs—would “work such a right choice of words, so straight a framing of sentences, such a true judgment, both to write skillfully and speak wittily, as wise men shall both praise and marvel at.”2 In her Latin oration at Oxford in 1592, following speeches that praised her erudition, Elizabeth ascribed her professed lack of facility in Latin to her infrequent use of the language for thirty-six years (an approximating allusion, apparently, to the length of her reign). By translating a Ciceronian speech singled out by Ascham for its pedagogic value, she perhaps intended to recoup in this university setting some of the prowess in Latin that her tutor had cultivated and praised in her. Cicero was not only a rhetorician but also a political actor and thinker. However central his works to humanist education, in a monarch’s eyes they inconveniently celebrated the Roman republic. De officiis, his most influential treatise in Renaissance England, cited in Elizabeth’s girlhood correspondence, contains a famous celebration of tyrannicide.3 As queen, she chose to translate a work that a strict republican could only have regarded as an unfortunate lapse on Cicero’s part but a believer in virtuous monarchy would find profoundly congenial. Pro Marcello praises Julius Caesar as a godlike ruler who uniquely can restore peace and order to Rome after the horrors of civil war. This oration postdates the Senate’s declaration of Caesar as a public enemy, the crossing of the Rubicon, and the defeat of Pompey and the republican cause at Pharsalia, which brought Caesar’s triumphal entry into Rome (46 B.C.E.). The consul M. Claudius Marcellus had supported Pompey, both in battle and in self-exile at Mytilene. Cicero had aligned with the party of Pompey—that is, with the cause of republicanism—only to realize, gradually and painfully, that Julius Caesar would prevail. Accepting his offer of amnesty, Cicero sustained a life of philosophical retirement for four years. In 46, he broke his silence when the whole of the Senate petitioned Caesar to allow the impenitent Marcellus to return to Rome and be reinstated as a senator. Caesar’s surprisingly favorable response prompted the Pro Marcello. Though Marcellus was killed under obscure circumstances before he

2. Roger Ascham, The Schoolmaster (1570), ed. Lawrence V. Ryan (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia for Folger Shakespeare Library, 1967), 19–20, 56, 85, 87. 3. Elizabeth I: Collected Works, ed. Leah S. Marcus, Janel Mueller, and Mary Beth Rose (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 16, hereafter cited as CW; Cicero De officiis 3.4.19.

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reached Rome, neither Elizabeth nor her contemporaries seem to have shared the suspicion of some at that time that Caesar was involved, or to have read the Pro Marcello with attendant irony. Elizabeth’s identification with Cicero’s magnanimous Julius Caesar shows clearly at various points in her translation. When Elizabeth has Cicero call Caesar “princely” by loosely translating “praeclarissimam” (most admirable), she applies her preferred term for herself in her public speeches.4 To translate Cicero’s term “respublica,” she uses several English locutions including “common good,” “the state,” and, most often, “commonwealth” or “commonweal.” The latter two terms analogize the Roman and the monarchical Elizabethan state, which Elizabeth had described as a “commonwealth” consisting of an “absolute princess” and her obedient subjects.5 In one passage Elizabeth refers to “your [i.e., Caesar’s] Commonweal.” The possessive pronoun, not found in Cicero, intimates that Caesar both owns and belongs to the Roman “respublica”—a dual relation resembling Elizabeth’s conception of herself as queen of the realm of England. Caesar’s clemency is the central theme of Pro Marcello.6 Cicero’s oration marks an important development in theories of virtuous rule. Echoing Hellenistic praise of monarchs for virtues resembling Roman “clementia”—ἐπιείκεια (equity, forbearance), πραότης (gentleness), and φιλανθρωπία (love of mankind)—Cicero exalts Julius Caesar as an ideal ruler who displays virtuous reason through clemency. Under the emperors this theme would become central to Roman political thought, most influentially in Seneca’s De clementia.7 According to the Pro Marcello, clemency is nobler than military

4. See, e.g., CW, 70, 93–94, 98, 105, 107, 169, 183, 189, 193, 195–96. 5. CW, 59. On the mainly nonrepublican resonances of “commonwealth” in pre–Civil War England, see David Norbrook, Writing the English Republic: Poetry, Rhetoric and Politics, 1627–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 16. The term carried a range of associations, however. Several Elizabethan writers articulated notions of the “commonwealth” that would limit the monarch’s authority: see Anne McLaren, Political Culture in the Reign of Elizabeth I: Queen and Commonwealth, 1558–1585 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), esp. 80–90, 198–235. 6. See “Introduction II: La ‘clementia Caesaris,’ ” in Cicero, Pro Marcello oratio, ed. Michel Ruch (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1965), 10–23. 7. See Traute Adam, Clementia Principis: Der Einfluss hellenistischer Fürstenspiegel auf den Versuch einer rechtlichen Fundierung des Principats durch Seneca (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett, 1970); and Miriam Griffin, “Seneca and Pliny,” in The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Political Thought, ed. Christopher Rowe and Malcolm Schofield (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 540.

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might and fully compatible with justice. By forgiving Marcellus and other opponents including Cicero, Caesar has registered a godlike, Stoic triumph over his passions, gaining glory and turning foes into friends. Elizabeth’s education exposed her to humanist celebrations of clemency that were directly and indirectly indebted to Cicero’s oration. Continental humanist mirrors for princes treated clemency as one of the good ruler’s primary virtues.8 In his Book Named the Governor (1531), Thomas Elyot argued that a ruler must be merciful above all, for without mercy “all other virtues be drowned.” Echoing Cicero’s tribute to Caesar, “thou hath conquered thyself ” (“te ipsum vicisti”), Elyot declared that Caesar in “prowess excelled all other captains” but “in mercy only he surmounted himself.” Like many humanists, Elyot argued that “mercy and gentleness . . . joineth the hearts of subjects to their prince” and that it was nobler and safer for a ruler to be loved than feared.9 Elizabeth first known letter (1544) appeals to Queen Katherine Parr’s “clemency,” and, as queen, Elizabeth embraced the royal virtue of clemency as her own. At the beginning of her reign, she prayed for grace to govern with her subjects’ love rather than with “the fear of severity or the sword.” In 1558 she proclaimed her “mercifulness” to her subjects; in 1567 she described herself as a “gentle prince” who “pitied” rather than “blamed” erring subjects; and in 1570 she contrasted her “moderate reign” with her father’s harsher rule. Twenty-four entries on royal “mercy” (misericordia) in her Sententiae (1563) present it as a Godordained complement to justice. Elizabeth seems to have thought herself prone to clemency because women by nature were more “pitiful” than men.10 In translating Pro Marcello, however, she rejected the implication that pity was a female quality that male subjects might interpret as weakness. Instead she engaged with an all-male world where Cicero figures clemency as rational, manly strength. In one of the speeches delivered before Elizabeth at Oxford in 1592, Henry Savile, master of Merton College, noted her “clemency, justice,

8. See Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought: The Renaissance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 1:127–28, 229–31. 9. Thomas Elyot, The Book Named the Governor, ed. S. E. Lehmberg (London: Dent, 1962), 115, 116, 118. 10. Quotations in this paragraph from CW, 5, 138, 95, 105, 220, 223.

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and equity” (“clementiam, iustitiam, aequitatem”).11 Yet just as her Sententiae note difficulties in reconciling mercy with justice and pity with wisdom, so clemency did not always prove as compatible with justice or self-preservation for Elizabeth as Cicero declares and some humanists hoped. Cicero’s speech may have appealed to her not only as a celebration of the clemency on which she prided herself as queen, but also as an idealization of tactics that she wished on occasion to adopt but felt she could not. Pro Marcello affirms that, among his many excellent qualities, Marcellus’s illustrious ancestry merited Caesar’s pardon. Elizabeth herself had a visceral aversion to shedding highborn blood. After the Ridolfi plot was detected in 1571, its central figure, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, appealed to the queen’s “gracious clemency.” For several months she refused to authorize his execution for treason. When she finally bowed to parliamentary pressure, she mourned Norfolk’s death.12 Elizabeth likewise resisted taking the life of her inveterate enemy Mary, Queen of Scots. As early as the 1560s and 1570s, advocates of Mary’s death acknowledged the obstacle of Elizabeth’s merciful nature.13 In replying to the second parliamentary petition (1586) that Mary, convicted of treason, now be executed, Elizabeth invoked the humanist association of virtuous rule with clemency: she was no “tyrant,” for she had “pardoned many traitors and rebels.” Claiming to mingle “justice” with “temper” (temperance), she declined to proceed promptly to Mary’s death.14 This “temper” resembles Elyot’s treatment of “mercy” as a “temperance of the mind” as well as Cicero’s claim that Caesar displays—in Elizabeth’s rendering—“mercy” and “temper” instead of “wrath.” Yet in Mary’s case, Elizabeth had to balance the claims of mercy with those of justice and prudent self-preservation. Although Mary’s son James entreated Elizabeth’s “princely pity,” she ultimately

11. Charles Plummer, ed., Elizabethan Oxford: Reprints of Rare Tracts (Oxford, 1887), 271. Plummer reprints Henry Savile’s oration as appendix A, 263–73, collating the version printed in John Nichols, ed., Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, 3 vols. (London, 1823), 3:161, with Bodleian Library, MS Tanner 461, fol. 168. 12. See Norfolk’s letter in CW, 128–29, and Wallace MacCaffrey, Elizabeth I (London: Edward Arnold, 1993), 138–39. 13. See J. E. Neale, Elizabeth I and Her Parliaments, 2 vols. (1958; rpt. New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 1:230, 311–12; 2:51, 143. 14. CW, 197–99.

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decided that Mary must die.15 In Caesar’s pardoning of Marcellus and other republicans, Elizabeth perhaps recognized a nobler form of conduct than was available to her in her political circumstances. Cicero’s praise of Caesar’s actions could have had special saliency for Elizabeth during her 1592 visit to Oxford. According to an eyewitness, the university debates, orations, and dramatic performances focused the queen’s attention on historical and political questions.16 Two presentations bear directly on the putative attraction of Pro Marcello. On September 23, Henry Savile defended the thesis that “studies of military matters and of philosophy flourish together in a commonwealth.”17 He approached his subject through the relation of military prowess to learning in general—that is, the traditional but still vital topic of arms and letters—arguing for a proper balance, so that learned men would temper the fierceness and pride of martial spirits.18 On September 25, the senior proctor, Thomas Savile, addressed the question “whether disagreement among the citizens is useful to a commonwealth.”19 His oration “commend[ed] the Lord Treasurer [William Cecil, Lord Burghley], (who was present) in respect of his great care in the government of this Commonwealth. And after him the Lord Chamberlain [Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon, Elizabeth’s first cousin]. And after him the Lord Admiral [Charles Howard, second Lord Howard of Effingham], his great worth and valiant service by sea. And lastly, fell into commendation of the Earl of Essex, his honorable, valiant service in the Low Countries, in Portugal, and in France.”20 Principal courtiers, wise

15. CW, 292. Edmund Spenser’s representation of Elizabeth as Mercilla in the second installment of The Faerie Queene (1596) projects a subject’s view of the struggle between “piteous ruth” and “just vengeance” regarding Mary (Duessa) that Elizabeth had experienced and partially displayed to her subjects. See Spenser, The Faerie Queene, book 5, cantos 9–10. 16. Philip Stringer, “The Grand Reception and Entertainment of Queen Elizabeth at Oxford in 1592” (MS account), in Elizabethan Oxford, ed. Plummer, 249–61. Plummer identifies Stringer as one of two Cambridge men who accompanied William Cecil, Lord Burghley, chancellor of Cambridge University, to Oxford for the duration of the queen’s visit. 17. “Rei Militaris & Philosophiae studia in Republicâ unà vigere” (Henry Savile in Elizabethan Oxford, ed. Plummer, 263). 18. Ibid., 277–78. 19. “An Dissentiones Civium sint Reipublicae utiles?” (Thomas Savile in Elizabethan Oxford, ed. Plummer, 236). 20. Ibid., 256.

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counselors, brave soldiers can differ greatly in talents and outlook, yet all can serve the state: so Thomas Savile implied. How martial arts and learning may combine to render a state vigorous; how disagreements of leading citizens may be made politically useful; how justice may be balanced by clemency—such questions would have converged for Elizabeth in 1592 in the person of her twenty-sixyear-old favorite, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. Between 1588 and 1591 the rivalry between her two youngest favorites, Sir Walter Raleigh and Essex, had grown to new heights of invective and near-violence. In 1589 Essex joined an expedition to Portugal, openly defying Elizabeth’s restrictions on his political and military ambition. In 1591 he succeeded in obtaining from her the command of an English army sent to aid Henri IV, the beleaguered (and yet uncrowned) Protestant claimant to the French throne, in besieging Rouen.21 Fearing that his loyalties lay more with Henri IV and the Continental Protestant cause than with her and the English church and state, Elizabeth became sharply critical of Essex. Her blistering dispatches faulted his conduct and vented her anxieties about squandered money and lives. But even after the siege of Rouen failed, Elizabeth agreed to extend Essex’s command from October 1591 to January 1592, at which point he was recalled to England.22 Upon returning to court, Essex aimed at securing an appointment to the Privy Council to bolster his reputation as a military leader and a royal favorite. But further advancement proved neither quick nor easy. Elizabeth denied his request to be made chancellor of Oxford University, reportedly because of lingering resentment of his conduct in France and Archbishop Whitgift’s disapproval of his well-known Puritan sympathies.23 Shrewdly, Essex muted his open support of Puritans, cultivated Whitgift, and ended his feud with Raleigh; in the course of 1592, his promotion to the Privy Council became increasingly likely. He displayed new political initiative, joining the call for a parliament in early 1593 and working for the election of a number of his friends and followers. Finally Elizabeth decided the time had come: on February 25, 1593, Essex was made a Privy Councillor.

21. See, for these various episodes, Paul E. J. Hammer, The Polarisation of Elizabethan Politics: The Political Career of Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, 1585–97 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 83–97. 22. Ibid., 98–99, 102–7. 23. Ibid., 107–8.

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In Pro Marcello the queen could identify herself, her qualities, and her rule with the celebrated figure of the magnanimous dictator, supreme in the art of war but above all in the arts of mercy and peace. Facing the uncertain outcome of events in France and the continuing specter of a Spanish invasion of England, Elizabeth could find topical aptness in Cicero’s repeated assertions: Julius Caesar alone could unite his people through clement rule; the entire well-being of Rome depended on the wisdom of Caesar at its head. In turn, Essex’s recent behavior, in France and at court, had affinities with the character and actions of the refractory Marcellus. In translating Pro Marcello at Oxford in late September 1592, as we speculate, Elizabeth applied her humanistic training to a thorny problem of practical statecraft. As she worked through Cicero’s praise of Caesar, she had occasion to deliberate about the future of Essex. Judging from her eventual decision to appoint him to the Privy Council, the activity of translating encouraged her to align with what Cicero terms a godlike precedent: Caesar’s pardoning of Marcellus and restoring of him as a citizen and senator of Rome.24

* Elizabeth’s style in translating Pro Marcello is characteristic in its heavy use of cognates and in its frequently close modeling of phrasing on that of her Latin source. While awkwardness or obscurity results at some points, at other points she artfully reproduces Cicero’s suspended syntax, as in her opening sequence “made beginning of what I would and what I meant, in wonted sort, to speak,” rendering “attulit . . . initium quae vellem quaeque sentirem meo pristino more dicendi.” At times, Elizabeth paraphrases for expressive reasons. She concretizes some of Cicero’s abstractions: “nimis iracundam” (too inclined to anger) becomes “too bloody,” and “tantus in ullo furor” (so much madness in anyone) becomes “such a harebrain.” She may expand a Ciceronian word or phrase to heighten her rhetoric: Cicero’s claim that Marcellus’s 24. In 1597 Elizabeth, again forgiving the still unruly Essex, claimed that monarchs should “help to lift from ground the well-nigh falling man” (CW, 387). Her words recall her Pro Marcello translation, which praises Caesar for deigning to “raise from ground thy adversary” and exhorts him to “raise up from fall” the defeated. Even after Essex’s execution for treason in 1601, Elizabeth continued to espouse Caesar-like clemency: in 1603, when agreeing to spare an Irish rebel leader, she claimed that “clemency hath as eminent a place in supreme authority as justice and severity” (CW, 404).

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brother is endowed with “commemorabili” (memorable) virtues becomes the declaration that his virtues “deserve no dying praise.” “Haec qui faciat” (who would do these things), referring to anyone who, like Caesar, would display clemency to defeated opponents, swells to “whoso can frame his will to grant to this,” underscoring the volitional commitment that clemency entails. As more generally in her translations, Elizabeth employs a practice of Cicero himself and inserts doublets for rhetorical heightening. Elizabeth elaborates the phrasing “qui civile bellum tantum et tam luctuosum excitaverunt” (who roused a civil war so grave and so lamentable) to read: “the stirrers and raisers of such huge rebellion and woeful war.” “Stirrers and raisers” is a first, contemptuous doublet of her own making. A second doublet is “huge rebellion and woeful war,” evoking the specter of “rebellion” with an evident eye to what civil war would produce in monarchical England. Elizabeth also develops sound patterns for expressive purposes, some with and some without Ciceronian analogues. At the opening of the speech, “with tied tongue” supplies a concrete image that retains the three syllables and alliterating t’s of Cicero’s equivalent term, “tacitus” (silent). Her translation of “prudens et sciens” (open-eyed and knowing) as “wittingly, yea, willingly” provides an English equivalent for the Latin sound parallelisms while intensifying Cicero’s claim by way of her mind-will pairing.25 When Elizabeth translates “exstincta aequitate victoris” (quenched by the victor’s equity) as “calmed with the winner’s clementy,” the long-standing association of “aequitas” with “clementia” produces a felicitously alliterating English phrase. Her rendering of “pacis et togae . . . non belli atque armorum” as “peace and long robe, not war and weapon” attains gnomic force through alliteration (“war and weapon”) and heightened parallelism. By translating “toga”— a principal Roman symbol of peace—as “long robe” and changing Cicero’s plural “armorum” to singular “weapon,” she achieves a balance between the two nouns in their singular form and their syllable count. Following the syncretic fashion of Christian humanists in England, and of Ascham in particular, Elizabeth makes selective use of Bibli25. Richard Sherry made an English translation of Pro Marcello, printed with his Treatise of the Figures of Grammar and Rhetorike (London, 1555), which similarly reads “willingly and wittingly” (fol. lxviii v). Since this is the only resemblance between Sherry’s translation and Elizabeth’s not ascribable to literal construal of Cicero’s text, it is unlikely that she consulted his translation, which is simultaneously more literal and more idiomatic than hers.

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cal allusion for stylistic heightening.26 The Latin of Cicero’s peroration on the recent horrors of civil war rings out ominously in short parallel clauses, “Erat . . . obscuritas quaedem, erat certamen inter clarissimos duces”; her English follows suit: “There fell a darkness among us; there fell a quarrel among the greatest captains.” Augmenting the evocative power of the images of darkness and strife by substituting “fall” for “erat” (was), she echoes the wording of the Bishops’ Bible in Genesis 26:1 and 13:7, “And there fell a derthe”; “And there fell a stryfe.”27 Resonances of Biblical calamities that had tested the faith and leadership of Abraham and Isaac, patriarchs of God’s chosen people, intensify the evocation of crisis in classical Rome. Elizabeth’s Pro Marcello translation is also characteristic in occasionally leaving short phrases untranslated or in locally mistaking the sense or grammar—both, likely results of the speed with which she characteristically translated as queen. A number of her ostensible mistakes, however, are traceable to the Renaissance source from which she worked. We have examined twenty texts of Pro Marcello in editions of Cicero’s complete works, his orations, or the single speech, produced by humanists of the sixteenth century. While these texts agree extensively with each other, as a group they diverge from modern texts of Pro Marcello in eighteen instances that leave their marks in Elizabeth’s renderings.28 A striking example involves her puzzling contrast of re-

26. On Ascham’s stylistic syncretism, see Janel Mueller, The Native Tongue and the Word: Developments in English Prose Style, 1380–1580 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 336–46. 27. Elizabeth’s copy of the Bishops’ Bible (1568 et seq.), the authorized Church of England translation at this date, was a gift from Archbishop Matthew Parker. It is preserved among the holdings of the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC. 28. We have examined editions ascribed to Andrea Navagero, his pioneering printed text from the Aldine press (Venice, 1519) and three later editions (Paris, 1532; Venice, 1534; Lyon, 1555); Michael Bentinus (Basel, 1528); Joachim Camerarius [Liebhard Kammerer] (Lyon, 1540); Philipp Melanchthon (Paris, 1544; Wittenberg, 1564); Emilio Ferretti (Lyon, 1546; Venice, 1546; Venice, 1550); Johannes Sturm (Strassburg, 1544, and its paginary reprint, Strassburg, 1564); Denys Lambin (Paris, 1566; London, 1585; Lyon, 1588); Paolo Manuzio (Venice, 1565); Gian Michele Bruto (Lyon, 1567, 1571; London, 1579–80); and Manuzio and Bruto (Frankfurt, 1590). For modern texts and commentary, we have consulted the Loeb text, Cicero XIV: Speeches, ed. and trans. N. H. Watts, rev. ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953), 422–51; and Cicero, Orationes, vol. 2, ed. Albert Clark, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1940), speech 2; Cicero, Pro Marcello, ed. Ruch; and Harold C. Gotoff, Cicero’s Caesarian Speeches: A Stylistic Commentary (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 3–91.

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publican opponents of Caesar, “So that he is better that lost his life in the battle than he that died for the cause,” which closely renders the obscure reading found in all sixteenth-century texts consulted: “ille sit melior, qui in acie cecidit, quam qui in causa animam profudit.” Richard Sherry’s generally literal 1550 translation adds a gloss to make sense of this obscure passage as a contrast between one who died in a battle against Caesar and another who obstinately fought to his death even after Caesar’s victory: “So that he is better which died in the field, then he that shed his bloude in mainteinying the quarrel.”29 In modern editions, the two clauses do not contrast two hypothetical fighters but rather provide parallel descriptions of one who died in battle against Caesar, who is declared better than the embittered survivor of Caesar’s victory condemned in the preceding lines: “ille sit melior, qui in acie cecidit, qui in causa animam profudit” (he is better who has fallen in battle, who has poured out his spirit for the cause). Sixteenth-century editions of Pro Marcello contain a number of substantive variants, even among editions ascribed to the same editor; our notes to the modern-spelling text record eight of these that Elizabeth evidently translated. While none of these variants is unique to one edition, we have found all eight variants in two editions only: Andrea Navagero’s 1534 Venetian edition, and Johannes Sturm’s 1544 Strassburg edition and its 1564 Strassburg paginary reprint. Though Elizabeth might have found Navagero’s 1534 edition of Cicero at Oxford University in 1592, it seems more likely that she used Sturm’s edition. Ascham, who was Sturm’s friend and longtime Latin correspondent, praised Elizabeth’s erudition to Sturm and recommended Sturm’s scholarship to Elizabeth; he may also have ensured that she acquire a copy of Sturm’s Cicero. One example shows Elizabeth responding to a textual variant with a periphrastic flourish. Referring to potential plotters against Caesar, Cicero asks, in her rendering, “Who is this madman that breeds this doubt?” Many Renaissance editions, like modern ones, read simply: “Sed quisnam est iste tam demens?” (But who is this man so mad?). A relative clause, however, follows in Sturm and in Navagero’s 1534 edition (and in some others): “Sed quisnam est iste tam demens qui scilicet tibi insidiaretur?” (Who is this man so mad that he doubtless was plotting against you?). Elizabeth reshapes the relative “qui” clause using 29. Sherry, Treatise of the Figures, sig. lxxiiii r.

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one of her favorite locutions regarding mischief-makers: “that breeds this doubt” (i.e., causes fear).30 Another variant found in Sturm and in Navagero’s 1534 edition illuminates one of Elizabeth’s more obscure renderings. She has Cicero claiming to Caesar that his achievements are such “as no age shall ever be so far as the end of thy trophies and monuments.” Modern editions read “ut tropaeis et monumentis tuis adlatura finem sit aetas” (so that although a period of time will bring an end to your trophies and monuments); the concessive clause sets up the immediately following claim that Caesar’s fame will survive despite the decay of metal and marble. Some Renaissance editions read “ut tropaeis monumentisque tuis nonnulla unquam allatura sit finem aetas” (so that although a certain amount of time will at some point bring an end to your trophies and monuments); others read “ut nulla, sicut tropaeis monumentisque, allatura sit finem aetas,” an elliptical, ambiguous formulation probably best construed “so that no period of time will bring an end to [your achievements], as [it will] to your trophies and monuments.” Elizabeth, however, closely renders the variant found in Sturm and in Navagero’s 1534 edition (among some others) that asserts, contrary to the larger context, the permanence of memorials: “ut tropaeis monumentisque tuis nulla unquam allatura sit finem aetas” (so that no period of time will ever bring an end to your trophies and monuments). Readers will find further elucidation of Elizabeth’s renderings of her source in the notes to our modern-spelling version of the Pro Marcello. Our notes throughout this second and final volume of Elizabeth’s translations adhere to the format established in the first. In our facing-page presentation of original-spelling and modern-spelling texts, our footnotes to her text in original spelling appear first, beginning on the lefthand page, with numbers in lightface; our footnotes to the text in modern spelling follow immediately, with numbers in boldface. 30. In 1567 Elizabeth rebuked those who “bred . . . doubt” regarding her respect for parliamentary liberties (CW, 105); in 1586 she warned James not to heed those who “breed your doubt” about her intentions (CW, 275).

Queen Elizabeth’s translation of Marcus Tullius Cicero’s Pro M. Marcello, ca. September 1592 (original-spelling version)1 12 Of my Longe Scilence, P. C. wiche in thes days my Vse hathe bred me not for dreade but driven therto throwgh Woe and boschefulnis this present day hathe broght to end and made beginninge of what I WoLd and What I ment in Wontid sort to speak. for so great mildnis so unused and Unhard of marcye so great a meane in hiest power of alL thinges so incridible a Wisedome and aLmost diuine with tied toung by no meanes may I pas, that Marcellus P. C. is restored to you and to the Comenwelthe I deame my spiche and authorite not his alone bothe for you and to the my Country kept and retourned for sory did I muche and depely griVe to see suche a man in equal Cause with me not like fortune to obtaine nether Could I wene nor thoght 1. Source: Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, MS Bodley 900, fols. 2r–7r. A draft, entirely in Elizabeth’s loosely formed, late italic hand. The manuscript has been bound in a fine late-sixteenth or early seventeenth-century limp parchment cover with identical gilt stamping front and back. Its central design is a crowned Tudor rose in a leafbordered lozenge set within a ruled rectangle, with flower and leaf motifs at the four corners. The queen’s translation is immediately preceded by a copy of her Latin speech to the heads of Oxford University, September 28, 1592 (Elizabeth I: Autograph Compositions and Foreign Language Originals, ed. Janel Mueller and Leah S. Marcus [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003], 163–65, hereafter cited as ACFLO). Following her translation, on smaller sheets, are Latin and English versions of the very brief “Epistle of the Blessed Virgin Mary to the Messanians,” to which is appended an equally brief description of how St. Paul’s preaching had inspired the Messanians to write to the Virgin and affirm their faith in Christ. Possibly this apocryphal letter and gloss have some relation to one of the Oxford entertainments offered to the queen in 1592. The closely contemporary date of the binding may indicate that this volume’s contents were assembled as a memento of the royal visit.

Queen Elizabeth’s translation of Marcus Tullius Cicero’s Pro M. Marcello, ca. September 1592 (modern-spelling version) [1]1 Of my long silence, P. C., which in these days my use hath bred me, not for dread but driven thereto through woe and bashfulness, this present day hath brought to end; and made beginning of what I would and what I meant, in wonted sort, to speak.2 For so great mildness, so unused and unheard-of mercy, so great a mean in highest power of all things, so incredible a wisdom and almost divine, with tied tongue3 by no means may I pass. [2] That Marcellus, P. C., is restored to you and to the Commonwealth, I deem my speech and authority, not his alone, both for you and to my country kept and returned. For sorry did I much and deeply grieve to see such a man, in equal cause4 with me, not like fortune to obtain. Neither could I

2. 1 The Arabic numerals in the text are foliation inserted in Elizabeth’s hand. 1. For ease of reference to the Latin, we have inserted modern section numbers in square brackets. 2. P. C. . . . . speak P. C. “Patres Conscripti” (the senators); throughout, abbreviated “P. C.” in Elizabeth and in all sixteenth-century editions. which . . . me “quo eram . . . usus” (which I had employed). made . . . speak brought about the beginning of my speaking, in my former manner, of what I wished and what I intended; “attulit . . . initium quae vellem quaeque sentirem meo pristino more dicendi.” 3. unused . . . tongue unused unusual. mean measure, moderation; “modum.” in . . . things in one who has supreme power over all things; “in summa potestate rerum omnium.” with . . . tongue “tacitus” (silent). 4. sorry . . . cause sorry sorrow. to see “cum viderem” (all sixteenth-century editions; some modern editions). in . . . cause “in eadem causa” (in the same cause).

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hit due mete that I shuld haunt the your olde wounted trade Whan he the feloWe and foLoWar of my studies and my paines was bereued me as fro of fro ^ one of deprived of my Compagnion and feere therfor thou hast O Cesar bothe Opened to my me the interlased Custome of my formar Life and from alL this audience dischargid an euident signe to make them ^ not to dout of any hope left for Comen Good, for I haue Vnderstonde3 by many and by my selfe the most yea not long ago by alL that in graunting marcellus life to the Senat, People and Comenwelthe spetialLy whan his offenses Wer alL told howe thou you preferedst the authoritie of that ordar of and the dignitie of the State befor Your owne GriVes or suspectz, he Sure hathe this day Gathered the greatest fruict of his formar days with the Senates ful Voix but CLosed up with your waighty and deape Iugement Wherby hit easely aperes how Great a laude is dew to the Giuar whan the Receiuar win gaines suche Glory RightLy Count Is hime happy whos welfare is accompayned with eache mans Ioye wiche luk by right and merite this man hathe wone for who excides thies man in bloud in truth in study of best artes in purenis or other Laude Kind of Worthe praise No man to wit Whos Wite wil ouerflow the bankes of his his hathe Largest deapest currant whos tounge and pen haue g haue greatest forse and Wordes wiche bothe may Grace and expres at Large bewtifie much les comprehend enLarge set furthe O Cesar thy Glorieus actz. And this I dare affirme and undar your Correction say among alL your actz dedes this day hathe Won you the generalst praise / Oft times haue I laid afore my yees and Soundry times Vsed in spiches to say that aL the actes of our Emperours other strange nations and potent people yea noblest Kings could neuer mache yours nor ether for greatnis of Continction Contention in nor 3. Vnderstonde o retraced over a. 5. your . . . fere your . . . trade the Senate’s political activities. your “vestro” (all sixteenth-century editions). trade manner of life. Elizabeth’s parliamentary speech of February 10, 1559, refers to her virginity as her “trade of life” (CW, 57). pains labors, efforts; “laborum.” fere comrade. 6. interlaced . . . audience interlaced “interclusam” (closed up). from . . . audience “his omnibus” (before all these [present]). 7. For . . . suspects For . . . all This obscure sentence may perhaps be glossed “For I understood from the cases of many and especially of myself and indeed, not long ago, from the cases of all.” Many sixteenth-century editions read “Intellectum est enim mihi quidem in multis et maxime in me ipso, sed paulo ante in omnibus” (It has become clear to me, in the case of many and especially in my own case, as it was a short while ago in the

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ween nor thought it meet that I should haunt your old, wonted trade, when he, the fellow and follower of my studies and my pains, was bereaved me, as one deprived of my companion and fere.5 Therefore thou hast, O Caesar, both opened to me the interlaced custom of my former life and from all this audience6 discharged an evident sign, to make them not to doubt of any hope left for common good. [3] For I have understond by many, and by myself the most, yea, not long ago by all, that in granting Marcellus’s life to the Senate, people, and Commonwealth, specially when his offenses were all told, how you preferred the authority of that order and the dignity of the state before your own griefs or suspects.7 He sure hath this day gathered the greatest fruit of his former days with the Senate’s full voice, but closed up with your weighty and deep judgment. Whereby it easily appears how great a laud is due to the giver when the receiver gains such glory. [4] Rightly is he happy whose welfare is accompanied with each man’s joy, which luck8 by right and merit this man hath won. For who exceeds this man in blood, in truth, in study of best arts, in pureness, or other kind of praise? No man whose wit hath deepest current, whose tongue and pen have greatest force and words, may beautify, much less enlarge,9 O Caesar, thy glorious acts. And this I dare affirm, and under your correction say: among all your deeds this day hath won you the generalest praise.10 [5] Ofttimes have I laid afore my eyes, and sundry times used in speeches to say, that all the acts of our emperors, other strange nations and potent people, yea, noblest kings, could never match yours, either for greatness of contention or for

case of all). Elizabeth’s three instances of “by” render the triple “in” of this Renasissance variant. Modern editions and some Renaissance ones, by contrast, omit the final “in” and construe “omnibus” as a dative of agent parallel to “mihi,” yielding the sense “as [it became clear] a short while ago to all of us.” understond understood. people “populoque” (most sixteenth-century editions consulted). suspects suspicions; “suspicionibus.” 8. happy . . . luck “fortunatus . . . quod.” Elizabeth sustains Cicero’s paradox of good fortune stemming from merit instead of chance. 9. may . . . enlarge “non dicam exornare, sed enarrare . . . possit” (may, I will not say, embellish, but even relate). 10. under . . . praise under . . . correction subject to your correction; “pace . . . tua” (by your leave). generalest praise praise of the generality of people; “nullam . . . laudem ampliorem quam eam” (no greater glory than this).

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for numbar of fightz nor Varietie of Countries nor spide in ending nor unlikenis of Warrs No mens fete could sWift lar pas with spide the Compas of fur Distant soyles than not only your skurmisssis rades but your Victories haue done Wiche Wiche alL if I did not Confes to be so great as skars a mind or thoght may all expres, I must Confes my Witz to faile me, And yet ther are Greatar thinges than thes for of in warLike praises Wordes be so placed as the disgrace the workes and robbes from Captaine ther Glory in equaling ther Soldiars Laudes Lest ther Leadars shuld reape the only honor and true hit is that in the fild the Soldiars4 Valew the placis fitnis the Compagnions helpe ther nauy and ther VitaiL do muche Auaile but yet the greatest part euen by ^ her right fortune chaLengeth and What so s prospers Wel wel ny she Claimeth alL but in this Commendation, Caius Ceasars that lately thou hast got none can be thy feloWe Al this how muche someuer wiche surely excideth alL hoLy is thine no hundred Captaine no lefetenant no lusse5 men no raskaL can gLene from thy triumφe Yea fortune the Leadar of alL worldly haps can make no profar of titeL to this thy glory but giues the place and p makes profession that only and holy hit is thine for Raschenis neuer accompagnes Wit nor Chanche a feloWe to CouncelL You haue tamed nations barberous and crueL in numbarles for multitude infinite in for placies fertile in all kinde of store but al thes be suche thinges as by nature and by state may V be Conquered for neuer was ther in suche so great ^ a forse so large a store but sWord and forse strengh might fible and devour diceuer but to Conquere the mynd to hedd6 hedge in Wrath to tempar wi tempar Conquest to raise from Grounde thy adversary whom thou mights dreade for Race for his Wit for Courage not liVing with thy

4. Soldiars Elizabeth writes an i over an o. 5. lusse loose, i.e., unattached to a military company. 6. hedd Elizabeth wrote “dd” over “gg,” before beginning afresh with “hedge.” 11. strange . . . unlikeness strange foreign. unlikeness “dissimilitudine” (diversity). 12. For . . . lauds For . . . works “Nam bellicas laudes solent quidam extenuare verbis” (For some are accustomed to disparage with words the honors of war). be . . . placed may be so placed. in . . . lauds by treating their soldiers’ praise as equal to their leaders’. soldiers’ “militibus” (many sixteenth-century editions consulted). 13. how much . . . all however much it is, which surely is greater than all the praise given to others; “quantumcumque est, quod certe maximum est” (however great it is, which certainly is very great).

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number of fights, or variety of countries, or speed in ending, or unlikeness11 of wars. No men’s feet could swiftlier pass with speed the compass of far distant soils than not only your raids but your victories have done. [6] Which all, if I did not confess to be so great as scarce a mind or thought may all express, I must confess my wits to fail me; and yet, there are greater things than these. For in warlike praises, words be so placed as they disgrace the works, and robs from captain their glory in equaling their soldiers’ lauds,12 lest their leaders should reap the only honor. And true it is that in the field the soldiers’ value, the places’ fitness, the companions’ help, their navy and victual do much avail. But yet the greatest part, even by her right, Fortune challengeth; and whatso prospers well, well nigh she claimeth all. [7] But in this commendation, Caius Caesar, that lately thou hast got, none can be thy fellow; all this how much somever, which surely exceedeth all,13 wholly is thine. No hundred-captain, no lieutenant, no loose men, no rascal,14 can glean from thy triumph. Yea, Fortune, the leader of all worldly haps, can make no proffer of title to this thy glory, but gives thee place and makes profession that only and wholly it is thine. For rashness never accompanies wit; nor chance,15 a fellow to counsel. [8] You have tamed nations barbarous and cruel, numberless for multitude, infinite for places, fertile in all kind of store; but all these be such things as, by nature and by state, may be conquered. For never was there so great a force, so large a store,16 but sword and strength might feeble and dissever. But to conquer the mind, to hedge in wrath, temper conquest, to raise from ground thy adversary whom thou mightst dread for race, for wit, for courage—not living with thy help, but extols and enlarge his former degree and place— 14. hundred-captain . . . rascal hundred-captain centurion. no . . . men “nihil cohors” (no cohort). loose men men unattached to a company; see Shakespeare, Henry VIII, 5.4.55, where pebble-throwing boys are called “loose shot.” no rascal “nihil turma” (no squadron); rascal rabble of an army or populace; common soldiers or camp followers. Elizabeth evidently mistook “turma” for “turba” (crowd, the rabble) and sought an equivalent that sustained the military focus. Cicero’s series of nouns proceeds from commanders of larger groups to ever smaller groupings of soldiers; her series is arranged in a descending social order. 15. nor chance nor is chance. 16. so . . . store “tanta copia” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted; some modern editions).

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helpe but extols him and inLarge his formar degre and place Who so Can frame his Wyl to graunt to7 this I marchall him not amonge the greattest men but shadowes him nerest to ^ mightiest God the Laudes therfor of thy Warly fetz O Cecar shal not alone be glorified by Ours glorie but by the writz and and tongz ful neare of aL other nations nether shal any after age kipe CounsaiL of thy praise Yea euen suche dides I Wote not hoW euen While the be hard or red brides amid the out soldiars shuts8 Lowde of Voys ful far ioind with the stroke bLast of many a Organ a trompet but ^ whan We heare or read an action wisely used with marcy, Curtesie Curtisie and temper wher wrathe doth raigne a fo to CounseiL whan Victory is wone of nature rasche and proud how dearely do we Reuerence suche a One not only in tru stories but in poesy Euen with suche passion as we Loue whom we neVer saw / but the O Cecar Whom present we behold whos mynd and Conditions We discerne to be suche as Loke What the fortune of war hathe left to CommenWeL that al you haue saued What thankes may extoL the What Loue may we beare the what Indeauors may we make the I assur you methinkes the Very walles of this Court shake in bursting out to rendar thankefulnis With Opinio9 that the ancient authorite of ther forefathers is like in thesm and in thes seates to be restored whan I with you beheld the marcellus bittar teares a man of best sort Whos pietie and Vertue decerue no diinge praise the memorie of all his honorable predecessors perst my brest to Whom thogh ^ dede in Marcelllus safty, thou hast restored bothe dignity and bloud thou hast

7. to Added in left margin. 8. shuts shouts. 9. Opinio opinion. 17. not . . . this not living he who is not simply living. extols . . . enlarge to extol and to enlarge. Elizabeth miswrote “extols” for the required infinitive form. “Extol” has its early modern sense of ‘lift up, raise.’ whoso . . . this “haec qui faciat” (who would do these things; most sixteenth-century editions consulted; some modern editions). 18. warly . . . of warly warlike. keep . . . of remain silent about. 19. I . . . read I . . . how word-for-word rendering of “nescio quo modo” (in some way or other). even . . . read “etiam dum audiuntur, aut dum leguntur” (most sixteenth-century editions consulted, some modern editions). 20. an . . . temper Elizabeth condenses “aliquid clementer, mansuetè, iustè, moderatè, sapienter factum” (something mercifully, kindly, justly, moderately, wisely done). temper temperance. She identifies “temper” as one of the cardinal political

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whoso can frame his will to grant to this,17 I marshal him not among the greatest men, but shadows him nearest to mightiest God. [9] The lauds, therefore, thy warly feats, O Caesar, shall not alone be glorified by ours, but by the writs and tongues full near of all other nations; neither shall any after-age keep counsel of 18 thy praise. Yea, even such deeds, I wot not how, even while they be heard or read,19 breeds amid the soldiers out-shouts loud of voice, full far joined with the blast of many a trumpet. But when we hear or read an action wisely used with mercy, courtesy, and temper20 where wrath doth reign, a foe to counsel, when victory is won of nature rash and proud, how dearly do we reverence such a one, not only in true stories but in poesy,21 even with such passion as we love whom we never saw. [10] But thee, O Caesar, whom present we behold, whose mind and conditions we discern to be such as, look what22 the fortune of war hath left to Commonweal, that all you have saved—what thanks may extol thee, what love may we bear thee, what endeavors may we make thee? I assure you, methinks the very walls of this court shake in bursting out to render thankfulness, with opinion that the ancient authority of their forefathers is like in them and in these seats to be restored.23 When I with you beheld Marcellus’s bitter tears, a man of best sort, whose piety and virtue deserve no dying praise,24 the memory of all his honorable predecessors pierced25 my breast. To whom, though dead, in Marcellus’s safety thou hast restored both dignity and blood:

virtues in her second reply to the parliamentary petition to execute Mary, Queen of Scots (CW, 198). 21. not . . . poesy “non modo in gestis rebus, sed etiam in fictis” (not only in deeds actually performed, but even in imagined ones). poesy A term sometimes used in the Renaissance of any work of imagination or fiction, whether in verse or prose. 22. O . . . what O Caesar In sixteenth-century editions, this vocative of address occurs a few lines later. Elizabeth moves it to this earlier position. look what whatever. 23. the ancient . . . restored “sit illa auctoritas in his maiorum suorum, et suis sedibus” (the authority [of Marcellus] may appear in the halls [that have been the home] of his ancestors and himself ). like likely. 24. Marcellus’s . . . praise Marcellus’s tears The tears are those of Caius Marcellus, brother of M. Marcellus, the subject of this speech. whose . . . praise “commemorabili pietate ac virtute praediti” (endowed with memorable piety and virtue; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). no dying undying. 25. pierced “effodit” (dug out, gouged out; all sixteenth-century editions consulted).

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restored wiche beinge few in numbar of his Left thou hast from dethe preserud, Of aL the innumerable multitude of thankes that thy Worthe hathe bred the this days prais let hit haue hiest rome for this mattar his only your oWne Other actz While you wer Leadar wer uery great but yet not unaccompagned of many and great assistance of Rowte, in this only fact you ar bothe feloWe and Gide / wiche sure is suche as no age shaL euer be so far as the ende of thy Thr troφeis10 and monumentz / 2 for what so naught is so made by handy craft or Worke but sometime or age mars or consumes but this thy Iustice and mynds kindnis eache day dothe helpe to flourische more and more in suche sort as Looke What wery Age sa may skant from thy Acts that hit addeth to thy praise and11 as to fore thou hast exceld the Victorars of CiVil Wars, So this day thou hast Conquerd thy self, s but noW I dread Lest the hirars eares wyl not easely understand what In my thoghts I thinke meane thou hast Shewed thy selfe the conquerar of Conquist in bereVing her her spoiles and best bequeVing12 them to Losars Luk, for Whan (by Victories Law by righ alL Won13 Wel were gilty to dy by thy marcys Iugement We be all safe Ri Iustly than thou art titled inVincible by Whom the state and forse of Victorye her selfe is ar made thy pray and how far dothe reache this Cesars iugement L P. C.14 Listen and Giue Eare15 Al we driVen ^ I wot not how by a wreched and dedLy fate ^of our Commenwel that toke upon Vs the trade of armes ar fride from mischif thogh thraL to some faulte of humaine error for Whan Ceasar kept at 10. troφeis trophies, written with Elizabeth’s characteristic Greek phi. 11. and Added in left margin. 12. bequeVing bequeathing. 13. Won Elizabeth supplies no close parenthesis at this point. 14. P. C. Elizabeth belatedly opted to include Cicero’s direct address to the P.C. (“Patres Conscripti”—the senators). She writes P over L, the first letter of the following word, “Listen,” which she had begun to write, and adds C. 15. Eare Elizabeth leaves the sense incomplete by striking through this word at a line end; see n32 in our modern-spelling version. 26. let . . . room “antepones” (you will place above; all sixteenth-century editions, some modern editions). Elizabeth evidently took Cicero’s future tense for “anteponas,” a jussive subjunctive. 27. rout band or troop of persons. 28. fact . . . monuments fact deed, act. you . . . guide “tu idem es et dux et comes” (you are both the leader and your only comrade). as no age . . . monuments “ut tropeais monumentisque tuis nulla unquam allatura sit finem aetas” (some sixteenth-century editions). See the discussion in our introduction, p. 14.

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which, being few in number of his left, thou hast from death preserved. [11] Of all the innumerable multitude of thanks that thy worth hath bred thee, this day’s praise, let it have highest room.26 For this matter is only your own. Other acts while you were leader were very great, but yet not unaccompanied of many and great assistance of rout.27 In this only fact you are both fellow and guide, which sure is such as no age shall ever be so far as the end of thy trophies and monuments.28 For nought is so made by handicraft or work but sometime age mars or consumes; [12] but this thy justice and mind’s kindness each day doth help to flourish more and more in such sort as, look what weary age may scant from thy acts,29 that it addeth to thy praise. And as tofore thou hast excelled the victorers of civil wars,30 so this day thou hast conquered thyself. But now I dread lest the hearers’ ears will not easily understand what in my thoughts I mean: thou hast showed thyself the conqueror of conquest in bereaving her her spoils and bequeathing them to losers’ luck. For when by Victory’s law, by right, all won, we were guilty to die, by thy mercy’s judgment we be all safe. Justly, then, thou art titled invincible,31 by whom the state and force of Victory herself are made thy prey. [13] And how far doth reach this Caesar’s judgment, P. C., listen and give [ear].32 All we driven, I wot not how, by a wretched and deadly fate of our Commonweal, that took upon us the trade of arms, are freed from mischief,33 though thrall to some fault of human error.

29. handicraft . . . acts handicraft . . . work “opere aut manu factum” (made by work or hand; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). Modern editions read “et” for “aut,” yielding a hendiadys for “handiwork.” weary age “diuturnitas” (longevity). from . . . acts “operibus,” which can mean ‘from your exploits, achievements’ but in the context of Cicero’s contrast between perishable memorials and enduring fame presumably means ‘from your structures, monuments.’ Partly as a consequence of the textual variant in Elizabeth’s source recorded in n28, Elizabeth does not clearly register the contrast that Cicero draws. 30. victorers . . . wars victorers victors. wars Elizabeth does not translate the following phrase, “aequitate et misericordia” (by your equity and compassion). 31. thou . . . invincible “unus invictus es” (you alone are invincible). 32. Listen . . . [ear] Emphatic expansion of “attendite” (give heed to). Elizabeth mistakenly truncated her phrase by deleting “ear.” She may have intended to replace it with a variant such as “attention” (cognate with Cicero’s verb) or “heed.” 33. All . . . mischief All . . . driven All we who were driven. I . . . how A word-for word rendering of the idiom “nescio quo” (by some). by . . . fate “fato . . . nescio quo . . .

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your requestz Marcelus safe for ComenWelthe I he restored me to my self and to my Country Without a sutar the residue of nobLest sort he bestoWed on them selVes and to this soile Whos pres nombar and Worthe this audience shewes you, hit Was not he that broght Our foes in Our Courtz but made hit plain that this CiVil War was by the most sort enterprised more for blindenis, and False and Vaine feare thatn egged by Couetous or Cruel meaninge for my part in this bikerinng I supposed hit our best to treate of peace and bend therto our Eares not a litel Griued to se the citizans Voice and speakars therfor with ernest S sute refused for nether this nor any other CiuiL war wold I euer haue folowed My Conseilz did euer Accompagne peace and Long Robe not war and Weapan. the man I foloWed was for my priVat Loue not for the Commen Cause and so muche the faithful memory of a grateful mynd preVaild with me as for no gaine No not for hope wittinly yea willingly I ran as to my baine Wiche determination of myne was not Kept hid for as this Senat may witnis Whan al Was safe What I sayd of peace Yea in the Sorest War I thogh the same and Gaue hit made hit plaine with the Ventur of my life No man shal be found so I uniust a ^ Iuge as to doubt of Ceasars mynd Euen in the War Whan he Sentenched16 the Auctors of peace to be preserved and Sore Offended with the rest And yet Les marVeL hit had bin Euen at that Instant Whan uncertaine Was was17 the end and doutful Luk of war Whan the Winnar fauors the peacemakars he sureLy shewes e a Wil more prompt to leue to fight than a mynd gready to Win and for this mattar I can Witnis with Marcellus for Our opinions as in peace so in war wer euer One, how oft haue I and with what grife Seen him feare the Pride of some yea the fiersnis of the Victory So muche

misero funestoque” (by some wretched and deadly fate). freed . . . mischief “scelere . . . liberati” (absolved of crime). mischief evil-doing. 16. Sentenched sentenced. 17. Was was A repetition across a line break. 34. our . . . meaning our courts “curiam”; in context, a reference to the Senate house. made . . . plain “indicavit” (revealed; many sixteenth-century editions). meaning intent. 35. to treat . . . therefor to treat . . . ears “de pace agendum, audiendumque esse” (proposals for peace were to be treated and heard; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). therefor for that [i.e., for peace]. Elizabeth condenses Cicero’s expression of

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For when Caesar kept, at your requests, Marcellus safe for Commonwealth, he restored me to myself and to my country without a suitor; the residue of noblest sort he bestowed on themselves and to this soil, whose number and worth this audience shows you. It was not he that brought our foes in our courts, but made it plain that this civil war was by the most sort enterprised more for blindness, false and vain fear, than egged by covetous or cruel meaning.34 [14] For my part in this bickering, I supposed it our best to treat of peace and bend thereto our ears, not a little grieved to see the citizens’ voice, and speakers therefor35 with earnest suit, refused. For neither this nor any other civil war would I ever have followed; my counsels did ever accompany peace and long robe,36 not war and weapon. The man I followed was for my private love, not for the common cause.37 And so much the faithful memory of a grateful mind prevailed with me as for no gain, no, not for hope, wittingly, yea, willingly38 I ran as to my bane: which determination of mine was not kept hid, as this Senate may witness. [15] When all was safe, what I said of peace, yea, in the sorest war I thought the same, and made it plain with the venture of my life. No man shall be found so unjust a judge as to doubt of Caesar’s mind, even in the war, when he sentenced the authors of peace to be preserved, and39 sore offended with the rest; and yet less marvel it had been, even at that instant, when uncertain was the end and doubtful luck of war. When the winner favors the peacemakers, he surely shows a will more prompt to leave to fight than a mind greedy to win. [16] And for this matter I can witness with Marcellus; for our opinions, as in peace so in war, were ever one. How oft have I, and with what grief, seen him fear the pride of some—yea, the fierceness grief that “non modo pacem sed etiam” (not only peace but even) arguments for peace were rejected. 36. civil . . . robe civil war “bellum civile” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted). long robe “togae.” The toga, the formal outer garment of freeborn Roman men, here symbolizes peacetime or civilian life. 37. The . . . cause The man Pompey. for . . . cause “privato officio non publico” (out of personal duty, not public; all sixteenth-century editions consulted, some modern editions). The antithetical noun phrases show Elizabeth’s stylistic preference for symmetrical doublets, but this particular formulation—“love” vs. “cause”—may also indicate her divided mind regarding Essex. 38. wittingly . . . willingly “prudens et sciens” (open-eyed and knowing). 39. and and was.

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more welcome is thy Liberalitie as we Our selves Wer VeWers of thy merite for noW is no time to dispute Causes but to Compare Victories We haue seen thy Victory limited with batoulL We haue Looked of no sword in the City without his skaberd The Citezins we Lost no rage of Victorie but forse of War Co bet doWne So as no man nides to doubt of thy Good Wil O Cesars euen to haue rayse from graue if thy poWer had equald thy Good WylL yet many of thos that be gone Sins Euen of the same Side and troupes thou hast saued Whom thou Couldest but of this part I wyl say no more but that We alL did dread Lest this Victorie Wold haue bine to bloudy for some ther Wer that thretened not the Weaponed but the Loiterars with Speche that hit mad no matter What the thoght but Wher the Wer So that me thinkes the Immortal Gods althogh the Looked for some due punischmentz at the Romanes hands Vpon the sturrars and raisars of suche huge rebellion and Woful War Yet noW ether appaised or satisfied the Seme to haue Yelded alL to hope of life in to the handz of the Victorars Wisc marcy and Wit / wisedome Wit Ioy thou therfor in this Goodnis and Injoy with thy fortune and Glory thy good nature and Condicions Whens procides to the Wise man most profit and greattest delight, In remembring the rest of thy Good turnes many may Ioy the for thy Verteu but many diuers for thy Luk but thy bounty in making me One of the saued with you and my Countrye that can you neuer remember with out the thoght of your greatest benefitz incredible liberalitie and singular liberalitie,wisedome Wiche be not to be accompted the greatest, good but the only So fur shines the Lustar of true prais so great state in magnanimitie of mynd 40. thy liberality . . . merit thy liberality Elizabeth omits Cicero’s vocative “C. Caesar,” that follows at this point. we . . . merit “nobis qui illa vidimus” (to us, we who saw those things—i.e., the “pride” and “fierceness” of civil war). Elizabeth perhaps read the neuter plural “illa” as feminine singular “illam,” referring to Cicero’s “liberalitas” (liberality). 41. raise[d] . . . troops raise[d] Elizabeth wrote “raise”—either a penslip or an uninflected past participle. of . . . troops “ex eadem acie” (of the same army—i.e., the “many” in Pompey’s army whom Caesar would have wished to save). 42. of . . . bloody of . . . part “alterius . . . partis” (of the other party—i.e., the Pompeians). too bloody “nimis iracundam” (too inclined to anger). 43. where . . . were Remaining in Rome was deemed a sign of support for Caesar. 44. although . . . war “etiamsi poenas a populo Romano ob aliquod delictum expetiverunt, qui civile bellum tantum et tam luctuosum excitaverunt” (even if they did exact

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of the victory! So much more welcome is thy liberality, as we ourselves were viewers of thy merit.40 For now is no time to dispute causes, but to compare victories. [17] We have seen thy victory limited with battle; we have looked of no sword in the city without his scabbard. The citizens we lost, no rage of victory but force of war beat down, so as no man needs to doubt of thy goodwill, O Caesar, even to have raise[d] from grave, if thy power had equaled thy goodwill, many of those that be gone, since even of the same side and troops,41 thou hast saved whom thou couldst. But of this part I will say no more but that we all did dread lest this victory would have been too bloody.42 [18] For some there were that threatened not the weaponed but the loiterers, with speech that it made no matter what they thought, but where they were.43 So that methinks the immortal gods, although they looked for some due punishments at the Romans’ hands upon the stirrers and raisers of such huge rebellion and woeful war,44 yet now either appeased or satisfied, they seem to have yielded all hope of life into the hands of the victorers’ mercy and wit. [19] Joy thou therefore in this goodness,45 and enjoy with thy fortune and glory thy good nature and conditions, whence proceeds to the wise man most profit and greatest delight. In remembering the rest of thy good turns, many may joy thee for thy virtue, but divers for thy luck.46 But thy bounty in making me one of the saved47 with you and my country—that can you never remember without the thought of your greatest benefits, incredible liberality, and singular wisdom, which be not to be accounted the greatest good, but the only. So far shines the luster of true praise, so great state in magnanimity of mind

retribution from the Roman people for some sin, who raised a civil war so grave and so lamentable). Elizabeth construes the Roman people as the agents rather than the recipients of divine punishment and avoids Cicero’s suggestion that the gods themselves incited civil war. She also loosely construes “civil war” as “rebellion and . . .war.” 45. in . . . goodness “isto tam excellenti bono” (in this your crowning good). 46. many . . . luck many of your good deeds may delight you as evidence of your virtue, but some of them may delight you as evidence of your good luck. divers Cicero ascribes more deeds to good fortune: “plerumque” (very many, the most part). 47. me . . . saved me “nobis” (us). Elizabeth construes Cicero as referring to himself with a rhetorical plural rather than, as the context suggests, referring collectively to the republican exiles forgiven by Caesar. saved “salvos” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted).

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and CounseL18 this shewes Vertues libera reWards the other but fortunes Loue, be not weary therfor to preserue good men that haue faulted not for ambition or Lewdenis but begiled with Opinion of dewty thogh falz hit wer yet sure not dishonest hauinge a shewe of Countryes Good, for your fault hit was not that some haue feared you yea muche more thy prais that thogh the decerned Yt the feared the not NoW come I to the greatest quareL and Egarst Suspicion wiche not you alone but alL the Citezines spetially my selfe with the residue that thou hast saued Ought to forse,19 wiche thogh I hope be got aWry yet my Wordz shal not ss lessen for Your Safty must euer be Our Warent euen so far furth as if I must nides fault I had rather be seme to fearfuL than skarsely Wise, Who is this mad man that brides this doWt, is he One of your Owne thogh none Can be more yours than the that hold ther life of thy your gift whan lest they Looked therfor W Was he of the numbar that wer in your troupes suche a hare braine may hardly be found as receuing all of his Captaines Grace Wyl not prefer his Life afor his oWne but if your oWne thinke you no harme be Ware your enemy do you none but Wher find we them, all the that wer ether haue perist by ther stumberdnis20 or wer saued by thy marcye So hit folowes that ether none dothe liue or the that brithe be Wone thy noune21 but for that ther be so many ^ croked and hiden holes in mennes myndz Let me increase thy your suspect so shaL ^ you increase your hide22 3 Who is so simple an Innocent so ignorante of home matters So ne Careles of his owne and Comen Good that knoWes not how of on thy life and Welfare alone dependeth his and so the rest of Citizens Sure Whan night and day I think of the as dewty bindz me I feare the 18. CounseL The turn from fol. 4r to 4v occurs after this word, and on fol. 4v the entire text is written upside down. On fol. 5r the directionality is righted. 19. forse foresee. 20. stumberdnis stubbornness. 21. thy noune thine own. “Thine own” is often segmented as “thi / thy nown(e) / noune” in sixteenth-century writing. 22. hide The end of the upside-down text of fol. 4v. 48. the other “caetera” (other things). 49. lewdness . . . . duty lewdness wickedness. with . . . duty by the belief that they were performing their duty; “opinione officii.” 50. that, though . . . not “quod minime timendum fuisse senserunt” (that they felt you were to be feared very little). 51. eagerest . . . lessen eagerest most fierce or savage; “atrocissimam.” my . . . lessen “numquam tamen verbis extenuabo” (I will never belittle with my words).

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and counsel; this shows Virtue’s rewards, the other48 but Fortune’s love. [20] Be not weary, therefore, to preserve good men that have faulted not for ambition or lewdness, but beguiled with opinion of duty:49 though false it were, yet sure not dishonest, having a show of country’s good. For your fault it was not, that some have feared you; yea, much more thy praise that, though they discerned it, they feared thee not.50 [21] Now come I to the greatest quarrel and eagerest suspicion, which not you alone but all the citizens, specially myself with the residue that thou hast saved, ought to foresee: which though I hope be awry, yet my words shall not lessen.51 For your safety must ever be our warrant, even so far forth as, if I must needs fault, I had rather seem too fearful than scarcely wise. Who is this madman that breeds this doubt? Is he one of your own?52—though none can be more yours than they that hold their life of your gift, when least they looked therefor. Was he of the number that were in your troops? Such a harebrain53 may hardly be found as, receiving all of his captain’s grace, will not prefer his life afore his own. But if your own think you no harm, beware your enemy do you none.54 But where find we them? All they that were, either have perished by their stubbornness or were saved by thy mercy. So it follows that either none doth live, or they that breathe be won thine own.55 [22] But, for that there be so many crooked and hidden holes in men’s minds, let me increase your suspect; so shall you increase your heed. Who is so simple an innocent, so ignorant of home matters, so careless of his own and common good that knows not how on thy life and welfare alone dependeth his and so the rest of citizens’ sure?56 When night and day I think of thee, as duty binds me, I fear the 52. Who . . . own Who . . . doubt? See our discussion in the introduction to this text, pp. 13–14. doubt fear, dread. one . . . own? one of Caesar’s own followers. 53. such . . . harebrain “tantus in ullo furor” (so much madness in anyone). harebrain reckless person. 54. But . . . none The main clause of this sentence in modern editions is a question headed by “An”; in all sixteenth-century editions consulted, it is an imperative headed by “At” (But). 55. or . . . own “aut qui superfuerunt, amicissimi sint” (or those that survive are most friendly; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). be . . . own are won [over to be] thine own [friendly to you]. Elizabeth’s double ellipsis renders the sense elusive. 56. of home . . . sure of . . . matters “in re publica.” sure surety, safety. At points Elizabeth extends the category of adjectives that can function as nouns—as, e.g., “good” does in ordinary English usage.

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sondry ^ mishaps that fals to men the uncertainn change of helth and SLippernis of mans dayes and GriVe I do Whan this Commenwelth wiche I Wische immortaL to se hit depend vpon the brethe of One ^ mortal parson but if to humane Il Luks and unlooked disease disease thes be added to a Consent of mischif and a sorte of treason hoW may We in humain reason beliue that a God shal helpe Our nide thou must raise up from faL, O Cesar, aL suche thinges as by forse of War, wiche nidely must hap)23 wer stroken and bet doWne Yea that that tim hathe Lowsed Lawes must bind You must appoint Iugementz seates You must stablische faithe bi Suppres Lust Confirme the LawfuL inheritars hit Was not to be Looked for in so Ciuil a War in so great a broiL of mynds and armes but that the shaken CommenWelth What So the hap of War might bride shuld Loose many Ornamentz of her State and Strengh of her maintenance Yea ether of you bothe in feld Wold bid ful many actions that in Senate you wold neuer suffer don And noW alL the Woundz that this War hathe made thou must be Surgen for to for no man elz may heale them, Against my Wyl ful sore I haue hard thy princely and Wise Voyce, Say thes I haue liVed longe Inough bothe for nature and for glory, Sufficient time for your age, if So you Wyl add to it you list for your honor but for that is most worth for your Country surely to short / ^ Ouerslip I pray you this Wisdom of Lernid doctors that despisst dethe with be not wise for Our pereL, Oft do I heare that you to muche dothe use to Giue out this Spiche that that you haue liued Long ynough for your self, I beliue you, weL but yet with this addition if to your self alone you liued or borne Wer only for your selfe, but Whan your actes haue managed the safty of your Citezins and Country so fur be you from the perfection of your greattest affayres that I beliue you haue skant layd the foundacions of them that your mynd comprehends Wil 23. hap) Elizabeth supplies no open parenthesis. 57. I . . . immortal “immortalis esse debeat” (should be immortal). 58. how . . . need? “quem deum, etiamsi cupiat, opitulari posse reipublicae credamus” (what god, even if he should wish to, are we to believe could help the republic?—all sixteenth-century editions consulted). 59. needly . . . bind needly . . . hap necessarily must happen. stroken struck. yea . . . bind “omnia quae dilapsa . . . diffluxerunt severis legibus vincienda sunt” (all that has fallen apart must be tied together with strict laws). Elizabeth translates loosely, adding “time” and omitting “severis” (strict), thus softening the image of the imposition of law. She also moves this passage to the head of the series of parallel clauses translated in her next sentence; in Cicero this passage occurs as the climax.

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sundry mishaps that falls to men—the uncertain change of health and slipperiness of man’s days—and grieve I do when this Commonwealth, which I wish immortal,57 to see it depend upon the breath of one mortal person. [23] But if to human ill-lucks and unlooked disease these be added too, a consent of mischief and a sort of treason, how may we in human reason believe that a god shall help our need?58 Thou must raise up from fall, O Caesar, all such things as by force of war (which needly must hap) were stroken and beat down; yea, that, that time hath loosed, laws must bind.59 You must appoint judgments’ seats; you must stablish faith, suppress lust, confirm the lawful inheritors.60 [24] It was not to be looked for in so civil a war, in so great a broil of minds and arms, but that the shaken Commonwealth, whatso the hap of war might breed, should lose many ornaments of her state and strength of her maintenance; yea, either of you both, in field would bid full many actions61 that in Senate you would never suffer done. And now all the wounds that this war hath made, thou must be surgeon to, for no man else may heal them. [25] Against my will, full sore, I have heard thy princely62 and wise voice say these: “I have lived long enough both for nature and for glory.” Sufficient time for your age, if so you will; add to it, you list,63 for your honor; but for that is most worth, for your country, surely too short. Overslip, I pray you, this wisdom of learned doctors64 that despise death; be not wise with our peril. Oft do I hear that you too much doth use to give out this speech: that you have lived long enough for yourself. I believe you well, but yet with this addition: if to yourself alone you lived, or born were only for yourself. But when65 your acts have managed the safety of your citizens and country, so far be you from the perfection of your greatest affairs that I believe you have scant laid the foundations of them that your mind comprehends. Will

60. confirm . . . inheritors “propaganda soboles” (offspring must be produced). Cicero exhorts Caesar to concern himself with the losses of life in the civil war. Elizabeth shifts the emphasis from procreation to inheritance. 61. either . . . actions either . . . both “uterque dux” (the leader of either side—i.e., Caesar and / or Pompey). would . . . actions “faceret” (would do). 62. princely “praeclarissimam” (most admirable). 63. you list if you list; “si placet.” 64. Overslip . . . doctors Overslip Slide over, pass by. wisdom . . . doctors doctrines of Stoic philosophers. 65. But when “nunc cum” (yet since; all sixteenth-century editions consulted).

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you limite the end of your days with the pleasing of your mynd not With the Care of your24 Countries Good What if this be not sufficient for your oWne Glory of Wiche thogh you be a Wise man You can not deny You are most Gridy of Is hit a smaL matter to Loe leue a great Glory Yea to others yea to many ynough but to serue your liking to liteL for hoW magnifique so euer a matter be that yet if the attende expect a greattar fortune the rest comes to25 short for if O Cesar of your immortal fame this only shuld be the ende that Winning Your foes you should LLeaue your ComenWeLe in State as noW hit is take hide that your diuine uertue Cary not more Wondar than prais for your Glory is noble, and fur Sprid abrod by the fame of Your desartz toWard many of greatest degry and Worthe yea to your Citezins to your Country and in Short to alL kind of estatz but yet ther bidz behind another part for you to play another dide to execute and this must be your traueL26 to frame a ComenWelthe and Compound hit in so quiet Sort as you may Inioy with hit your27 quiet ease / And than whan whan your haue payd ansWerred your Countrey his due and nature haue bine paid sufficient for his d her det With a sufficiencye Content satisfaction of life than if you List Say I haue liued Long Inough but28 What meneth29 this Word Sufficient Inough in wiche ther is a furdar respect ende attended wiche Whan hit haps al passed pleasures shal seme none bicause ther shal be none to Come foloWe. Thy haute Courage was euer Suche as neeuer Was Satisfied With the Strait bondz that nature Yeldz all men to liue in but StiL 24. your Added in left margin. 25. to Added in left margin. 26. traueL travail. 27. your yo written over w. 28. but Added in left margin. 29. meneth th retraced over st. 66. care . . . good Elizabeth reflected as follows in her first reply to the parliamentary petition to execute Mary, Queen of Scots: “If by my death, other nations and kingdoms might truly say that this realm had attained an ever prosperous and flourishing estate, I would (I assure you) not desire to live, but gladly give my life” (CW, 192–93). 67. Is . . . glory Is . . . matter “Parumne igitur, inquies” (“Is it a small thing?” you will ask). Elizabeth does not translate “inquies”; as a result, Caesar’s imagined question becomes a rhetorical question of Cicero’s. great glory “gloriam magnam” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted). 68. magnific . . . short magnific “amplum” (great). yet . . . short “id certe parum est tum, cum est aliquid amplius” (however great it be, it is certainly small, if there is anything greater; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). 69. your Commonweal Elizabeth adds the possessive pronoun.

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you limit the end of your days with the pleasing of your mind, not with the care of your country’s good?66 What if this be not sufficient for your own glory, of which, though you be a wise man, you cannot deny you are most greedy of? [26] Is it a small matter to leave a great glory?67 Yea, to others, yea, to many, enough; but to serve your liking, too little. For how magnific soever a matter be, yet if they expect a greater fortune, the rest comes too short.68 For if, O Caesar, of your immortal fame this only should be the end—that, winning your foes, you should leave your Commonweal69 in state as now it is—take heed that your divine virtue carry not more wonder than praise. For your glory is noble and far spread abroad by the fame of your deserts toward many of greatest degree and worth, yea, to your citizens, to your country, and in short, to all kind of estates.70 [27] But yet there bides behind another part for you to play, another deed to execute; and this must be your travail: to frame a Commonwealth and compound71 it in so quiet sort as you may enjoy with it your ease. And then when you have answered your country his due, and Nature have been paid sufficient for her debt with a satisfaction of life, then, if you list, say: “I have lived long enough.” But what meaneth this word “enough”?—in which there is a further end attended, which, when it haps, all passed pleasures shall seem none because there shall be none to follow. Thy haute courage72 was ever such as never was satisfied with the strait bonds that Nature yields all men to live in, but still

70. For . . . estates For . . . fame “si quidem gloria est illustris ac pervagata . . . fama” (if indeed glory is illustrious and widespread fame). Elizabeth reads Cicero’s claim about the nature of glory as an address to Caesar regarding his glory. She also construes “fama” as an ablative describing how Caesar attains glory rather than as a predicate defining what glory is. of your . . . worth “multorum et magnorum . . . meritorum” (of your many and great services; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). Elizabeth’s loose rendering adds a focus upon the social status of those indebted to Caesar. deserts meritorious deeds. your citizens “suos cives” (his [the famous man’s] citizens; most sixteenth-century editions consulted, some modern editions). Elizabeth translates the third-person reference as “your” because she construes the passage as an address to Caesar. to . . . country “in patriam” (to [his] country). all . . . estates “omne genus hominum” (every race of men, all mankind). Continuing her emphasis upon social status, Elizabeth renders Cicero’s generalization about humankind in terms of the early modern hierarchy of social ranks or estates; compare her 1572 reference to “our own subjects of all estates” (CW, 206). 71. compound settle, pacify; “composita” (settled, pacified; most sixteenth-century editions consulted). 72. Thy . . . courage “iste tuus animus” (this your courage). haute high, haughty.

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inflamed with Loue of immortalitie nether is this to be termed life wiche knitz the Soule and body togither but that is that is thy life Ceasar wiche shal haue life in memorye of many Ages Wiche posterite shal feade and Eternitie shal looke On be diligent in this worke, And bost thy selfe of so good a dide / this thy life Country hathe beheld many thinges to Wondar at and noW doth loKe for many thinges to prais Our posteritie Wil be astonied to here and read of all your Won kingdomes prouincis the Rhene the Occean the Nile your innumerable fightz your incredible Victories your monumentz your ReWardz and your triumfes / but with onles this Citie be stablished by your Conselz and Ordars your Wayfaring name30 shaL spred fur and Wide, but a stable seate and Sure abode hit shal neuer haue / ther shaL arise a great contention amonge them that shaL foloW us as amonge Vs that now liue Some Wil extoL thy dides to sky some other WyL say ther Was som what ondone yea of greatist Consequenze except for Countryes good thou quenche the flame of Ciuil stur Wiche may make plain that the One Was destinie and this last thy CounsaiL / the Very sLaues Stand to the Iugementz of thos that in after time shaL be Verderars of your dides perchanche with Clearar dome than We Ours for thers ther sentense shaL haue no hate no loue no hate no desire no Envie Corrupt and so griue ther Contience And thogh that some t so falsly Iuge that thos days shaL nothing auaiLe you Yet this present age time no man denies but hit toucheth you to sheWe you suche a one as no Obliuion may dimm your prais 4 diuers Wer the Wils and d soundry Wer the Opinions of the Citezins, for we diferd fought not with Councelz and indeuors but contented with Wepon armor and Weapon ther fel a darknes amonge

30. name Added in left margin. 73. to . . . Caesar to . . . termed “dicenda est” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted). Caesar All sixteenth-century editions consulted contain this direct address. 74. except . . . counsel except unless. which . . . counsel If Caesar saves his country, his exploits in war will be attributed to destiny, while his establishment of order will be attributed to his wise advice. 75. verderers . . . doom verderers verdict-givers, judges (by extension of the term for judicial officers of the royal forests, sworn to maintain them against tres-

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enflamed with love of immortality. [28] Neither is this to be termed life, which knits the soul and body together, but that is, that is thy life, Caesar,73 which shall have life in memory of many ages, which posterity shall feed, and eternity shall look on. Be diligent in this work, and boast thyself of so good a deed. This thy country hath beheld many things to wonder at, and now doth look for many things to praise. Our posterity will be astonished to hear and read of all your won kingdoms, provinces—the Rhine, the Ocean, the Nile—your innumerable fights, your incredible victories, your monuments, your rewards, and your triumphs. [29] But unless this city be stablished by your counsels and orders, your wayfaring name shall spread far and wide, but a stable seat and sure abode, it shall never have. There shall arise a great contention among them that shall follow, as among us that now live. Some will extol thy deeds to sky. Some other will say there was somewhat undone—yea, of greatest consequence—except, for country’s good, thou quench the flame of civil stir, which may make plain that the one was destiny, and this last thy counsel.74 Stand to the judgments of those that in aftertime shall be verderers of your deeds, perchance with clearer doom75 than ours. For their sentence shall no love, no hate, no desire,76 no envy corrupt. [30] And though that some so falsely judge that those days shall nothing avail you, yet this present time no man denies but it toucheth you to show you such a one77 as no oblivion may dim your praise. Divers were the wills, and sundry were the opinions of the citizens, for we fought not with counsels and endeavors but with armor and weapon. There fell a darkness among us; yea, there fell78 a quarrel

pass). clearer freer, less biased, more innocent; “incorruptius” (more incorruptible, unbiased). doom judgment. 76. no desire “sine cupiditate” (without greed). “Cupiditas” can refer to intense desire in a neutral sense, but the context suggests the negative sense of ‘greed.’ 77. some . . . one some . . . avail you Cicero alludes to those who do not believe in or respect the importance of the afterlife, such as the Epicureans. show . . . one demonstrate that you are such a person (“te talem”). 78. fell . . . fell “erat . . . erat” (was . . . was). Elizabeth’s rendering recalls the phrasing of Genesis 26:1 and 13:7 in the Bishops’ Bible.

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us ther fel a quareL amonge the greatest Captaines Many doubted ^ What was best some What was best for them selues Other What became them Yea some other What was LaWfulL thus Was this Comenwelth affLicted with this Wretched and iueL destined War but he Wan who kindeled not his hate with his fortune but couured hit With his marcy nor Iuged not Worthy dethe nor Outlawry aL suche as had offend31 him Suche Weap Weapons as Wer layd doWne by some Others boldly toke Vp, Vngrateful and I unIust a Citezin is he Who deliVerd fromWars danger Kepes a mynd armed stiL So that he is bettar that Lost his life in the batteL than he that died for the Cause. For that is froWardnis in to in some in to32 others semes Constancy but for that this broil is broken With armes and Calmed with the Winnars Clementie hit remaines noW that Al be of One mynd not only the that be Wise but the that be not mad for Without thy safty O Cesar and thy good Sentence Whiche heretofor and euen this day thou gaue safe can we neuer be Wherfor aL We that Wische alL safe sure do exhort and beseche the to Care for thy life and Surtie and that I may speke for alL others that of my self I thinke bicause thou thinkes ther lise33 lurking somthinge worthy thy hide we do promis the not only SKout Wache and gard but the bulke of our sides and Carcasis for thy ^ defense but that this my Oration may take his end Whens his beginning ^ ^ rose Our thankes be great We renddar the but more by muche We Owe the, for alL with on Consent be of Like ^ mynd as bothe as34 wel ther Wisches and teares may make the knoWe and for that alL the multitude Can hardly spe be hard at ons they haue Chosen me ther Spokesman to Whom hit becommeth me Obay bothe for that So suche is thir Wyl and chiefly for that I knoWe my bond is suche to as Marcellus being restored to the Senate to the people to the 31. offend offended. 32. in to On Elizabeth’s revision, see n83 of our modern-spelling version. 33. lise lies. 34. as Elizabeth failed to delete this superfluous “as” when she made the revision immediately preceding. 79. what became them what was fitting for them; “quid deceret . . . sibi.” 80. outlawry exile, banishment. 81. Such . . . up “arma ab aliis posita, ab aliis erepta sunt” (arms were put down by some and snatched from others). 82. So . . . cause “ille sit melior, qui in acie cecidit, quam qui in causa animam profudit” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted). See the discussion in the introduction to this text, pp. 12–13.

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among the greatest captains. Many doubted what was best: some, what was best for themselves; other, what became them;79 yea, some other, what was lawful. [31] Thus was this Commonwealth afflicted with this wretched and evil-destined war. But he won who kindled not his hate with his fortune but covered it with his mercy, nor judged not worthy death nor outlawry 80 all such as had offended him. Such weapons as were laid down by some, others boldly took up.81 Ungrateful and unjust a citizen is he who, delivered from war’s danger, keeps a mind armed still. So that he is better that lost his life in the battle than he that died for the cause;82 for that is frowardness in some, to others seems constancy.83 [32] But, for that this broil is broken with arms and calmed with the winner’s clementy,84 it remains now that all be of one mind—not only they that be wise, but they that be not mad. For without thy safety, O Caesar, and thy good sentence,85 which heretofore and even this day thou gave, safe can we never be. Wherefore all we, that wish all sure, do exhort and beseech thee to care for thy life and surety. And that I may speak for all others, that of myself I think: because thou thinks there lies lurking something worthy thy heed, we do promise thee not only scout, watch, and guard, but the bulk of our sides and carcasses86 for thy defense. [33] But that this my oration may take his end whence his beginning rose—our thanks be great we render thee, but more by much we owe thee. For all with one consent be of like mind, as both their wishes and tears may make thee know. And for that all the multitude can hardly be heard at once, they have chosen me their spokesman, to whom it becometh me obey, both for that such is their will, and chiefly for that I know my bond is such as, Marcellus being restored to the Senate, to the people, to the Commonwealth, I ought 83. for . . . constancy “quae enim pertinacia quibusdam, eadem aliis constantia videri potest” (for what can seem obstinacy to some, to others can seem constancy of purpose). that is that which is, what is. frowardness . . . some Elizabeth’s phrase fails to capture the Latin sense. She initially revised this to the more accurate “frowardness to some” but then reverted to her original formulation; see our original-spelling version. 84. with . . . clementy “aequitate victoris” (by the victor’s equity). clementy clemency (form unattested in OED). 85. for . . . sentence for “quia” (all sixteenth-century editions consulted). 86. scout . . . carcasses scout . . . guard Three near-synonyms render Cicero’s plural doublet “excubias et custodias” (watch-guards and sentinels). scout sentinel. watch watchman. carcasses (living) bodies.

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Comenwelth I aught to th take make this function for I may parceue an VniVersal Ioy as not for his life alone but for the good of alL And to proue mby frindeship to him hit hathe bynne euer knoWen to aL men so great as but to C. M.35 his best and deare brother I weL giue place to none other / Wiche I haue Vereuied by Sute, by Care, by labor as long as I beheld his life in doute and noW that I see him fried from fere from troble from Woe I augh to do as You may heare / therfor O Ceasar Receaue my many thankes as from him that Confesseth him self and alL his ^ not only preserued by thy Goodnis but aduanced and yet aboue alL thy innumerable desartz to me alone (wiche I Could neuer haue imagined) this thy fact to marcellus doth made hathe Layd the hiest hiep / 35. C. M. Caius Marcellus. 87. And . . . function And . . . once “non est astantibus omnibus necesse dicere” (it is not necessary for all to stand up to speak; a reading with minor variations in sixteenth-century editions). Here “all” are the senators, not “the multitude.” to . . . obey A loose rendering of “cui necesse est” (for whom it is necessary). Cicero refers to himself, and proceeds to explain why he must speak. such . . . will “quod volunt” (what they want; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). chiefly “praecipue” (above all; all sixteenth-century editions). my . . . such Elizabeth’s explanatory addition. Marcellus

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to make this function;87 for I may perceive an universal joy, as not for his life alone but for the good of all. [34] And to prove my friendship to him (it hath been ever known to all men so great, as but to Caius Marcellus, his best and dear brother, I well give place to none other), which I have verified by suit,88 by care, by labor as long as I beheld his life in doubt; and now that I see him freed from fear, from trouble, from woe,89 I ought to do. As you may hear, therefore, O Caesar, receive my many thanks as from him that confesseth himself and all his, not only preserved by thy goodness, but advanced; and yet above all thy innumerable deserts to me alone (which I could never have imagined), this thy fact to Marcellus90 hath laid the highest heap. . . . restored Elizabeth omits “a te” (by you, i.e., Caesar). I . . . function “id a me fieri debere” (it should be done by me; all sixteenth-century editions consulted). 88. by suit by earnest endeavor; “sollicitudine” (by solicitude / effort). 89. I see . . . woe “magnis curis, molestiis, doloribus liberatus” (freed [as I am] from great cares, distresses, and sorrows). Elizabeth applies to Marcellus what Cicero says of himself. 90. this . . . Marcellus this action of yours toward Marcellus; “hoc tuo facto” (by this action).

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figure 2 Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae (October–November 1593), fol. 30r. Reproduced by courtesy of The National Archives, UK.

During a bleak period in October-November 1593, Elizabeth translated Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae (Consolation of Philosophy). Once a high official at the court of the Ostrogoth king of Italy, Theodoric (493–526 C.E.), Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius was summarily condemned on charges of treason in 523. As Theodoric’s exalted and powerful master of the offices, Boethius had protected his close senatorial associates, especially his revered father-in-law, Symmachus, at the cost of making enemies. When Theodoric’s private secretary Cyprian denounced the prominent senator Albinus for treasonable correspondence with persons close to the Byzantine emperor Justin, Theodoric declared Albinus guilty without trial. Boethius had the temerity to defend Albinus. In return, Cyprian’s brother Opilio and two other courtiers, Basilius and Gaudentius, accused Boethius of writing letters that treasonably expressed hopes of liberation from Theodoric’s rule and of committing other crimes. Boethius was thrown into prison to await execution. There he wrote his classic work. The Consolation enacts an arduous mental ascent to the divine realm by its human protagonist, the character Boethius, guided by a personification of reason, Lady Philosophy. Through intense exchanges of dialogue between the initially distraught Boethius and Lady Philosophy as the reassuring exponent of God’s order, the Consolation aims to articulate the nature of true happiness and the problem of evil. Interweaving Platonic, Neoplatonic, Aristotelian, and Stoic themes, Lady Philosophy argues that evil men, whatever their worldly success, are

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not happy, and that the virtuous, whatever their worldly fortunes, are blessed and even share in divinity, because they participate in the goodness of God. She concludes by arguing that divine providence is fully compatible with human free will. Because God sees temporal events in an eternal present, His knowledge imposes no constraint on the future or on the freedom of human action. By choosing virtue, humans can attain happiness in this life and receive reward from God in the hereafter. Within his dialogic framework, Boethius intersperses poems dense with allusions to Latin poetry, history, and myth that enhance the philosophical argument with lyric pungency.1 The Consolation, which had attracted King Alfred and Geoffrey Chaucer to make earlier English translations, was a major school text in the Middle Ages. In the Renaissance it continued to be read and admired widely. Philosophers responded to its metaphysical arguments concerning divine providence and human freedom; humanists hailed its lyrics as models of elegant Latinity.2 The Consolation influenced Thomas More’s Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation (1534), written during his imprisonment in the Tower of London awaiting trial on treason charges for refusing to swear Henry VIII’s Oath of Supremacy.3 1. Henry Chadwick provides a fine overview of the Consolation in Boethius: The Consolations of Music, Logic, Theology, and Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981); P. G. Walsh offers an excellent English rendering, introduction, and notes in his translation of the Consolation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). We have consulted the critical editions by Ludovicus Bieler (Turnholt, Belgium: Brepols, 1984) and by Claudio Moreschini in De Consolatione Philosophiae, Opuscula Theologica (Munich: K. G. Saur, 2000); the twovolume grammatical commentary of James J. O’Donnell, Bryn Mawr Latin Commentaries (Bryn Mawr, PA: Thomas Library of Bryn Mawr College, 1990), and the literary commentary of Johannes Gruber, Kommentar zu Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophiae, 2nd ed. (1978; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2006). Our own literal translations are indebted to Walsh; the Loeb translation by S. J. Tester in Boethius, Theological Tractates and The Consolation of Philosophy, ed. and trans. H. F. Stewart, E. K. Rand, and S. J. Tester (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973); Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, trans. Victor Watts, rev. ed. (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books, 1999); and Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, trans. Joel C. Relihan (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2001). 2. See Anthony Grafton, “Epilogue: Boethius in the Renaissance,” in Boethius: His Life, Thought and Influence, ed. Margaret Gibson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1981), 410–18; Antonino Poppi, “Fate, Fortune, Providence, and Human Freedom,” in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Charles B. Schmitt et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 642, 649–50. 3. See A Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, ed. Louis L. Martz and Frank Manley, Complete Works of St. Thomas More, vol. 12 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1976), cxvii–cxix.

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In their defenses of poetry, Elizabeth’s contemporaries Thomas Lodge and Philip Sidney cited Boethius’s precedent in using verse for philosophical discourse.4 In translating Boethius, Elizabeth was not only making an influential classic her own but also expressing some of her long-harbored thoughts. She herself had been imprisoned in the Tower of London by her half-sister Queen Mary on suspicion of complicity in treasonous plotting in 1554.5 Lady Philosophy’s Stoic argument in book 2 that one has no reason for complaint if fickle Fortune turns her wheel and suddenly dashes power, influence, and well-being to nothing echoes the theme of Seneca’s Epistle 107, which Elizabeth had translated near the end of her first decade of rule. Yet she seems to have sought the particular consolation of Boethian philosophy in late 1593. This was a period of unrelieved difficulty and anxiety for the now sixty-year-old queen, including war with Spain and concerns over Catholic conspiracies. William Camden, the historian, headmaster of Westminster School, and associate of Elizabeth’s principal secretary Lord Burghley, plausibly reports that one event particularly directed her attention to Boethius. In Camden’s annalistic history, the entries for 1593 relate that the queen received a report that “the French King, either had embraced, or would shortly embrace the profession of the Romish religion,” whereupon she dispatched a special envoy, Thomas Wilkes, to Henri IV, “to dissuade him by forcible reasons contained in writing.” But before Wilkes arrived, Henri had publicly professed Roman Catholicism. According to Camden, Henri “ingeniously laid open” to Wilkes his “motives,” which were pragmatic and tactical. The king claimed that if he had not converted, a new war of religion would have convulsed France. By converting, he concluded, “I have united the princes of the blood royal to me, prevented the election of Guise [a rival for the throne sponsored by an opposing faction], . . . and saved the Reformed religion from danger of burning.”6 Camden provides an English version of Elizabeth’s highly emotional 4. Elizabethan Critical Essays, ed. G. Gregory Smith, 2 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1904), 1:74, 173. 5. See Elizabeth’s highly wrought appeal to Mary: Letter 23 in CW, 43–44. 6. [William Camden,] Tomus Alter, & Idem: Or the Historie of the Life and Reigne of that Famous Princesse, Elizabeth . . . since the yeare of the Fatall Spanish Invasion, to that of her sad and euer to be deplored dissolution, ed. Thomas Browne (London, 1629), 85, 86, 88.

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and sharply reproachful letter in French to Henri IV, charging him with abandoning his highest ethical and religious principles and betraying his status as a child of God: “My God, is it possible that any worldly respect should efface the terror with which the fear of God threatens us? Can we with any reason expect a good sequel from an act so iniquitous? . . . Ah, it is dangerous to do evil to make good out of it. . . . Your most assured sister, if it be after the old fashion; with the new I have nothing to do.”7 In the next development he reports, keyed by the marginal rubrics “She translateth a book of Boethius” and “Boethius de consolatione,” Camden reflects on the dispirited Elizabeth: “In this her trouble she only found ease and solace from the holy Scriptures, the writings of holy Fathers, often conferences with the Archbishop [John Whitgift], and even sometimes out of the philosophers she drew comfort. For certainly I know, that at that time she was very conversant in the book of Boethius, and that she then translated it into English.”8 Her rendering of the philosophical conclusion and affective culmination of the Consolation reverberates with sentiments voiced in her letter to Henri IV: since we live our lives before “a Viewer of us all” who “dispenseth to good, reward; to ill, their deserts,” “godliness” is “a great necessity . . . when you do plead afore the eyes of that Judge that all discerns.” Boethius’s ultimate referent for human conduct proves the same as Elizabeth’s, declared with vehemence in her letter: the “fear of God” (“la crainte Divine”) and His judgment, which Elizabeth admonished Henri IV to place before “any worldly respect” (“mondain respect aulcun”). Yet the questions perennially asked about the Boethius of the Consolation can be asked about Elizabeth herself. Why would an otherwise declared, committed Christian embark upon a work of such intensity without recourse to Christianity as revealed truth? How is the centrality of this project of working out a natural theology, an affirmation of God’s governance from evidence of Nature and the human realm, to be understood? Boethius evidently undertook to act on his deep lifelong respect for logic and dialectic by forging a pathway to the heights of vir7. Ibid., 88; see CW, 370–71, and Elizabeth’s French original in ACFLO, 165–66: “Mon dieu est il possible que mondain respect aulcun deut effacer le terreur que la crainte Divine nous menace, pouuons nous par raison mesme attendre bonne sequele d’acte si inique. . . . Ah c’est dangereux de mal faire pour en faire du bien. . . . Vostre tres asseuree Soeur, si ce soit a la Vielle mode, auec la nouuelle Ie nay que faire.” 8. Camden, Tomus Alter, 89.

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tue and beatitude that would be fully compatible with Christianity yet independent of it, thus putting philosophy to the test of what it could do for him as he lay in prison awaiting death. Elizabeth, while reading the Scriptures and the church fathers and conversing with Archbishop Whitgift, also evidently felt the pull of a supplemental humanist endeavor in seeking to make sense of Henri IV’s conversion—possibly, in her case, to counter his worldly justification of his conversion with the loftier and more probing argumentation of Boethius’s Consolation. Yet such argumentation had unsettling implications for Elizabeth herself in the 1590s, as she sought to thread her way through theological issues tangled by Catholic-Protestant polemics at a time when the militancy of Jesuit missionaries in England was prompting her and her agents to increasingly harsh repressive measures.9 Her version of the Consolation, as we shall see, is a philosophical-theological hybrid. Elizabeth adds Christian and distinctively Reformed elements to her source. Yet she also recognizes congenial alternatives to Reformed doctrines of predestination and the bondage of the will in Boethius’s late classical, synthesizing philosophy. Besides its philosophical content, the formal richness of the Consolation must have attracted Elizabeth. Dialogue was her chosen mode of dealing with Henri: she sent Wilkes to France for that purpose, and even her outraged letter to him envisages their continuing exchanges, which in fact were soon resumed: “Where you promise me all friendship and fidelity, I confess I have dearly merited it, and I will not repent it, provided you do not change your Father. . . . May He guide you in the right path. . . . I will not cease to place you in the forefront of my devotions.”10 As she translates the Consolation she becomes so immersed in the turns of the dialogue that she frequently skips over the “she said’s” and the “I replied’s” that mark changes of speaker, devoting her entire attention to the give-and-take between Boethius and Lady Philosophy as if she were observing them live. At first, all of the translated text is in Elizabeth’s hand, but part way into prose 3 of book 1, her clerk Thomas Windebank begins to write 9. See “The Execution of Justice in England” by William Cecil and “A True, Sincere, and Modest Defense of English Catholics” by William Allen, ed. Robert M. Kingdon (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press for the Folger Shakespeare Library, 1965), xiii–xxxvii. 10. CW, 371. On subsequent developments in the relations between Elizabeth and Henri, and the English and French courts, see Anne Lake Prescott, “Foreign Policy in Fairyland: Henri IV and Spenser’s Burbon,” Spenser Studies 14 (2000): 189–214, esp. 203–6.

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at her dictation, obviously under the felt pressures of time. Thereafter, with infrequent local exceptions signaled in the notes to our original-spelling version, the prose portions are in Windebank’s professional secretary hand. By contrast with the prose sections produced by dictation, the lyric poems, or Meters, are in Elizabeth’s late italic hand, often heavily revised.11 She manifestly responded to the lyrics with special attention, and we discuss these verse translations in the latter half of this introduction. Her attentiveness to the verse, however, reveals a tendency that emerges in the prose as well. She consistently displays more engagement with the human dimensions of the text that center on psychology and morality than with its trajectories of philosophical reasoning about such abstruse issues as reconciling future contingencies with divine providence. At points Elizabeth’s formulations blunt the thrust of Boethius’s extended metaphysical and epistemological arguments: thus, for example, her rendering of “necessarium esse eventum praescitarum rerum, etiam si praescientia futuris rebus eveniendi necessitatem non videatur inferre” (the outcome of things foreknown is necessary, even if the foreknowledge seems not to confer on future things the necessity of occurring; book 5, prose 3) as “necessary must be the hap of that that chances, although we do not see aforehand the need of that haps” obscures Lady Philosophy’s central point concerning the relationship between foreknowledge and necessity. In general, Elizabeth’s often condensed renderings of arguments in books 3–5 bespeak some impatience with Boethius’s careful, even fastidious qualifications and his precise articulations of logical entailment. Formulations like “esse dicantur” (may be said to be) are reduced to a simple, straightforward “be” (book 3, prose 7). Boethius’s “si in quolibet genere inperfectum quid esse videatur” (if anything seems to be imperfect in any kind) becomes “if in anything there be imperfection” (book 3, prose 10); his “si bonum potens esse constiterit, liquet inbecillitas mali; at si fragilitas clarescat mali, boni firmitas nota est” (if it is established that good is powerful, the weakness of evil is clear; and if the fragility of evil is evident, the firmness of good is known) becomes “For good and ill, being 11. As sole exceptions among dozens of lines of verse, meter 5 of book 4 is preserved in Windebank’s hand, as is meter 6 of book 4, excluding lines 19–29, which are in Elizabeth’s hand. Lines 1–3 of meter 2 of book 5 are also in Windebank’s hand.

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so contrary, if powerful be the first, the last doth show his lack” (book 4, prose 2). By contrast, Elizabeth responds to the text’s human dimensions with some of her liveliest colloquial language. The rendering of a reported dialogue describes how a jester “nippingly” (“mordaciter”) punctured the pretensions of a would-be philosopher (book 2, prose 7), while the sixty-year-old queen sharpens the comparatively monotonic evocation of “maesti” (sad) old age into “grunting age” (book 1, meter 1, line 8).12 Possibly revealing a measure of indifference, but more probably to express her ethical and psychological concerns, Elizabeth tends to transpose Boethius’s metaphysical claims about Nature or all created things into claims about human beings. For example, she translates “quidquid” (whatever) as “whosoever” in rendering the assertion “whosoever faileth from that good, he leaves to be,” that is, he no longer exists (book 4, prose 3); similarly, she personalizes “aliquid” (anything) as “any man,” freest “as nearest he doth draw to the Orderer’s wheel” and “wrapped in straiter knots of fate” the further he is from “the first intent”—that is, God’s mind (book 4, prose 6). Elizabeth’s Christianity colors her translation of passages on the relation of human nature to the divine. She sometimes heightens the force or effects of evil to give Boethius a darker, more monitory tone, as when she neglects to translate Philosophy’s claim that Fortune is always good to the virtuous, and instead focuses only on the evildoers who “bide in their iniquity” (book 4, prose 7). Over against such human depravity Elizabeth sets human “godliness,” thus notably Christianizing the classical virtue of “goodness” (“probitas”) (book 4, prose 3; book 5, prose 6). Boethius concludes the hymn at the center of the work by praying that God be perceived as the source of all goodness; Elizabeth, in another notable Christian inflection, terms this experience of God’s splendor “grace” (book 3, meter 9, line 28).13 While she often excises qualifications that he appends to his metaphysical claims, Elizabeth moderates with her distinctive restraint Boethius’s assertions that the quest for virtue and beatitude ultimately

12. See G. B. Riddehough, “Queen Elizabeth’s Translation of Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 45 (1946): 93. 13. Additionally, Elizabeth echoes Luke 23:24 (book 3, meter 8, lines 14–15) and Romans 1:20 (book 4, prose 6; book 5, prose 6).

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renders humans divine (book 3, prose 10; book 4, prose 3). As she had tempered Marguerite de Navarre’s ecstatic rhetoric of union with God some forty years before, so she consistently tones down Boethius on the progression of the virtuous: they can become “likest to God” (book 3, prose 10) or “like to God” (book 4, prose 3) but not divine. Although Boethius’s notion of deification derives more directly from Augustine than from pagan philosophy,14 Elizabeth finds any such imaginings incompatible with the humility that a Christian must show in addressing and approaching God. Some of her Christianizing inflections of Boethius’s text have a specifically Reformed cast, including her pointed avoidance of a cognate in rendering “purgatoria clementia” as “pacifying clemency” (book 4, prose 4), thus precluding a possible allusion to purgatory. Lady Philosophy’s argument for the compatibility of divine providence and human freedom turns on a Neoplatonic conception of a God who is pure Mind. Elizabeth, however, endows Boethius’s hyper-rational God with the absolute, sovereign will of the Calvinist God, respectively rendering “ipsa illa divina ratio” (that divine reason itself) as “God’s pleasure” (book 4, prose 6) and “divinae mentis” (of the divine mind) as “divine pleasure” in one context (book 4, prose 6) and as “God’s will” in another (book 5, prose 2). Nevertheless, while Calvin’s God arbitrarily imparts saving grace to His elect, Elizabeth finds congenial Boethius’s claim that human beings can qualify for grace by freely choosing to live a virtuous life. At one point she magnifies his distance from a Reformed understanding of grace by construing in its most assertive sense a claim that could have been interpreted more tentatively. Translating “siquidem” as “for” rather than “if indeed” (as several modern translators do), Elizabeth has Boethius claiming “for through price of true humility we deserve the unestimable inclination of God’s grace” (book 5, prose 2). Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius exemplifies the general features of her practice noted in our general introduction: archaic language and frequently elliptical expression; heavy use of cognates, often more consonant with the sense of the Latin than might first appear after early modern meanings are taken into account, but sometimes wide of the

14. Chadwick, Boethius, 211, observes that Boethius’s conception of divinization draws on well-known passages of Augustine (Enarrationes in Psalmos 49.2; 52.6; City of God 9.23; Tractatus in epistolam Joannis ad Parthos 48.9). Boethius, however, does evoke pagan polytheism in his claim that the virtuous become “deos” (gods; book 4, prose 3).

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Latin sense; and some inattention to the verb tenses and moods and the declensions of nouns and adjectives that are crucial for construing Latin accurately.15 Moreover, Elizabeth is sometimes puzzled by postclassical constructions and terms—for example, “merito” with the genitive in the sense of “by reason of,” which she translates in its classical adverbial sense, “deservedly” (book 4, prose 4). The comparative paucity of inflections in English makes for intermittent ambiguities in her syntax and sense. On encountering her “wisdom the end of all measures,” it is not immediately clear that “measures” is a verb, although the Latin “rerum exitus prudentia metitur” is unambiguous (book 2, prose 1). Elizabeth may have welcomed—or may not have minded— some arguably enriching ambiguity. In “Whilom she [Fortune] fierce kings, cruel, destroys” (book 2, meter 1), “cruel” renders “saeva.” While “saeva,” a feminine singular form, unambiguously refers to Fortune, “cruel,” by contrast, might attach either to Fortune (as our modernizing punctuation seeks to make clear) or to “fierce kings”—or to both. Some of Elizabeth’s lapses in construing grammar, like the eyeskips that occasionally make for omissions of words and phrases, can be attributed to how hastily she worked. Windebank wrote two memoranda on her Boethius translation; these are separate attempts to calculate how long the ambitious project took. She began on October 10 and finished on November 8, 1593, during a period of residence at Windsor Castle, but, he notes, she did no translating at all on “four Sundays, three other holidays, and six days on which your Majesty rid [rode] abroad to take the air,” while on the days she did translate, the sessions lasted “two hours only” or “did never exceed one hour and a half.” Since the two memoranda differ, his estimates of the time she expended on “the whole translation” range from twenty-four to thirty working hours.16 It is, moreover, unclear whether Windebank factored in the time that Elizabeth worked by herself on Boethius’s lyrics. His record of his calculations nonetheless bears witness to the gratification that Elizabeth received from her ability to translate her source with speed and fluency. 15. Riddehough, “Queen Elizabeth’s Translation,” 89–93, provides an extensive list of such errors, although some of these are based on misunderstandings of Elizabeth’s elliptical renderings and some are her accurate renderings of textual variants in the Renaissance edition that served as her source. 16. Windebank’s two memoranda are bound into the manuscript of Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius in State Papers 12 / 289 as fols. 9r, 10r.

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One shared feature of Elizabeth’s translations, particularly noticeable in her Boethius, is her tendency to construe a Latin word or phrase by means of an English counterpart that, to some degree, is at odds with its context. These “off ” choices or strained construals sometimes suggest that she was unfamiliar with the special or technical sense of some word. Given Elizabeth’s greater interest in ethics than in metaphysics, it is understandable though odd that, as noted in our general introduction, she renders “temerarius” and its cognates in the psychological sense of ‘rash’ where the context requires the sense of ‘fortuitous, accidental.’ More often, her misconstruals seem to be the consequences of translating quickly, word for word or phrase for phrase, without sufficient attention to the logic of a passage. Thus in translating “Bibulas vitet harenas” as “Shuns soaking sands,” she gives “bibulas” its sense of ‘sodden,’ even though the desert image indicates that “bibulas” must here mean ‘thirsty’ (book 2, meter 4). Another liability to which a translator working quickly is prone involves misreading or confusing words. Elizabeth recurrently does both in translating Boethius. Her “pleasure” confuses “voluntatibus” (volitions) with “voluptatibus” (book 3, prose 11); her “key” confuses “clavus” (rudder) with “clavis” (book 3, prose 12); her “light” confuses “lex” (law) with “lux” (book 4, prose 4)—in this last case providing a perfectly plausible alternative context to that of the actual text. She misconstrues “liquet” (it is clear) as “licet” (it is permitted; book 3, prose 4) and “suis” (of a swine) as its homonym, “his own” (book 4, prose 3). At several points she confuses forms of “sospes” (safe) and postclassical “sospitas” (health) with “hospes” (host / guest) and “hospitium” (hospitality, welcome). Other errors in Elizabeth’s text, however, evidently stem from mishearings or misunderstandings on the part of Windebank. When the dictation arrangement was only just under way, he must have misheard “to my style and memory have committed,” a word-for-word rendering of Boethius’s Latin, writing instead “to my silent memory have committed” (book 1, prose 4). In prose 3 of book 4, a passage where human vices are figured as traits of animals, Windebank writes “liar” when Elizabeth must have said “lion.” There is no evidence, moreover, that he consulted Boethius’s Latin to correct mistakes or dispel perplexity regarding what he heard. Editorial recourse to Boethius’s Latin can clarify such evident hitches in transmission. Footnotes to our modern-spelling text record examples as they arise.

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Yet when one is assessing Elizabeth’s combination of accuracy, freedom, and error as a translator, it is imperative to take into account the Renaissance edition that was her source. As befitted the respect it commanded, Boethius’s De consolatione saw numerous Renaissance editions, either within collections of his works or as stand-alone publications.17 We have consulted six editions from the sixteenth century and, for purposes of comparison, three from the end of the fifteenth century and one from the early seventeenth century.18 Our notes record twenty-five instances where Elizabeth renders a substantive variant reading found in all of the sixteenth-century editions consulted. For example, her “driven” renders “acta” where modern editions read “aucta” (swollen; book 1, meter 2, line 3); “weapons” renders “arma” where modern editions read “arva” (fields; book 2, meter 5, line 18); and “eaves” renders “tecto” (on a roof) where modern editions read “texto” (in a woven [cage]; book 3, meter 2, line 21). We have noted twelve further variants, including omissions, that occur in several sixteenth-century editions and manifestly determine Elizabeth’s readings. Despite our relatively selective sampling of Renaissance editions of Boethius, we are reasonably certain that Elizabeth’s source text was Theodor Pulmann’s Antwerp edition of 1562.19 Besides all the variants noted above, Pulmann has eleven additional variants rendered by Elizabeth that we have found only in this edition. Most tellingly, Pulmann’s 1562 De consolatione contains a further seventeen misprints rendered by Elizabeth that he corrects in his second edition of 1580 (with one exception that remained uncaught). Several manifest errors, obscurities, and even nonsensical renderings in her translation stem from her characteristically close, literal rendering of the text of Boethius as it reads in Pulmann’s first edition of 1562. We should note that nine of these seventeen misprints are corrected on an errata list that appears as the final page in at least some copies of this 1562 edition; if Elizabeth’s copy in-

17. Luca Obertello, Severino Boezio (Genoa: Accademia Ligure di Scienze e Lettere, 1974), lists five editions of Boethius’s complete works published between 1492 and 1546 and fifty-nine separate editions of the Consolation published between 1471 and 1589. 18. We have consulted the following editions of De consolatione: Cologne, 1482; Venice, 1497; Strassburg, 1501; Lyon, 1514; Basel, 1522; Antwerp, 1562, ed. Theodor Pulmann; Antwerp, 1580, ed. Pulmann; and Antwerp, 1607. We have also consulted two editions of Boethius’s Opera Omnia: Venice, 1499, and Basel, 1570. 19. We have reproduced the substantive variants from Pulmann’s edition but have otherwise followed the spelling and punctuation of the modern Loeb text.

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cluded the errata, she evidently followed her usual practice of not consulting editorial materials other than marginal notes or indices. Her renderings of variants unique to Pulmann’s edition among the sixteenth-century editions we have consulted include “lies” for Pulmann’s “iacent” in place of other editions’ “manent” (remain; book 2, meter 7, line 15) and “adorns” for Pulmann’s “ornetque” (and let [him] adorn) in place of other editions’ “oneretque” (and let [him] load; book 3, meter 3, line 3). Her renderings of misprints in Pulmann’s 1562 edition include the strange “sick men’s paleness” for Pulmann’s “aegrotumque pulchritudo” (the beauty of sick men), which should read “agrorum pulchritudo” (the beauty of fields; book 2, prose 5); the selfcontradictory “mildness of such an arrogancy” for Pulmann’s “huiusmodi arrogantiae lenitate,” which should read “huiusmodi arrogantiae levitate” (the triviality of this kind of arrogance; book 2, prose 7); “is showed” for Pulmann’s “revelatur,” which should read “relevatur” (is relieved; book 4, prose 4); “we must use” for Pulmann’s “utendumque,” which should read “verendumque” (it must be feared; book 5, prose 1); and “Lest” for Pulmann’s “Ne,” which should read “En” (behold; book 5, prose 3). In some cases where she recognized that Pulmann’s text must be in error, Elizabeth did her best to make sense of the passage. In prose 2 of book 4, Boethius describes frail men who “obluctari vitio nequeunt” (are unable to struggle against vice). In the one major misprint not corrected in his second edition, Pulmann nonsensically reads “oblectari vitio nequeunt” (are unable to be delighted by vice). Reasonably assuming that a “non” had been omitted from a double negative construction (are unable not to be delighted), Elizabeth renders “in vice be delighted.” Her handling of Boethius’s ten brief passages in Greek shed light not only on the character of her source text but also on her translation practices. These Greek passages appear in highly corrupt Latin renditions in Boethius editions through the first two decades of the sixteenth century. Pulmann’s 1562 edition is the earliest, among those we have consulted, in which Boethius’s Greek appears, despite many errors, in versions close to those of modern editions. Elizabeth clearly renders the now accepted version of a Pythagorean saying in book 1, prose 4 that is correctly quoted only in Pulmann and the Basel edition of 1570, among those we have consulted. She also clearly renders the versions of three other Greek passages in Pulmann and the Basel edition of 1570 that are much closer to modern editions than the versions in preced-

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ing editions: these include the Homeric quotations in book 1, prose 5 and book 4, prose 6 and the Neoplatonic quotation in book 4, prose 6. Although Pulmann provides literal Latin translations of the Greek in an appendix at the end of the volume, Elizabeth’s renderings suggest that she translated directly from the Greek without consulting these. Her translations of Greek are generally accurate. However, in a quotation from an unknown Neoplatonic text in book 4, prose 6, her “do inhabit” evidently arose from confusing “οἰκοδομοῦσι” (they build) with “οἰκοῦσι” (they inhabit). This confusion would presumably not have arisen if Elizabeth had consulted Pulmann’s Latin version, which gives “aedificavere” (they have built) from “aedificare,” whose cognate “to edify” was often used in the sixteenth century in its sense of ‘to build.’ On the whole, her translations of Boethius’s Greek suggest that her youthful studies under Ascham had equipped her, in the 1590s, with a limited but genuine knowledge of the other—and by the standards of the day, the far more arcane—classical language. In this as in so much else, her self-reliant proceeding again highlights her nonscholarly approach to translation, which, as far as we have been able to determine, never extended to consulting endnotes or appendices in any of the Renaissance editions that she used.

* Elizabeth approached with special attention the varied and accomplished lyrics interspersed in Boethius’s Consolation. Although she began early on to dictate her translations of the prose sections to Windebank, he was manifestly under instructions to leave space for her to insert her verse translations of the Meters in her own hand. These portions of the manuscript are dark with her deletions, insertions, and recastings. Elizabeth’s original English verse adopts metrical forms and conventions typical of much plain-style verse of the mid-sixteenth century.20 She reveals the continuing influence of this mode when she intermittently adds alliteration in translating Boethius’s lyrics: “in steady step yet never stood” (book 1, meter 1, line 22); “Boreas’ blasts bereaves” 20. On mid-sixteenth-century plain-style verse, see Yvor Winters, Forms of Discovery (Chicago: Swallow, 1969), 1–29; and Wesley Trimpi, Ben Jonson’s Poems: A Study in the Plain Style (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1962), 115–27.

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(book 1, meter 5, line 19); “fruitfull’st field . . . / First freed of fruit” (book 3, meter 1, lines 1–2); “dear danger digged,” the last example heightening the effect of its original, “pretiosa pericula fodit” (book 2, meter 5, line 30). Yet her verse translations, first of Boethius, later of Plutarch and Horace, are strikingly atypical of mid-sixteenth-century compositional practice in employing line units of freely varying lengths and complex iambic patterning, without end rhyme. Such lines have proved difficult for some readers to perceive as verse rather than lineated prose. We contend, however, that the experimental character of Elizabeth’s late verse translations, at their most successful, constitutes a sensitive response to her source texts and to her contemporaries’ expectations regarding English iambic verse. Elizabeth’s avoidance of rhyme is most easily accounted for. The time constraints under which she worked would have virtually precluded adding rhyme to the challenges she confronted in closely rendering the meaning and phrasing of her source texts, her first priority, in expressive English verse. Yet the positive rationale is more suggestive: in excluding rhyme Elizabeth adheres to her classical Latin models, which themselves are unrhymed.21 Her tutor Ascham had challenged English writers to perfect English verse in the manner of Horace and Virgil by practicing “true versifying” instead of following “the Goths in riming.”22 Throughout her reign other writers championed the imitation of classical prosody as part of a general program of eradicating “barbarous” vestiges of medievalism and reforming English culture along classical lines.23 Although rhymed verse, the mode of Elizabeth’s original English compositions, triumphed at court and elsewhere, her translations combine native and classical elements in a stress-based (or accentual) iambic prosody and unrhymed line units. Like other poets of the period, notably Philip Sidney and Edmund Spenser, who experimented with imitating classical meters while advancing native modes, she bridged the two sides of a literary-cultural debate. Unlike some contemporaries who attempted to compose English verse in classical quantitative meters—rhythmical patterns based on 21. Elizabeth wrote Latin epigrams in an exchange with the German humanist Paul Melissus (“Grata camena tua est, gratissima dona, Melisse”) in the late 1570s; see ACFLO, 150–51. 22. Ascham, The Schoolmaster, ed. Ryan, 145. 23. See Richard Helgerson, Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 25–40.

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rules regarding “long” and “short” syllables that have no ready application in English—Elizabeth appears unconcerned with quantity in either her Latin sources or her English renderings. She makes no attempt to reproduce Boethius’s array of quantitative meters: twenty-eight different patterns, used either for single line units or for pairs. On occasion she misconstrues a Latin word by not attending to the metrical quantities of its syllables.24 Her indifference to considerations of syllable quantity in Latin indicates that Ascham did not impose on her the formal studies in prosody that had advanced status in English grammar school and university training, despite the arbitrary assumptions and misconceptions with which the subjects of syllable quantity and word accent in both English and Latin were riddled.25 Elizabeth aims, nevertheless, to approximate Boethius’s formal effects in any given poem by using variable line lengths in response to his and by matching or closely approximating the number of her lines to his.26 While she could artfully deploy Latinate suspended syntax where a major unit of sentence structure, say, a subject or main verb, is interrupted or postponed by the introduction of grammatically and semantically subordinate elements, she much preferred to compose in series of bounded—that is, grammatically complete—phrases and clauses.27 Overall, the objective of rendering a Latin sentence as a linear succession

24. Elizabeth probably construes “occidit” in 3.12.5 with a long medial i (killed) rather than a metrically required short i (was undone, was ruined). She construes “hic” in 4.1.19 with a long i (here) rather than with a metrically required short i (he). Like many Renaissance editions of Boethius, Pulmann’s edition of 1562 provided a metrical scheme for each poem in an appendix, but Elizabeth probably did not consult this feature of her source. 25. See Derek Attridge, Well-Weighed Syllables: Elizabethan Verse in Classical Metres (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), chaps. 1–5. 26. Elizabeth’s lines correspond in number to Boethius’s in twenty out of thirty-nine poems; in twelve more poems—with one discrepancy, the probable result of eyeskip— her versions differ in number by only one line; and in five more poems, the difference in number is two lines. 27. In seven poems, Elizabeth provides an ornamental flourish by tapering the final line in a fashionable triangular close like those found in several of her youthful prose translations. Despite the visual effect, these final lines retain their integrity as single, syntactically bounded metrical units. See our original-spelling versions of book 2, meters 1, 4, and 8; book 3, meters 8 and 9; book 4, meter 7; and book 5, meter 5. As will be observed in these examples, Elizabeth marks most but not all of her tapered final lines with virgules. Compare the endings of our original-spelling versions of Elizabeth’s translations of Marguerite and Ochino and her dedicatory letter to her Calvin translation, Elizabeth I: Translations, 1544–1589, 124, 218, and 326.

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of intact phrasal and clausal units of English gives shape to Elizabeth’s verse translations. Boethius’s lyrics are either stichic, that is, composed in units of single lines with one metrical pattern throughout, or composed in twoline units (distichs) with alternating metrical patterns. Of his sixteen poems in distichs, Elizabeth, with occasional inconsistencies, translates thirteen as a series of paired lines with the second line indented.28 Since Boethius’s distichs typically constitute syntactic as well as metrical units, she adapts his syntactic structures to her unrhymed couplets, placing a major phrase or clause boundary at the end of the second line of each verse unit.29 A distilled lyricism emerges from these renderings of paired lines as syntactic-semantic wholes. In the opening of book 3, meter 6, for example, Elizabeth sustains the artful simplicity of Boethius’s lines: Omne hominum genus in terris Simili surgit ab ortu. Unus enim rerum pater est, Unus cuncta ministrat.

All humankind on earth From like beginning comes; One Father is of all, One only, all doth guide.

In Renaissance editions, this poem is printed as distichs with alternating longer and shorter lines (dactylic tetrameters and ionic dimeters).30 Elizabeth follows Boethius by rendering each distich as a sentence. Although she does not seek to replicate his meters, her sequence of sixsyllable iambic lines conveys the compressed phrasing of the Latin original while enforcing its theme of sameness—“one” God as the source of “all”—through rhythmic uniformity.

28. See meters 1.1, 1.3, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4, 2.7, 3.3, 3.4, 3.6, 3.8, 4.1, 4.2, and 4.4. Elizabeth’s lack of concern for metrical quantity probably led her to regard as stichic two of the remaining three lyrics in distichs. Pulmann does not mark these two lyrics as distichs with alternating indented lines, and their alternating lines do not differ in syllable count: book 3, meter 10 alternates two different metrical patterns of eleven syllables; book 4, meter 5 alternates two different metrical patterns of either ten or eleven syllables. Pulmann marks all the other distich poems with indentation except for 1.3, where alternating lines of greatly differing length make the distich pattern immediately perceptible. 29. In rendering Boethius’s distichic meter 1 of book 5, Elizabeth does not indent the second line of each verse unit. She does, however, labor to sustain the lyric’s serial syntactic-semantic pairings. 30. Modern editions print this meter as nine long lines combining the two metrical schemes rather than nine short-lined distichs.

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Again with occasional inconsistencies, Elizabeth lays out ten of Boethius’s twenty-three stichic lyrics in pairs of alternating indented lines. In five of these lyrics her pairs of lines do not correspond closely to major syntactic units, and her indented format seems merely to be a marker of verse composition. The other five lyrics, however, follow Boethius’s own tendency, even in stichic verse, to compose in two-line syntactic units, with the second line more heavily end-stopped.31 Yet while she often provides the end of a second line of a verse unit with a pronounced syntactic break in translating lyrics composed in distichs, Elizabeth’s primary compositional unit in her verse translations of Boethius, as well as Plutarch and Horace, is the individual line. In all these translations her method for giving shape to individual lines is to correlate their endings with major phrase boundaries—noun phrases, verb phrases, adverbial phrases, prepositional phrases—so that in the vast majority of instances the linguistic material receives at least a local rounding-out and resolution by line end. In the opening of meter 6 of book 3, cited above, Elizabeth can render Boethius line for line and still ensure that the first line of each couplet, while part of a longer sentence, has its own syntactic closure: “All humankind on earth,” “One Father is of all.” Elsewhere, however, composing such bounded lines requires her to modify and rearrange Boethius’s syntax. In book 1, meter 2, for example, she moves the enjambed “Autumnus” in order to turn “Quis dedit ut pleno fertilis anno / Autumnus” into the bounded line “Who made the fertile autumn, at fullness of the year” (17); at the end of meter 1 of book 2, she reshapes the syntax to turn “si quis / visatur una stratus ac felix hora” into “If any man you view, one hour / Both thralls him and extols” (9–10). Deviating from the metronomic regularity of much mid-sixteenthcentury verse, Elizabeth generally adheres to more flexible norms for assuring the perception of her lines as iambic.32 In iambic meter, the rhythmic imperative tends to be less in force toward the beginning of the line, more in force toward the end. Elizabeth uses both unactual31. The “visual” distichs are 1.2, 2.5, 2.6, 2.8, and 3.2; the “syntactic” distichs are 1.4, 2.1, 3.1, 3.5, and 3.7. 32. Among Elizabeth’s contemporaries, Sidney provides the closest analogue; on Sidney’s metrical flexibility, see John Thompson, The Founding of English Metre (New York: Columbia University Press, 1966), 139–55. For a more detailed analysis of unrhymed iambic “verse design,” see Janel Mueller, “Just Measures? Versification in Samson Agonistes,” Milton Studies 33 (1996): 47–82.

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ized stresses and stress inversion to alleviate mechanical patterning. Stress inversion is especially frequent at the beginning of her iambic lines. There, but also at later junctures in a line, she frequently employs inversion and then reaffirms the iambic meter in the next pair of syllables, as in “My wretched life thankless abode protracts” (book 1, meter 1, line 20). Two formal constraints attach to stress inversion in iambic meter. One precludes stress inversion from occurring in the final pair of syllables in a line because there is no following foot to affirm the meter of the line; the other precludes two successive stress inversions within a line because the meter cannot be righted immediately after the first inversion. Nevertheless, in her verse translations of Boethius, Elizabeth occasionally avails herself of these deviations from metrical norms, usually for thematic or tonal emphasis.33 Stress inversions in the final positions of a line (indicated by italics) include “Whoso, with headlong mind, glory” (book 2, meter 7, line 1) and “And with dulce suit, pardon” (book 3, meter 12, line 27). Double stress inversions include “Blessèd Death, that in sweetest years refrains” (book 1, meter 1, line 13) and “Shines out, and with his sudden light, Phoebus shaken” (book 1, meter 3, line 9). Of a total of 890 lines, there are 494 unambiguously iambic lines ranging across a spectrum of six syllables (180 lines), eight syllables (170 lines), and ten syllables (86 lines), with respective endpoints of four syllables (32 lines) and twelve syllables (25 lines), and one exceptional fourteen-syllable line. While the varying length of her lines is the most unusual feature of Elizabeth’s verse—a feature otherwise not prominent in English iambic verse until the seventeenth-century experiments of Richard Crashaw, John Milton, and Abraham Cowley— the preponderance of six- and eight-syllable lines in her Boethius translations suggests that she nevertheless derived her conceptual prototype from native verse forms. Her six- and eight-syllable lines are recognizable counterparts of the subunits of two closely related, insistently iambic meters widely employed in mid-sixteenth-century English verse: fourteeners (rhymed couplets of fourteen syllables or seven

33. There are thirteen instances of stress inversion in the last foot of a line (1.2.18; 1.3.9; 2.4.18; 2.7.1; 2.8.23; 2.8.24; 3.2.4; 3.12.27; 3.12.45; 4.1.12; 4.3.4; 4.5.7; 4.6.10); three of these are among the six instances of two successive stress inversions (1.1.13; 1.2.18; 1.3.9; 2.8.23; 4.6.10; 5.4.4).

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iambic feet) and poulter’s measure (rhymed couplets consisting of alternating lines of twelve and fourteen syllables, or six and seven iambic feet).34 The standard features in these two meters of end-stopping the line and of an emphatic caesura at or near the line’s midpoint fostered the hearing, writing, and printing of these verses as pairs of bounded, short-lined units composed of six syllables (three iambic feet) and eight syllables (four iambic feet) nested within the long-lined units. In Elizabeth’s translation 158 lines (over a sixth of the total) can be resolved into iambic rhythm through metrical contraction or expansion, or both (in four lines).35 Both prosodic operations require that 34. The latter is the meter adapted by Elizabeth to stanzaic composition in her most famous poem, “The Doubt of Future Foes” (ca. 1571); see CW, 133–34. 35. While metrical resolution ordinarily produces lines with an even number of syllables, in twenty-six instances the resulting lines are headless or feminine. Metrical contraction is applicable in 132 lines: 1.1.14 (t’ th’); 1.1.21 (s’oft or you’hap-); 1.2.3 (driv’n); 1.2.8 (circl’s); 1.2.9 (t’know); 1.2.11 (spir’t); 1.2.14 (Who’that); 1.2.16 (aut’mn); 1.2.17 (swoll’n); 1.3.1 (o’erblown); 1.3.3 (heav’ns); 1.3.5 (heav’ns); 1.3.8 (th’hid-); 1.4.16 (stable’ and); 1.4.18 (he’s); 1.5.1 (-m’r’of); 1.5.3 (heav’ns turn’st); 1.5.4 (-pell’st); 1.5.10 (-ing’of); 1.5.12 (Luc’fer, Phoeb’s); 1.5.14 (fall’n); 1.5.15 (short’r); 1.5.17 (-d’st); 1.5.20 (Zeph’rus); 1.5.27 (Guid’r); 1.5.35 (lurk’th); 1.5.40 (might’est); 1.5.46 (guid’st); 1.6.8 (vi’lets, gath’r); 1.7.9 (clear’st); 1.7.10 (wat’r); 1.7.29 (Cloudy’is); 2.1.2 (Eur’pus); 2.2.6 (-ty’with); 2.2.10 (lib’ral); 2.3.1 (Phoeb’s); 2.3.6 (with’th’); 2.3.7 (blust’ring); 2.3.14 (-ny’it—“y-glide”); 2.4.6 (threat’ning); 2.4.14 (-nt’st); 2.4.15 (-memb’r); 2.6.2 (-ty’nd—“y-glide”); 2.6.5 (o’erviewed); 2.6.7 (-mer’of); 2.6.9 (Ev’n); 2.6.11 (o’erlooks); 2.7.3 (-t’rs’of; heav’ns); 2.7.6 (-dy’de-); 2.7.10 (op’n); 2.8.4 (Phoeb’s); 2.8.7 (Hesp’rus); 2.8.14 (heav’ns); 2.8.28 (heav’n); 3.1.1 (-f ’l’st); 3.1.7 (Luc’fer); 3.2.3 (prov’dent); 3.2.5 (shrill’st); 3.2.11 (cour’ge); 3.2.14 (fur’ous— “y-glide”); 3.2.17 (holl’w); 3.2.24 (sorr’wing); 3.2.30 (Hesp’rus); 3.2.36 (t’end); 3.4.5 (wick’d); 3.4.6 (rev’rend); 3.4.8 (-d’st); 3.5.7 (utt’most); 3.6.8 (heav’n); 3.8.2 (ign’rance); 3.8.9 (in’th’); 3.8.10 (riv’r’ve); 3.8.20 (Ev’n); 3.8.21 (Tru’st); 3.9.1 (rul’st); 3.9.2 (heav’n, Fram’r); 3.9.3 (bidd’st, -dy’all—“y-glide”); 3.9.8 (-li’st, mind’st); 3.9.9 (-ct’st th’); 3.9.13 (spir’t); 3.9.15 (into’a-); 3.9.18 (heav’n); 3.9.21 (spir’ts); 3.9.22 (heav’n); 3.9.24 (mak’st); 3.9.25 (Fath’r); 3.9.27 (o’this); 3.9.29 (qui’t); 3.10.7 (glitt’ring); 3.10.8 (Ind’an—“y-glide”); 3.10.9 (clear’st); 3.10.14 (heav’n); 3.10.16 (he’who);3.11.10 (carry’ng—“y-glide”); 3.12.6 (fun’rals); 3.12.8 (wav’ring); 3.12.14 (th’in-); 3.12.23 (great’st); 3.12.33 (Sorr’wing); 4.1.19 (scept’r); 4.1.23 (-ther’if); 4.1.26 (-ll’I); 4.2.3 (Flour’shing); 4.2.4 (Envir’n’d); 4.3.17 (evils to ills); 4.3.24 (chos’n); 4.4.1 (-ts’t); 4.5.6 (heav’ns); 4.5.15 (hard’ned); 4.6.1 (thund’ring); 4.6.3 (heav’n); 4.6.10 (ne’er); 4.6.17 (Th’ eternal); 4.6.19 (el’ments); 4.6.26 (flow’ring); 4.6.39 (wand’ring); 4.7.2 (Phryg’ns); 4.7.9 (Pol’phe-); 4.7.13 (Herc’les); 4.7.30 (heav’n); 4.7.31 (high’st); 4.7.33 (d’you); 4.7.34 (Th’Earth, heav’n); 5.1.3 (-t’s’rise); 5.1.11 (slack’ning); 5.2.1 (Phoeb’s); 5.3.3 (-gl’agree); 5.3.15 (wish’th); 5.3.28 (-t’r); 5.4.3 (im’ge); 5.4.22 (gath’ring); 5.4.25 (-t’ier); 5.4.26 (mater’ial—“y-glide”). Metrical expansion is applicable in 56 lines: 1.1.12 (loosèd); 1.1.13 (blessèd); 1.1.17 (guilëful); 1.2.1 (drownèd); 1.2.4 (usèd); 1.2.20 (bruisèd); 1.2.21 (A-bowèd); 1.4.5 (seä’s); 1.4.8 (burstës); 1.5.7 (moön); 1.5.25 (assurèd); 1.6.7 (deckèd); 2.1.6 (spitëful); 2.2.2 (stirrèd); 2.2.15 (reïns); 2.3.3 (dimmèd); 2.3.13 (worldës);

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their results be pronounceable.36 Contraction involves eliding or slurring together two syllables. Contraction applies most often in polysyllabic words—e.g., “dividest” to “divid’st” (book 1, meter 5, line 17); “Polyphemus” to “Pol’phemus” (book 4, meter 7, line 9)—and to lightly stressed syllables in adjacent words: e.g., “so oft” to “s’oft” (book 1, meter 1, line 21); “city and” to “city’nd” (book 2, meter 6, line 2—an option informally called “y-glide”). Expansion involves voicing one syllable of a word as two syllables by a slight stylizing of natural pronunciation. Elizabeth uses expansion most often with voiced past tense verbs and past participles in “-ed,” e.g., “dimmèd” (book 2, meter 3, line 3), but also with single vowel sounds that can easily be prolonged into disyllables (notated here with umlauts), such as “seä’s” (book 1, meter 4, line 5). In “And with what bounds the great heaven thou guidest” (book 1, meter 5, line 46), contraction of “guid’st” resolves the line into iambic pentameter; in “But greedy-getting love burns” (book 2, meter 5, line 25), expansion of “lovë” yields an eight-syllable iambic line. Further compositional flexibility is available at either end of an iambic line. “Headless” lines lack a syllable in the first, weak-stress position, while “feminine” lines append an extra syllable in last position, which in most instances bears weak stress. Headlessness and feminine endings are almost always mutually exclusive in an iambic line, because the result of combining them would be indistinguishable from a trochaic line. Elizabeth makes surprisingly heavy use of one or the other option: 148 lines are headless; 70 lines have feminine endings, among which four show the further irregularity of a strongly stressed syllable in the feminine position.37 “Where true woeful verse my face with dole

2.4.22 (skÿ’s); 2.5.25 (lovë); 2.6.2 (flamèd); 2.6.12 (Nörth); 2.7.10 (tongües); 2.7.11 (greät); 2.8.3 (seëds); 3.1.5 (fliës); 3.1.6 (f ïrst); 3.1.9 (falsèd); 3.2.3 (Wörld, lawës); 3.2.10 (dyèd); 3.2.34 (rejoïce); 3.6.10 (Fetchèd); 3.7.3 (wingèd); 3.9.4 (forcèd); 3.9.5 (substancë); 3.9.12 (drownèd); 3.10.12 (pleasèd); 3.11.13 (askèd); 3.12.6 (wifë’s); 3.12.30 (amazèd); 3.12.34 (Ixionë’s); 3.12.39 (tearèd); 4.2.13 (stirrèd); 4.3.7 (charmèd); 4.3.10 (boär’s); 4.3.19 (besiegèd); 4.4.4 (wingèd); 4.5.7 (fullèd); 4.6.16 (interlacèd); 4.7.8 (wailèd); 4.7.24 (shamèd); 5.1.8 (mixèd); 5.3.8 (overwhelmèd); 5.3.13 (strivës); 5.4.32 (stirrèd); 5.4.33 (figurës); 5.5.9 (dullèd). 36. Some words in early modern English still bore the stamp of their previous stress assignments in Middle English or in the Latin or French from which they were borrowed. Elizabeth’s translation contains two instances: “compáss” (2.7.6) and “résist” (5.2.7). 37. The 148 headless lines are 1.1.4, 5; 1.2.7, 13, 19; 1.4.11, 12, 13, 18; 1.5.5, 6, 9, 20, 24, 34, 35, 36, 38; 1.6.6, 8, 18, 19, 22; 1.7.4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 14, 17, 19, 23, 26, 27, 31; 2.2.5, 9, 19; 2.3.4, 10, 16; 2.4.2, 4, 9, 10, 13, 16, 17, 18; 2.5.4, 10, 16, 19, 30; 2.6.8, 12; 2.7.10, 15, 17, 21, 25; 2.8.12, 16, 21; 3.2.2, 6, 12, 21, 27, 31, 32, 37; 3.3.1; 3.5.6, 8, 10; 3.6.14, 16, 17; 3.7.1, 6; 3.8.1, 16, 18; 3.10.2, 17; 3.11.4, 7; 3.12.4,

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bedews” (book 1, meter 1, line 4) exemplifies a headless line. “Of ireful gods complaining” (book 3, meter 12, line 18) exemplifies a feminine line ending. “And higher hies than Earth’s globe” (book 4, meter 1, line 5) exemplifies a feminine ending with a strongly stressed syllable. Two of Elizabeth’s three instances of the meter-breaking combination of headlessness and a feminine ending rhythmically enact the tyrant Nero’s lawless excess, even as they decry it: Turn the rage of frantic Nero (book 2, meter 6, line 15) Hated yet of all, lived Nero (book 3, meter 4, line 3)

The third instance, decrying Fortune’s “turns” against good men, also seems rhythmically mimetic: “Turns doth make? Oppressing faultless” (book 1, meter 5, line 29). There are only seventeen lines in Elizabeth’s Boethius translations, set off as such in her own handwriting, that lack a major phrase boundary at line end.38 These lines need not be treated as aberrations showing 7, 15, 17, 22, 36, 40, 44, 49; 4.1.15, 19, 29; 4.2.6, 10, 11, 14, 16; 4.3.13, 17, 20, 28, 32; 4.4.10, 11; 4.5.5; 4.6.4, 7, 8, 21, 22, 27, 29, 31, 32, 33, 35; 4.7.4, 13, 19, 22, 24, 31; 5.1.1, 4; 5.3.9, 16, 17; 5.4.5, 15, 18, 19, 23, 26, 29, 33; 5.5.1, 2, 4, 6, 10. The 70 lines with feminine endings are 1.2.12, 14, 21; 1.3.1; 1.4.3, 15; 1.5.1, 2, 13, 28, 47; 1.6.4, 14; 2.1.4; 2.2.8,10, 17, 20; 2.3.3, 6; 2.4.3, 20; 2.5.5; 2.6.7; 2.7.12, 16; 3.2.1; 3.4.6; 3.5.12; 3.6.15; 3.8.11, 14; 3.9.14, 16; 3.10.8, 12; 3.11.12, 14, 17; 3.12.3, 6, 18, 29, 46; 4.1.4, 5, 24, 25, 27; 4.2.8; 4.3.10, 15, 19, 21; 4.4.7, 9; 4.5.9; 4.6.10, 18, 19, 20, 30, 38, 46; 4.7.17, 18; 5.1.10; 5.2.5, 7; 5.4.9. The four feminine lines with strong stress in the feminine position are 1.5.2; 2.2.17; 3.12.46; 4.1.5. 38. The seventeen lines include 1.7.9 (Like the clearest / Days); 2.4.1 (Who lasting will / Wary, settle seat); 2.4.3 (And stable, not of roaring / Eurus’ blasts); 2.6.6 (No tears bedews his face, but was / A doomer); 3.2.2 (Nature powerful, by which the great / World); 3.2.4 (And tying, strains with unloosing / Knot); 3.2.7 (Though Afric lions fair / Gyves bear); 3.7.5 (Away they go and with sticking / Bite); 3.9.5–6, two successive lines (The work of sliding substance, but shape / Of greatest good that envy wants; Thou all / By highest sample); 3.12.3 (Happy, that can, of weighty / Earth); 3.12.14 (When ferventer desire th’ inward / Breast); 3.12.29 (Wonder doth the three-headed / Jailer); 4.6.1 (If, wary, alone, of thund’ring God the laws thou wilt / With purest mind behold); 4.6.20 (In equal sort: that striving / Moistures). 5.1.1 (Near the crags of Achaemians’ rock, where turned / To followers’ breasts); 5.3.28 (From high the seen draweth, that better he may / The parts forgot, the kept rejoin). One apparently straddled line in meter 1 of book 5 looks inadvertent. After translating all but the last word of Boethius’s line 1 in her own first line, Elizabeth began her second line by rendering the final word in his line 1, “sequentum,” as the fragmentary phrase “to followers’.” She then returned to her left margin to render Boethius’s line 2, “breasts the flying warrior darts doth throw,” leaving the preceding phrase “to followers’ ” stranded in isolation. Presumably she intended to close up this sequence to form her own line 2, “To followers’ breasts the flying warrior darts doth throw.” Such closing-up would

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the nonfinal state of her manuscript. Instead, they offer insights into the line types and line combinations that she found appropriate for translating Boethius’s verse, as well as how she arrived at these. In beginning to translate meter 4 of book 2, composed in distichs of alternating seven- to eight-syllable meters (catalectic iambic dimeters and pherecratics), she first wrote, “Who warily a lasting seat will settle”—a close rendering of the introductory clause, which Boethius disposes across his initial two lines: “Quisquis volet perennem / Cautus ponere sedem.” But she struck this through and revised: “Who lasting will / Wary, settle seat.” At first taking a full clause as her compositional unit, she then noticed that she had produced a line markedly out of proportion with Boethius’s compact verses. So in her revised lines 1–2, she emulates the aphoristic style of her source. More closely following Boethius’s word order (at the cost of clarity) and adopting his line division, she sacrifices the integrity of the verb phrase, straddling “will settle” across a line break. In lines 3–4, she similarly finds that imitating Boethius’s word order and line division requires her to sacrifice the integrity of the attributive phrase: “And stable, not of roaring / Eurus’ blasts be won.” In the poem’s remaining seventeen lines, however, Elizabeth hits her rhythmic and syntactic stride. She now rearranges the Latin syntax to reinstate her norm of individual lines of intact phrase units combined into more strongly end-stopped pairs. Thus “Et fluctibus minantem / Curat spernere pontum” (lines 5–6) becomes “And careth scorn [i.e., takes care to avoid] / The waves of threat’ning sea,” with the verb phrase “Curat spernere” and noun phrase “fluctibus minantem . . . / pontum” shifted to create intact units in both lines. She proceeds to render Boethius’s nuggets of wisdom in a mix of bounded, four- and six-syllable iambic lines evoking security and serenity, such as “Thou, happy placed in strength” (line 19). The monosyllables of Elizabeth’s final line declare pointedly how human vulnerability can be outfaced. She channels the sibilant Latin “Ridens aetheris iras” into sturdy English bravado: “And smile at sky’s wrath.” Meter 7 of book 1 strikingly illustrates Elizabeth’s efforts to render Boethius’s short-lined forms into compact verse units. Translating Boethius’s thirty-one lines with an equal number of her own, Elizabeth distills five-syllable adonics into a yet more condensed pattern of yield a grammatically complete line, of a length similar to those in the rest in her rendering of book 5, meter 1.

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two-syllable, three-syllable (headless), and four-syllable lines. She begins as follows: Nubibus atris Condita nullum Fundere possunt Sidera lumen.

Dim clouds Sky close, Light none Can afford. (1.7.1–4)

Elizabeth’s stark brevity occludes even the grammatical subject of “Can afford.” While the subject of Boethius’s clause is the cloud-hidden “stars” (sidera), her subject could be construed with varying degrees of plausibility as “clouds,” sky,” or “none” (neither clouds nor sky). With some compromises of clarity in several lines, Elizabeth proceeds to implement her strenuous metrical compression, translating Boethius’s thirty-one lines with an equal number of her own. In her extremely short lines of two to four syllables, twelve occurrences of headlessness produce a strong trochaic feel, but the absence of feminine endings ensures that the final foot is always a meter-affirming iamb. When Boethius turns to direct address, Elizabeth neatly renders his clipped maxims: Tu quoque si vis Lumine claro Cernere verum . . . Gaudia pelle, Pelle timorem Spemque fugato Nec dolor adsit.

Thou, if thou wilt In clearest light Truth behold . . . Chase joys, Repulse fear, Thrust out hope, Woe not retain. (1.7.20–22, 25–28)

The lyric narrative of Orpheus in the underworld in meter 12 of book 3 elicited a more venturesome rhythmical construct from Elizabeth. For this poem Boethius uses eight-syllable stichic glyconics, the most common meter in the Consolation.39 To render the lyrics in glyconic meter, she employs a range of shorter line lengths clustering around a six-syllable norm. In the Orpheus poem, Elizabeth does not consis-

39. Glyconics are used for one poem in each of the five books of the Consolation. The other four instances are book 1, meter 6; book 2, meter 8; book 4, meter 3; and book 5, meter 4.

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tently maintain her preference for individual line boundaries that coincide with syntactic boundaries. Deviations from her typical practice accumulate as she sacrifices phrase structure to render Boethius’s short lines: “Happy, that can of weighty / Earth, the bonds to break” (“Felix qui potuit gravis / Terrae solvere vincula” 3–4); “When ferventer desire th’inward / Breast more burnt” (“Cum flagrantior intima / Fervor pectoris ureret” 14–15); and “Wonder doth the three-headed / Jailer, amazèd with unwonted verse” (“Stupet tergeminus novo / Captus carmine ianitor” 29–30). These parallel efforts at condensation break down expressively at one key point. Line 30, with its ten syllables the longest in the poem, registers the literal lengths to which Elizabeth is drawn as she works to encompass Boethius’s telling of Orpheus’s story: the devastation brought on by botching one’s only chance to regain the greatest happiness one has known. The compact line units of Elizabeth’s translation encapsulate the brevity of moments of perception and understanding, on the one hand, and the brevity of occasions for constructive or decisive action, on the other. Rhythmical alternations produced by the interworkings of headless and feminine lines with meter-affirming, regular iambic lines expressively heighten the abrupt changes that engender Eurydice’s retrieval and loss. Although variations in line lengths and line types often seem random in Elizabeth’s translations of Boethius’s lyrics, meter 12 develops two respective sets of connotations for headless and feminine lines. Lines with feminine endings tend to connote accesses of emotion and their destabilizing psychological effects: for example, “His wife’s funerals wailing”; “Of ireful gods complaining” (6, 18). Headless lines are associated with decisive turns of action or thought such as “At last, wailing, said the judge”; “With this law, bound be the gift” (40, 44). These oscillations culminate in Elizabeth’s imitation of the starkly distributed grammar of two lines of Boethius—the first composed of nouns and a possessive adjective; the second, all verbs—that narrate the disastrous backward glance: Orpheus Eurydicen suam Vidit, perdidit, occidit.

Eurydice his, Orpheus Saw, lost, and killed. (3.12.50–51)

Thereafter, as she proceeds to render in regular iambic lines of six syllables Boethius’s seven concluding lines that rehearse the moral, Elizabeth conveys the poetic self-possession and the ethical self-mastery

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that she evidently experienced in finishing this translation. After its last line she added an epigraph, a personal comment that she permitted herself nowhere else: “Et sic, bene” (And thus, is well). While the possible meanings of this cryptic pronouncement are several, they probably include her own sense of her accomplishment. Although we have concentrated on the shorter iambic lines that preponderate in Elizabeth’s translations of Boethius, the next largest category, that of ten-syllable lines, demands some concluding notice. A particularly interesting instance is meter 9 of book 3, a magnificent hymn to the Creator-God of Plato’s Timaeus in dactylic hexameters, the meter of classical hymns as well as epic. While this rendering utilizes her typical mixture of line lengths, the norm is blank verse, to judge by the frequency of pentameters (fourteen out of thirty-one lines). Her opening sets this norm with seven lines of blank verse followed by a line that becomes, by metrical resolution, a hexameter: O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas Terrarum caelique sator qui tempus ab aevo Ire iubes stabilisque manens das cuncta moveri, Quem non externae pepulerunt fingere causae Materiae fluitantis opus, verum insita summi Forma boni livore carens, tu cuncta superno Ducis ab exemplo, pulchrum pulcherrimus ipse Mundum mente gerens similique in imagine formans O Thou, in lasting sort, the world that rulest, Of earth and heaven the Framer! Who time, from first, Biddest go, and stable-steady all else dost wheel; Whom outward causes forcèd not to form The work of sliding substance, but shape Of greatest good, that envy wants; Thou all By highest sample guides; the fairest, Thou The goodliest world, that mindest, and of like mold it made (3.9.1–8)

As is her usual practice, Elizabeth works to render each line of the Latin as both a sense unit and a verse unit in English. Her verses quickly reveal the tension produced by her efforts to compress these freely enjambed, six-foot dactylic lines into shorter, end-stopped pentameters. She resorts frequently to metrical contraction: “rul’st,” “heav’n,”

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“Fram’r,” “Bidd’st,” “steady’all,” “goodli’st,” “mind’st.” The most telling symptom of her compositional difficulty is a triple violation of her compositional preference. Three successive lines end without a major phrase boundary: the straddled noun phrase “shape / Of greatest good,” a first stranded pronoun, “Thou all / . . . guides,” and, immediately following, another stranded pronoun, “Thou / . . . mindest.” Yet even here Elizabeth’s deviations from her normal practice arguably enrich the verse by engaging in interplay with her norm of phrase boundaries at line ends. Both “Thou all” and “the fairest, Thou” look initially like complete, though elliptical predications. “Thou all” appears to invoke God as “all,” while “the fairest, Thou” appears as a complete ascription of praise, “Thou [art] the fairest.” Only the onset of the next line reveals that the syntax, in both cases, is incomplete at the line break. Considered overall, Elizabeth’s composition of blank verse in meter 9 of book 3 marks a suggestive transitional turn in her sensibility. In these eight lines, the gems of gnomic wisdom with which she most usually identified poetry yield to a more spacious, exalted mode for reverently addressing the Lord of the universe. The exercises in grandeur required of Elizabeth in translating Boethius’s longer-lined meters probably contributed to the late vein of magniloquence that manifests itself in her public prayers of the 1590s and her “Golden Speech” of 1601.40 40. See CW, 335–44, 425–27.

Queen Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae, October-November, 1593 (original-spelling version)1 The Fyrst Booke fy[rst] Myter Verse ons Righmes that my groing studie ons perfourmed In tears alas cumpeld woful staues begin My muses torne behold what write I shuld indites Wher tru WofuL uerse my face with dole bedews Thes at Lest no terror might Constrain

[5]

1. Source: Kew, Surrey, The National Archives, State Papers, 12 / 289, fols.13r–57r, 64r– 83v. All Meters (unless noted otherwise) and some portions of prose sections (each noted locally) are in Elizabeth’s late, loosely formed italic hand. The remainder of the text is in two hands—predominantly a secretary hand, secondarily an italic hand—that show intermittent local revisions by Elizabeth. As a number of notes in our modern-spelling version document, the clerk evidently wrote at the queen’s dictation. R. E. G. Kirk identified him as Thomas Windebank, Clerk of the Privy Seal (or Signet) in 1598; see Caroline Pemberton, ed., Queen Elizabeth’s Englishings of Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, A.D. 1593; Plutarch, De curiositate [1598]; Horace, De arte poetica (part) A.D. 1598, Early English Text Society, orig. ser. 113 (London, 1899), xi. There is an abortive fair copy—book 1, through the opening section of prose 3—on fols. 100r–102v, in the same format: verse in italic, prose in secretary hand. Because this fragment bears no trace of Elizabeth’s intervention, our copy text has greater authority. We record the few substantive variants in the fair copy in the notes to our modern-spelling version. For ease of reference, we have filled

Queen Elizabeth’s translation of Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, October-November 1593 (modern-spelling version) The First Book 1 Meter 1 Rhymes, that my growing study once performed;2 In tears, alas, compelled, woeful staves begin.3 My Muses torn (behold) what write I should, indite,4 Where true woeful verse my face with dole bedews.5 These, at least, no terror might constrain

5

out headings of Meters and prose sections in full and have numbered the lines of the lyrics in square brackets. 1. First Book Awaiting execution without trial for the treason and other offenses of which he has been accused, the imprisoned Boethius laments his recent fate. 2. growing . . . performed “quondam studio florente peregi” (once I accomplished with prospering eagerness). growing flourishing. study keen pleasure or interest in something; “studio.” The OED notes that in translations of Latin, “study” had a wide variety of early modern senses corresponding to its cognate “studium.” 3. compelled . . . begin compelled I am compelled. Elizabeth often omits subject pronouns and auxiliary verbs. staves verses; “modos” (verses). begin to begin. She often omits the infinitive marker “to.” 4. indite dictate; the subject is “Muses.” 5. true . . . dole true . . . verse “elegi,” the metrical form of meter 1, considered appropriate for lament. true In Boethius, “veris” modifies “fletibus” (with unfeigned tears) rather than “elegi.” dole grief, mourning, weeping.

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that felowes to our mone our Way they shuld refrain The glory ons, of happy griny2 Youthe Now, fates of grounting Age, my Comfort alL VnLookt for Age hied by mishaps is Come And Sorow bidz tr his my time to to add him WithaL Vnseasond hore heares Vpon my hed to ar poWrd And Lovsensd skin in feable body shakes blessed dethe that in switest yeres refraines but oft Calld Comes to the woful Wights O with how defe eare she Wrec from wretched Wries And Wailing Yees Cruel to shut denies. While Gileful fortune with Vading goodz did chire My life wel ny t the dolefuL houre bereued Whan her fals Looke a Cloude hath changed My wretched Life thankles abode protractz Why me so oft my frindz haue you happy cald Who fauleth downe in stedy step stode yet neuer yet stode

[10]

[15]

[20]

[1. Prose] While of aL this aLone in silence I bethoght me and tearesfuL Complaint in stiles office ment, Ouer my hed to stand a Woman did apeare Of stately face with flaming yees of insight aboue the Comun worth of men of fresche coulor and unWon strengh thogh yet so old she Wer that of Our age she seamed not be One her stature suche as skarse Could be desernd for sume While she skanted her to the Comen stature of men strait she semed With Crowne of hed the heauens to strike and lifting vp the same hiar the heauens them selues she enterd and begileding the sight of Lookars on her Wides the wer of 2. griny greeny. On Elizabeth’s idiosyncratic practice of spelling English ee (long e) with i, see ACFLO, xxiv–xxv. 6. our . . . refrain refrain from following the speaker’s path. 7. grunting . . . all grunting groaning. my . . . all you, the Muses, are all my comfort. 8. hied . . . withal hied hastened. bids . . . withal commands that his time be added to this. 9. Unseasoned Out-of-season, untimely; “Intempestivi.” 10. refrains holds back; “se nec . . . Inserit” (does not introduce herself). 11. wights human beings. 12. from . . . wries swerves from wretched [me]. wries swerves.

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That, fellows to our moan, our way they should refrain.6 The glory once of happy, greeny youth, Now Fates of grunting age, my comfort all.7 Unlooked-for Age, hied by mishaps, is come, And Sorrow bids his time to add withal;8 Unseasoned,9 hoary hairs upon my head are poured, And loosèd skin in feeble body shakes. Blessèd Death, that in sweetest years refrains,10 But, oft called, comes to the woeful wights;11 O with how deaf ear she from wretched, wries,12 And wailing eyes, cruel, to shut denies. While guileful Fortune with vading goods did cheer, My life well nigh the doleful hour bereaved;13 When her false look a cloud hath changed,14 My wretched life, thankless abode15 protracts. Why me so oft, my friends, have you happy called? Who falleth down, in steady step yet never stood.

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Prose 1 While of all this, alone in silence I bethought me, and tears-full complaint in style’s office meant,16 over my head to stand a woman did appear. Of stately face, with flaming eyes of insight above the common worth of men; of fresh color and unwon17 strength, though yet so old she were that of our age she seemed not be one. Her stature such as scarce could be discerned, for somewhile she scanted her to the common stature of men, straight18 she seemed with crown of head the heavens to strike; and lifting up the same higher, the heavens themselves she entered, beguiling19 the sight of lookers-on. 13. vading . . . bereaved vading fleeting; “levibus” (fickle). My . . . bereaved “Paene caput tristis merserat hora meum” (A sad hour nearly submerged my head). 14. When . . . changed “Nunc quia fallacem mutavit nubila vultum” (Now that cloudy [Fortune] has changed its false face). 15. thankless abode unwelcome delay. 16. tears-full . . . meant moaned my tearful lament with the service of a stylus. in . . . office “stili officio.” 17. unwon unvanquished; “inexhausti” (of limitless). 18. somewhile . . . straight “nunc . . . nunc” (at one time . . . at another). somewhile sometimes. scanted her diminished herself. straight immediately. 19. beguiling cheating, disappointing; “frustrabatur” (she eluded, disappointed).

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smalist thrides perfaict for fine workmanship and Lasting substance as after by her selfe I kneWe was by her handes aL Wroght Whose forme as to smoky Imagis Was is Wont a certain dimnis of Careles dispisid antiquitie ouerWhelmed Of thes wides in the Lowest skirtz Π in the Vpper side a Θ was reade aL Wro WoVen And betWine bothe lettars Ladar Wise certain steps Wer marked by Wiche from LoWest to hiest Element ascent ther Was Yet that selfe garment the handz of Violent men had torne and pices suche as get the Could aWay the stole Her right hand held a booke the Left a sceptar Who Whan she spied poetz musis sitting standing by my bed and to my teares inditing Wordes someWhat moued inflamed with Gloting yees Who sufferd quoth she thes stagis harlotz aproche this sik man Wiche not only Wold not ease his soroW With no remedies but with sWit Venom nourris them Thes the be that With baren affections thornes destroies the ful Eares of reasons fruitt, and mens mynds with diseases inVres not fries. but if a of Vane man, as W Vulgar Wontz, your alurements had depriVed me With Les grife had I borne hit for by suche, Our Worke had got no harme but this man haue you touched Whom Stoike and Academique study broght out, Get you aWay Sirenes swite til ende be seene to my musis LeVe him for Cure and helthe to this the Checked rabeL with Looke doWne Cast with Wo, with blusche Confessing shame, doleful out of doores the Went, but I Whose sisght3 droWned in teares Was dimed, Could not knoWe What she Was of so impreus imperius rule, and setteling my yees on ground, What she wold more do in Silence I attended, Than she draWing nar on my

3. sisght sight—an evident penslip. 20. weeds . . . smallest weeds garments. they were Windebank’s fair copy reads “she ware.” smallest thinnest, finest. 21. smoky . . . despised smoky images “fumosas imagines”—the smoke-blackened statues of family members in the atriums of Roman houses. of despised of disregarded; “neglectae” (of forgotten). 22. Π, Θ The Greek letters pi and theta respectively symbolize ‘praxis’ and ‘theoria,’ the practical and theoretical branches of philosophy. 23. self selfsame. 24. with . . . eyes with eyes looking askance; “torvis . . . luminibus” (with fierce eyes). 25. These . . . destroys . . . not frees Elizabeth often uses a singular verb in “-(e)s” with a plural subject, a practice found well into the seventeenth century (Manfred Görlach, Introduction to Early Modern English [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991], 89).

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Her weeds they were of smallest20 threads, perfect for fine workmanship and lasting substance as, after by herself I knew, was by her hands all wrought. Whose form, as to smoky images is wont, a certain dimness of despised21 antiquity overwhelmed. Of these weeds, in the lowest skirts Π, in the upper side a Θ,22 was read, all woven. And between both letters, ladder-wise, certain steps were marked, by which, from lowest to highest element, ascent there was. Yet that self 23 garment the hands of violent men had torn and pieces such as get they could, away they stole. Her right hand held a book, the left a scepter. Who, when she spied poets’ Muses standing by my bed, and to my tears inditing words, somewhat moved, inflamed with gloating eyes:24 “Who suffered,” quoth she, “these stage’s harlots approach this sick man, which not only would not ease his sorrow with no remedies, but with sweet venom nourish them? These they be, that with barren affections’ thorns destroys the full ears of reason’s fruit, and men’s minds with disease inures, not frees.25 But if of vain man, as vulgar wonts,26 your allurements had deprived me, with less grief had I borne it. For by such, our work had got no harm. But this man have you touched, whom Stoic and Academic study brought out.27 Get you away, Sirens, sweet till end be seen.28 To my Muses leave him for cure and health.” To this, the checked rabble,29 with look downcast with woe, with blush confessing shame, doleful out of doors they went. But I, whose sight, drowned in tears, was dimmed, could not know what she was, of so imperious rule; and settling my eyes on ground, what she would

26. vain . . . wonts vain foolish, thoughtless; “profanum” (uninitiated). as . . . wonts as the common people are wont to do; “uti vulgo solitum vobis” (as generally is customary with you [the Muses]). Elizabeth construes “vulgo” (generally) as if it were a form of “vulgus” (the common people) and ignores “vobis.” 27. Stoic . . . out Stoic . . . study “Eleaticis atque Academicis studiis” (Eleatic and Academic studies). The Eleatic and Stoic philosophical schools each had their Zeno figure, whom Elizabeth may have confused, thus substituting “Stoic” for “Eleatic.” Zeno of Elea (ca. 495–ca. 430 B.C.E.) propounded the famous paradoxes regarding motion. Zeno of Citium (ca. 335–ca. 263 B.C.E.) founded the Stoic school, teaching that the wise man should be free from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and submissive to the law of nature. The Academics were skeptical successors (3rd–2nd centuries B.C.E.) of Plato in Athens. brought out produced, yielded, rendering Pulmann’s reading “enutritum” (brought up, reared). 28. sweet . . . seen “usque in exitium dulces” (sweet to the point of destruction). 29. the . . . rabble the Muses; “ille chorus . . . increpitus” (this company upbraided).

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bedsfite sat doWne and VeWing my Looke of heVy Woe and with my dole to the erthe throWne doWne, in Versis thes of my mynds pane Complaineth thus

2. Myter O in hoW hedLong deptht the drowned mind is dimd and Losing her Light her owne striues to run other to other darkenis turns as oft as driVen With erthely flawes the harmfuL care higher VpWard grows Wons4 Ons this man fre in open fild used to Vew the skies the skies to Vew of Rosely5 son the Light beheld [5] of frosy6 mone the pLanetz saw And What star elz runs runs her Wontid Cours bending by many CircLes this man had won by numbar to knoWe them alL [10] Yea Causis aL eache Whens roring Windz the seas perturbz acquainted with the spirit that rolles the stedy World And whi the star that falz to the Hisperias waters from his reddy spring roote dothe raise herself

4. Wons Once; “quondam.” 5. Rosely rosy; Elizabeth mistakenly deleted y while deleting her mistaken l. 6. frosy frosty—also the reading in Windebank’s fair copy. 30. complaineth A historical present; “conquesta est” (bewailed). 31. Meter 2 This poem refers to Boethius’s astronomical studies, which included a translation of a treatise by the second-century C.E. Greek astronomer Ptolemy. In Windebank’s fair copy, lines 1–4, l0–18 are divided at their midpoint (caesura) into six-foot or eight-foot units. 32. others’ darkness Elizabeth presumably construed “externas” in Boethius’s “externas . . . tenebras” (outer darkness) in the sense of ‘not belonging to the subject in question’ or ‘foreign.’ The darkness is the sign of the self ’s exile into otherness. 33. driv’n . . . upward driv’n . . . flaws Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “Terrenis quotiens flatibus acta” (As often as driven by earthbound gusts); modern editions read “aucta” (swollen) in place of “acta” (driven). flaws sudden bursts or squalls of wind. upward “in immensum” (to immense size). 34. ros[y] See n5 of our original-spelling text.

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more do, in silence I attended. Then she, drawing near, on my bed’s feet sat down. And viewing my look of heavy woe and with my dole to the earth thrown down, in verses these, of my mind’s pain, complaineth30 thus: Meter 2 31 Oh, in how headlong depth the drownèd mind is dimmed; And, losing light, her own, to others’ darkness32 turns, As oft as, driv’n with earthly flaws, the harmful care upward33 grows. Once this man, free in open field, usèd the skies to view: 5 Of ros[y]34 sun the light beheld, Of frosty moon the planets35 saw; And what star else runs her wonted course, Bending by many circles,36 this man had won By number to know37 them all, Yea, causes each: whence roaring winds the seas perturbs; 10 Acquainted with the spirit that rolls the steady world; And why the star that falls to the Hesperia’s waters From his reddy root38 doth raise herself;

35. Of . . . planets Boethius’s puzzling “gelidae sidera lunae” (the stars of the cold moon) probably refers to the stars that are observed near the moon. planets Latin “sidera” can refer to stars, planets, or the heavenly bodies or sky as a whole. 36. And . . . circles “Et quaecumque vagos stella recursus / Exercet varios flexa per orbes” (And whatever twisting planet sets in motion its wandering returns through its changing orbits). star Like Boethius’s “stella,” “star” can mean both a ‘star’ and a ‘planet.’ Boethius evidently refers to a planet, also known as a “stella vaga” or “wandering star,” which took its name from its apparently irregular movements across the sky. Elizabeth’s sense is unclear. her Omitted in Windebank’s fair copy. 37. had . . . know had succeeded in knowing. “Had won,” whose primary sense is ‘had succeeded in,’ has the added implication of ‘had conquered’ (in order to know). The double sense effectively renders “comprensam . . . . victor habebat” (as victor he comprehended). 38. star . . . root star the sun. Hesperia’s waters Western waters, where the sun sets; “hesperias . . . undas.” reddy root Elizabeth takes “ortus” in “rutilo . . . ab ortu” (from the ruddy East) in its sense of ‘origin’ rather than its contextually appropriate sense of ‘East,’ whence the sun rises.

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Who hit is that gives the springes mild houres that mildz ther temper that With rosy floures the erthe be decket [15] Who made the fertile Autumne at fuLlnis of the yere Abound with Grape aL SoLne7 with ripest fruits he that Was Wont Wonted to serche and find diuers cause and find sondry causes of hiden nature

doWne Lies of mindz Light bereued With brused Nek by oVerheuy Chaines With A bowed Lowe Looke by Waight bearyng driVen alas the Sely erthe alas to behold

[20]

[2.] Prose but fittar time quoth she for medecin than Complaint than fixing on me her stedy yees she art thou the same quoth she Who ons nourriched With my milke nourissed fed With our foode art groWen to strengh of manly mynd? On Whom we bestoWed suche weapons as if thou hadst not Cast aWay had saued the With invincible strengh, dost thou me knoWe? Whi art thou doum? is hit shame or Wondar makes the Silent? But Whan she spied me not only stiL but WoordLes and dum, on my brest gently Layd her hand Said. ther is no danger he is entered in a Lethargi a Commen diseace of mynd, distract. he hath a liteL forgotten himself easily his memory WyL retourne Whan first he hathe remembard me And that he may a litel Let us Wipe his yees ouerdimd With Cloude of erthely things thus speaking my yees floWing with teares folding her garment she dried Wiped dried 3. Myter than Night oVerbloWen the darkenis Left me and formar strengh vnto my yees retornd

7. SoLne swollen; “gravidis.” 39. Who Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “quis” (who); modern editions read “quid” (what). 40. Down . . . behold The final lines read thus in Windebank’s fair copy: “Down he is, of / mind’s light bereft / With bruised neck, by / overheavy chains / A-bowed low, look / by weight bearing / Driven, alas the / Seely earth behold.” seely mean, poor. behold to behold.

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Who39 that gives the spring’s mild hours their temper, That with rosy flowers the earth be decked; Who made the fertile autumn, at fullness of the year, Abound with grape, all swoll’n with ripest fruits. He, wonted to search and find sundry causes of hidden Nature, Down lies, of mind’s light bereaved, With bruisèd neck, by overheavy chains, A-bowèd-low look, by weight-bearing Driven, alas, the seely earth behold.40

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Prose 2 “But fitter time,” quoth she, “for medicine than complaint.” Then, fixing on me her steady eyes: “Art thou the same,” quoth she, “who once nourished with my milk, fed with our food, art grown to strength of manly mind? On whom we bestowed such weapons as, if thou hadst not cast away, had saved thee with invincible strength? Dost thou me know? Why art thou dumb? Is it shame or wonder makes thee silent?”41 But when she spied me not only still but wordless and dumb, on my breast gently laid her hand. Said:42 “There is no danger; he is entered in a lethargy, a common disease of mind distract. He hath a little forgotten himself. Easily43 his memory will return when first he hath remembered me. And, that he may, a little let us wipe his eyes overdimmed with cloud of earthly things.” Thus speaking, my eyes flowing with tears, folding her garment, she dried. Meter 3 Then night o’erblown,44 the darkness left me, And former strength unto my eyes returned.

41. silent Elizabeth does not translate Lady Philosophy’s following sentence: “mallem pudore, sed te, ut video, stupor oppressit” (I would prefer that it were with shame, but as I see, stupor overcomes you). 42. Said Windebank’s fair copy reads “and said.” 43. Easily Omitted in Windebank’s fair copy. 44. o’erblown “discussa” (dispersed).

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As Whan the heauens astound with hedLong wind and Pole amidst the Cloudy mistes The Son is hid and in the heauens aperes aperes no stars from hy the night on erthe is spred tThe same if boreas sent from his tracien den dothe strike and Opens the hiden day Shines out and With his Soudan Ligh Φebus8 shaken Withe his beams strikes aL Lokars On

[5]

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[3. Prose] No otherWise mistz of my O woe dissolued to heauen I reached and raised my mynd to knoWe my Curars face. than Whan on hir I rolled my yees and Loke Y I fixed my nurs I saw in Whose retired Romes in my Youthe I dweLt, And hoW quoth I art thou Come to the Solitarenis of our exile O maistres pedague9 of al Vertus fallen from the hiest step shalt thou With me be tormented to With falz Crimes, Shal I quoth she O skolar myne the Leue and not to ease thy burdain Wiche for my sake thou berest in easing thy Labor With feLoWing of thi paine hit il becumes Φilosoϕie to Leue alone an innocentz Way Shal I dread my none blame and as if any nouuelty had hapt shal I feare Now first you shall Ar you noW to knoWe how amonge Wicked folkes10

8. Ligh Φebus light Phoebus. Elizabeth spells the Greek name with her characteristic Greek phi. 9. maistres pedague “magistra” (mistress in sense of ‘woman in charge,’ ‘instructress’). This correction occurs near the end of the initial portion of the text that is entirely in Elizabeth’s hand. 10. folks From this point onward, Elizabeth’s clerk, Thomas Windebank, here writing an italic hand, takes down the remainder of the translation of prose 3 from Elizabeth’s dictation. 45. As . . . mists “Ut, cum praecipiti glomerantur sidera coro / Nimbosisque polus stetit imbribus” (As when bad weather is gathered by the swift Northwest wind / And the pole [clear, upper sky] is shrouded by storm clouds). heavens The contextual sense of Boethius’s “sidera” here is obscure, but probably refers, by metonymy, to bad weather; see Gruber, Kommentar zu Boethius, 101–2. astound astounded. 46. appears . . . stars Windebank’s fair copy reads “no stars appears.” 47. Boreas . . . den Boreas the North wind. Thracian den The cave of Aeolus, the god of the winds. Thrace is a region in northern Greece. 48. Shines . . . shaken And Phoebus the sun shines out, shaken with his own sudden light; “Emicat ac subito vibratus lumine Phoebus” (And Phoebus flashes out, suddenly glit-

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As when the heav’ns astound with headlong wind, And pole amidst the cloudy mists,45 The sun is hid, and in the heav’ns appears no stars:46 From high, the night on earth is spread. The same if Boreas, sent from his Thracian den,47 Doth strike and opens the hidden day. Shines out, and with his sudden light, Phoebus, shaken,48 With his beams strikes all lookers-on.

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Prose 3 No otherwise, mists of my woe dissolved, to heaven I reached, and raised my mind to know my curer’s face. Then, when on her I rolled my eyes, and look I fixed, my nurse I saw, in whose retired rooms in my youth I dwelt.49 “And how,” quoth I, “art thou come to the solitariness of our exile, O pedagogue of all virtues? Fallen from the highest step,50 shalt thou with me be tormented too with false crimes?” “Shall I,” quoth she, “O scholar mine, thee leave? And not to ease thy burden, which, for my sake thou bearest, in easing thy labor with fellowing51 of thy pain? It ill becomes Philosophy to leave alone an innocent’s way.52 Shall I dread mine own blame, and, as if any novelty53 had happed, shall I fear? Are you now to know54 how, among tering with light). Elizabeth construes “vibratus” in its passive sense of ‘shaken’ rather than in its contextually appropriate sense of ‘glittering.’ 49. nurse . . . dwelt nurse At this point Boethius names “nutricem meum . . . Philosophiam” (my nurse . . . [Lady] Philosophy). retired rooms “lares” (dwelling, home), defined in the Bibliotheca Eliotae (1548) and Thomas Thomas’s 1587 Latin-English dictionary as a “private” dwelling. I dwelt Pulmann’s edition reads “versatus fueram” (I had passed my time—i.e., I had moved about) and gives as a marginal variant “obversatus,” the reading in modern editions. 50. Fallen . . . step “supero cardine delapsa” (flown down from the highest pole); “delapsa” can evoke a voluntary descent, as seems most appropriate here, or an involuntary fall, as Elizabeth construes it. step degree, rank. 51. fellowing sharing. 52. leave . . . way “incomitatum relinquerere iter innocentis” (to leave unaccompanied the path of an innocent). Windebank’s fair copy of book 1 ends at this point (fol. 102v). 53. novelty recent event of a new kind; “aliquid novum” (something new). 54. Are . . . know? Do you (only) now know? “Nunc enim primum censes” (Do you now suppose that this is the first time that . . . ?). Elizabeth does not translate “primum,” perhaps construing it alongside “nunc” with “censes” rather than with the subsequent clause.

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wisedom is assaild with many dangers? Haue we not wrestled with follies rashnes among the elder sorte afore olde our Platoes age and made therewith great battaile yea he aliue his master Socrates vniustely claymed the Victory of deathe when I was by: whose inheritance when after the Vulgar Epicurian and Stoick and all the rest for their parte11 each man for his part ment to bereaue me, who sundred, as in parte, of their pray, my garment though I resisted and exclaymed. for being the workmanship of myne own hande they plucking some ragges from it, supposing they were had all, departed from me. Among which, for that some prints of my garment appeared: folly supposing they were my familiars abused some of them with error of the vayne multitude. Though thou haste not knowen Anaxagoras flight nor Socrates Venim ne Zenos torment because they are stranger yet Cauni Senecae, Sorani thoug maist knowe for they are not couards nor of an vnhonored memory. Whom to their bane nothing els to their bane brought but that instructed with our conditions, they seamed Vnlike the Wickeds endeuors. Thou oughtest not therefore to Wonder if in the sea of Lyffe we be tossed with many a tempest rising, whose puprpose is this is chiefest to dislike the Wickedest. Whose army though it be great, ought to be despisd as whom no Guide rules, but hurled rashely with a dimme error which, if once setting battayle against vs should fortune to to preuayle: Our guide will drawe our troupes to castle, while they be busy to rauyne Vnproffitable baggage, and we from hye shall skorne them while they spoile that is Vyle, sure from the furious tumulte and saffe in such wise a trenche whether these foolish raueners may neuer attayne 11. for . . . parte In Elizabeth’s manuscripts, underlining is used to mark a phrase for revision—here, for deletion. 55. Yea . . . by This entire sentence is a question in Boethius. Socrates Condemned to death in 399 B.C.E. for introducing strange gods and corrupting the Athenian youth, Socrates, as reported in Plato’s Apology, chose death by drinking hemlock rather than the escape from execution that was offered to him. unjustly . . . death Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “iniuste victoriam mortis . . . promeruit” (unjustly merited the victory of death). Modern editions read “iniustae” for “iniuste” (merited the victory of an unjust death). 56. Anaxagoras’s . . . cowards Anaxagoras’s . . . torment The philosopher Anaxagoras fled Athens in fear of persecution ca. 450 B.C.E.; Zeno of Elea reportedly died while helping to rid his native city of a tyrant in the second half of the fifth century B.C.E. venom poison. strange foreign. Caniuses, Senecas, Soranuses Three pluralized examples of Stoic opposition to Roman emperors: Canius died under Caligula ca. 40 C.E., Seneca and

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wicked folks, Wisdom is assailed with many dangers? Have we not wrestled with Folly’s rashness among the elder sort afore our Plato’s age, and made therewith great battle? Yea, he alive, his master Socrates unjustly claimed the victory of death when I was by.55 Whose inheritance, when after the vulgar Epicurean and Stoic and all the rest, each man for his part meant to bereave me, sundered (as, in part of their prey) my garment, though I resisted and exclaimed: for, being the workmanship of mine own hand, they, plucking some rags from it (supposing they had all), departed from me. Among which, for that some prints of my garment appeared, Folly, supposing they were my familiars, abused some of them with error of the vain multitude. “Though thou hast not known Anaxagoras’s flight, nor Socrates’ venom, nor Zeno’s torment, because they are strange, yet Caniuses, Senecas, Soranuses thou mayst know, for they are not cowards56 nor of unhonored memory. Whom nothing else to their bane brought, but that, instructed with our conditions,57 they seemed unlike the wicked’s endeavors. Thou oughtest not, therefore, to wonder, if in the sea of life we be tossed with many a tempest rising, whose purpose is this, chiefest, to dislike58 the wickedest. Whose army, though it be great, ought to be despised, as whom no guide rules, but hurled rashly with a dim59 error. Which, if once setting battle against us, should fortune to prevail, our guide will draw our troops to castle while they be busy to raven60 unprofitable baggage. And we from high shall scorn them while they spoil that is vile, sure from the furious tumult and safe in such a trench61 whither these foolish raveners may never attain.”

Soranus under Nero in 65 and 68. Elizabeth uses Latin plurals; “Cauni” should be “Canii.” cowards A puzzling translation of “pervetusta” (very old). 57. instructed . . . conditions “nostris moribus instituti” (brought up in our [Lady Philosophy’s] ways). 58. whose . . . dislike whose we whose. dislike displease, annoy, offend. 59. rashly . . . dim rashly “temere.” Throughout, Elizabeth renders forms of Boethius’s “temerarius” and its cognates in the sense of ‘rash’ where the sense of ‘fortuitous, accidental’ is appropriate; see our introduction. dim Elizabeth’s addition. 60. to raven to seize forcibly or divide as spoil; “diripiendas” (plundering). 61. shall . . . trench shall scorn “inridemus” (we laugh at); Elizabeth perhaps mistook the present for the future tense. that that which, what (a common sixteenth-century usage). trench “vallo.” In addition to its current meaning, “trench” in early modern English could refer to a trench’s rampart. “Vallum” can signify various sorts of fortifications; the Biblotheca Eliotae’s first definition is “trenche.”

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4. Myter Who so quiet in setled Life proude fate kepes Vnder fote And stable defendzing eache fortune His chire vnWonn preserues him shal no rage nor Seas threates from depthe that hurles her fome Nor Wood VeseVus12 With holy pittz that burstz out his smoky fires Nor Way of flameing Sulϕar wont to strike the toWers hie cans moue Whi so muche Can Wretched men at fiers tirants Wondar forsles furious, Hope thou naugh ne feare disarmed thou may the poWreLes Ire but Who so quaking feares or Wische Not being stable and in his strengh DoWne falz his shild and changing his place That Huges the chaine he taks Whi by Wiche he is draWen

[5]

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4. Prose Knowest thou thou al and this and yet hast forgotten the? art thou the Ass to the Lute? heare and remembar If thou Looke for thy Curars 12. VeseVus Vesuvius. 62. defending . . . fortune “Fortunamque tuens utramque rectus” (stoutly beholding both sorts of Fortune). defending contending with, warding off. 63. cheer mien; mood; “vultum” (look). 64. Nor. . . pits “Nec ruptis quotiens vagus caminis / . . . Vesaevus” (Nor unsettled Vesuvius, however often breaking from its furnaces). wood enraged, mad. holey full of holes. pits excavations made in the earth for some industrial process—here, metal-working. 65. way . . . sulfur course of flaming lightning. 66. forceless, furious adjectives modifying “tyrants”; “sine viribus furentes” (raging without strength). 67. Disarm . . . may “exarmaveris” (you will have disarmed). 68. wishe[s] Elizabeth wrote “Wische,” an evident penslip. 69. in . . . strength “suique iuris” (subject to his own law—i.e., his own master). Elizabeth adapts a Biblical locution: Job 36:22 describes God “excelsus in sua fortitudine” (Vulgate) / “high in His strength” (Geneva Bible); Hosea 12:3 describes Jacob fighting “in sua fortitudine” (Vulgate) / “in his strength” (Geneva Bible).

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Meter 4 Whoso, quiet in settled life, Proud Fate keeps underfoot; And stable, defending each fortune,62 His cheer63 unwon preserves: Him shall no rage nor sea’s threats, From depth that hurls her foam, Nor wood Vesuvius with holey pits,64 That bursts out his smoky fires, Nor way of flaming sulfur,65 wont to strike The towers high, can move. Why so much can wretched men At fierce tyrants wonder: forceless, furious?66 Hope thou naught, nor fear; Disarm thou may67 the powerless’ ire; But whoso, quaking, fears or wishe[s],68 Not being stable and in his strength:69 Down falls his shield; and, changing place, Hugs the chain by which he’s drawn.70

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Prose 4 “Knowest thou all this, and yet hast forgotten thee?71 Art thou the ass to the lute?72 Hear, and remember.73 If thou look for thy curer’s aid, discover thy wound.”

70. Down . . . drawn “Abiecit clipeum locoque motus / Nectit qua valeat trahi catenam” (Throws down his shield, moved from his position, / And fastens the chain by which he can be led). Hugs . . . chain Delights in bondage. Elizabeth employs an English idiom close to the Latin image. 71. Knowest . . . thee? “Sentisne, inquit, haec atque animo inlabuntur tuo” (Have you understood this, she said, and has it penetrated your mind?). Elizabeth does not translate “inquit” (she said). At frequent junctures throughout her Boethius translation, she leaves untranslated “inquit,” “inquam” (I said), and analogous phrases by which Boethius marks the alternating course of the dialogue. hast . . . thee? have you forgotten? 72. ass . . . lute Pulmann’s edition reads “ὄνος πρὸς λύραν”—“the ass to the lyre,” a proverb coined by the comic poet Menander, used of a person who cannot appreciate higher things. 73. Hear . . . remember Elizabeth diverges far from her source, substituting two commands of her own for two Latin questions and two Greek commands as they appear in

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ayde discoVer thy Wound Than I gathering my mynd to his ful strengh, haue I yet nide of Warning hathe not the sowernis of Cruel fortune Ouertopt me by herself alone doth not the VeW of this place the moue Is not this the shop Wiche surist seat in alL my inward romes for the I chose me13 which by me oft sytting, of Science diuine and humain matters thou dispisest disputedst? was this thy habite? Was this thy Looke? when With the I serched natures secretes? When to me with Ruler thou discribedst the starres Wayes and framedst our woorkes and Wholle trade of lyfe after the trade of celestiall order Shall we receaue such rewardes for obeyeng the? When thou thy self this sentence paste of Platos Mouth, that happy Were those common Welthes if eyther Wisdom studiers ruled them, or their Rulers studi Wisdom imbraced. Thou by the self same mans Mouth didst teache that this Was the necessariest cause, of Wy for Wyse men to take the Rule rule the common Wellth, Leste that the raynes therof left to the Wicked and harmfull citizens might brede the plague and harme to good. This autoritie I folloWing, which of theym in and be thy secret leysure thou taughtest Me, made me Wish to tourne for Action of commvn Rule. God and thy self doo Witnes beare, Which he inspirde to Wyse Mens Mens myndes, that no care brought me to Magistrate Rule, but common care for all good Men. Whence greate and Vnappeased discorde with Wicked folkes I had, And that freedom that conscience libertie

Pulmann: “ ‘Quid fles, quid lacrimis manas?’ ‘ἐξαύδα, μή κεύθε νόῳ’ ” (“Why do you weep, why do you dissolve in tears?” “Speak out; do not hide it in your mind”). The (misaccented) Greek is from Homer Iliad 1.363. She may have had a gospel analogue in mind. At a moment structurally similar to Lady Philosophy’s rebuking of Boethius for his lack of equanimity in the face of adverse fortune, Jesus rebukes his disciples for failing to trust that He will provide food for them and the multitude in the desert, as He had done previously: “Having ears, hear ye not? and do ye not remember?” (Mark 8:18). 13. Knowest . . . me Prose 4, up to this point, is in Elizabeth’s hand. Windebank once again begins to take down the translation in secretary hand, using this, rather than italic, for virtually all of his writing at Elizabeth’s dictation. 74. warning “admonitione.” “Admonitio” can mean ‘warning,’ but the context suggests, rather, ‘a statement (of a fact).’ With a testy rhetorical question Boethius asks whether he needs to make his ill fortune more explicit. 75. Hath . . . me “nec per se satis eminet fortunae in nos saevientis asperitas?” (and is not the sourness of cruel Fortune toward us sufficiently evident by itself?). Elizabeth takes “eminet” (is evident) in its other senses of ‘rises above’ or ‘excels’ and fits the remainder to that sense. overtopped risen above, surpassed.

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Then I, gathering my mind to his full strength: “Have I yet need of warning?74 Hath not the sourness of cruel Fortune overtopped me75 by herself alone? Doth not the view of this place thee move? Is not this the shop which, surest seat in all my inward rooms, for thee I chose me?76 Which, by me oft sitting, of science’ divine and human matters77 thou disputedst? Was this thy habit? Was this thy look, when with thee I searched Nature’s secrets? when to me, with ruler, thou describedst the stars’ ways, and framedst our works and whole trade78 of life after the trade of celestial order? Shall we receive such rewards for obeying thee? When thou thyself this sentence passed, of Plato’s mouth,79 that ‘happy were those commonwealths, if either wisdomstudiers ruled them, or their rulers wisdom embraced’? Thou by the selfsame man’s mouth didst teach that this was the necessariest cause for wise men to rule the commonwealth, lest that the reins thereof, left to the wicked and harmful citizens, might breed the plague, and harm to good. “This authority I following, which in thy secret leisure thou taughtest me, made me wish to turn for action of common rule.80 God and thyself do witness bear, which He inspired to wise men’s minds, that no care brought me to magistrate-rule but common care for all good men.81 Whence great and unappeased discord with

76. shop . . . me shop workshop, place where something is produced; “bibliotheca” (library). seat dwelling, residence, cognate with “sedem.” for . . . me “tibi . . . ipsa delegeras” (you chose for yourself). 77. of . . . matters of the divine and human matters of knowledge; “de humanarum divinarumque rerum scientia.” science’ knowledge, equivalent to Boethius’s cognate, “scientia,” and an uninflected possessive, a frequent usage of Elizabeth’s with a final sibilant. We have supplied the apostrophe. 78. trade course, way, or manner of life. One of Elizabeth’s recurrent terms: see CW, 79. Boethius reads “mores” and, where “trade” recurs five words later, “exempla” (examples). 79. sentence . . . mouth sentence passed A legal metaphor; “sanxisti” (you have established). Plato’s mouth Republic 5.473D. 80. for . . . rule word-for-word rendering of “in actum publicae administrationis” (in the practice of public administration). 81. which . . . men which whom—i.e., thyself, Lady Philosophy. common . . . men “commune bonorum omnium studium,” normally construed as a subjective genitive, “the general goodwill of [i.e., on the part of] good men.” Elizabeth, however, construes the phrase as an objective genitive (for good men). Her rendering becomes more plausible if Boethius’s “commune” and her cognate “common” are understood not as ‘general’ or ‘shared’ (by good men) but in their alternative senses of ‘affable’ (toward good men).

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gaue Me for to saue right I preserved, dispising the Mighties offence. hoW oft have I crossed Conigastus, Vsing VioLence to eche mans Weke fortune? how many tymes haue I overthrowne TriguyL In court cheefe officer, from his begon and almost ended iniurye? how oft haue I protected Wretched poore men, Whom that Vnpunished auarice of BarbeRous With infinite sLanders Vexed, throWing my Autoritie against their perrils. Never could Any man, drawe me from Law to Iniury. I soroWed for the Provinces Misfortunes, Wrackt by by him private ravins and publick taxes, no lesse than they that sufferd them. Whan Campania proVince seemed despoiled afflicted through Want in tyme of greatest famyne, and W such As could not be exprest, When buying and selling Was forbyd, I began A quarrell against the pretorian Ruler for cause of common good. I straue With him the King Knowing it, and Won wan it that no sale sale Were made: Paulin the consul, Whose goodes the palatine dog With hope and ambition had deuourde, for from the gapers Jaw Jawes I drew. I opposde my self to the hate of Leithian Ciprian the bakbyter, that there fatious penaltie that the Payne of the preiudical accusation might not fall to the share of Albinus the consul. haue not I, suppose you, sharpned quarrels Against me you me Ynough, that but and ought to have ben defended among the rest, euin they them that for loue of Justice Among the Courtiers might haue saued me: by Which I should be safer; by What Accusers Am I now stricken, of Whom Basilius fallen from princes seruice is driven to 82. despising . . . offense Pulmann’s edition reads “spreta potentum semper offensio” (powerful men’s taking of offense [against me] was always despised / disregarded). Modern editions read “potentiorum” (of the more powerful), a variant Pulmann notes in his margin. 83. Conigastus . . . Triggulla Contemporaries of Boethius, whose abuses of public office he opposed. Triggulla is identified here as chief official of the royal household (“regiae praepositum domus”), and Conigastus is known as the addressee of a letter from Cassiodorus, who succeeded Boethius as master of the offices. 84. barbarous barbarous men, barbarians. 85. law right, justice, equivalent to Boethius’s “ius.” 86. ravins despoilings. 87. When . . . forbid Boethius’s subordinate construction posed syntactic and lexical challenges: “Cum acerbae famis tempore gravis atque inexplicabilis indicta coemptio profligatura inopia Campaniam provinciam videretur” (When in a time of sharp famine it seemed there was to be a terrible and inexplicable “coemptio” [compulsory sale of produce to the state at less than market rate] imposed that was about to ruin the province of Campania with destitution). Campania A Roman province in southern Italy. seemed . . . such . . . expressed Elizabeth construes “videretur” (seemed) and “gravis atque inex-

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wicked folks I had; and that freedom that conscience’ liberty gave me for to save right, I preserved, despising the mighty’s offense.82 “How oft have I crossed Conigastus using violence to each man’s weak fortune? How many times have I overthrown Triggulla,83 in court chief officer, from his begun and almost-ended injury? How oft have I protected poor men, whom unpunished avarice of barbarous84 with infinite slanders vexed, throwing my authority against their perils? Never could any man draw me from law85 to injury. I sorrowed for the provinces’ misfortunes, racked by private ravins86 and public taxes, no less than they that suffered them. “When Campania province seemed afflicted through want in time of greatest famine, and such as could not be expressed, when buying and selling was forbid,87 I began a quarrel against the praetorian ruler for cause of common good. I strove with him, the king knowing it; and won it that no sale88 were made. Paulinus the consul, whose goods the Palatine dog89 with hope and ambition had devoured, from the gaper’s jaws I drew. I opposed myself to the hate of Cyprian the backbiter, that the pain of the prejudicial90 accusation might not fall to the share of Albinus, the consul. Have not I, suppose you, sharpened quarrels against me enough? And ought to have been defended among the rest, even them that for love of justice among the courtiers might have saved me, by which I should be safer.91 By what accusers am I now stricken? Of plicabilis” (terrible and inexplicable) with the opening description of famine rather than the subsequent description of the “coemptio.” buying . . . forbid Elizabeth’s guess as to what the “coemptio” entailed, for which she would have found little guidance in Renaissance authorities. The Bibliotheca Eliotae and Thomas Thomas’s dictionary unhelpfully define “coemptio” etymologically as “a buying together.” 88. sale A contextually apt translation of “coemptio.” 89. Paulinus . . . dog Paulinus Consul in 498 C.E. good property, possessions. Palatine dog Boethius’s phrase, a reference to rapacious courtiers, is plural. 90. pain . . . prejudicial pain punishment, penalty; Elizabeth’s usual rendering of “poena.” prejudicial prejudiced; “praeiudicatae.” 91. And . . . safer Pulmann’s edition reads “Sed esse apud ceteros tutior debui, qui mihi amore iustitiae nihil apud aulicos quo magis essem tutior servavi” (But I should have been safer among the others [the noncourtiers], I who with my love for justice preserved nothing by which I would be safer among the courtiers). Boethius expresses outrage that members of his own senatorial class have betrayed him. Elizabeth’s phrasing obscures his distinction between “the rest” (ceteros), the members of the senatorial order, not members of the court, who should have protected him, and the courtiers whose favor he did not seek and who therefore had no reason to ensure his safety.

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sLaunder of our name, for dettes sake. When by Kinges Judgement a censure Was giuen for bannishment for Opilion and Gaudensius for their Iniuries, and many Wronges, And When they denyeng to obeye, saued them selves With defence of holy Sanctuary, and that the King KnoWing, proclaymde that Without they departed from Ravenna toWne at the prescribed daye, they should be driven out With their forheades markes. What might be thought, to crosse such seueritie? but yet in that daye, themsellues deferring the sLaunder, touched Me. What tho? hath our science deseruid this, or their forerunning condemnacion, Made their accusers Just? So fortune Was Nothing ashamde oif the not14 thaccused innocency, yet of thaccusers Wickednes basenes : but What is our faulte? Will ye seek the principall? We are sayde to Wish the Senates surety: The reason meanes Waye you desire, A scLaunderer, lest he Might deLay his Lessons by Which he Might Make Me guilty of treason, We are accused to have letted him: What then think you ô pedagogue Myne? shall We deny the facte? that shame the We Might Not: but I Wolde, and neuer to Will, Will leave. shall We confesse it? but then We shall it the Worke to of hindering the scLaunderer Leave ceasse. shall I call it a faulte, to Wish the surety of that state? he himself by his oWn decrees Against me, hath made this Vnlawfull: but folie that lyes euer Against her self, the Worth of

14. oif the not Windebank began to write “of ” but changed it to “if ” without remembering to insert a needed “of ” immediately after “not.” 92. Of whom One of whom. 93. for . . . wrongs Elizabeth renders with a cognate Pulmann’s reading “ob iniurias, atque multiplices fraudes” (because of their injurious acts and manifold fraudulent deeds). All other sixteenth-century editions consulted, and modern editions, read “ob innumeras multiplicesque fraudes” (because of their countless and manifold fradulent deeds). 94. that, the king . . . severity that . . . knowing the king knowing that they had refused to leave Ravenna; “compertumque id regi foret” (when the king found out about it). without unless. foreheads’ marks brands on their foreheads. what . . . severity? “Quid huic severitate posse astrui videtur?” (What does it seem can be added to this severity?). to cross to pass over a boundary; figuratively, to surpass. 95. themselves deferring they themselves delivering it (the accusation). deferring conveying, proffering, cognate with “deferentibus,” which can mean ‘conveying’ but here has its specific legal sense of ‘denouncing,’ ‘charging.’ 96. What though? What happens, or would happen in view of . . . ?; “quid igitur?” (what therefore is to be done?). 97. science “artes” (skill, expertise). 98. forerunning preceding.

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whom92 Basilius, fallen from prince’s service, is driven to slander of our name, for debts’ sake. When by king’s judgment a censure was given for banishment for Opilio and Gaudentius, for their injuries and many wrongs;93 and when they, denying to obey, saved themselves with defense of holy sanctuary; and that, the king knowing, proclaimed that without they departed from Ravenna town at the prescribed day, they should be driven out with their foreheads’ marks—what might be thought to cross such severity?94 But yet, in that day, themselves deferring,95 the slander touched me. What though?96 Hath our science97 deserved this? Or their forerunning98 condemnation made their accusers just? So Fortune was nothing ashamed, if not [of] the accused’ innocency,99 yet of the accusers’ baseness? But what is our fault? Will ye seek the principal? We are said to wish100 the Senate’s surety. The way, you desire? A slanderer, lest he might dela[te] his lessons by which he might make me guilty of treason, we are accused to have letted101 him. “What then think you, O pedagogue mine? Shall we deny the fact, that shame thee we might not? But I would; and never to will, will leave.102 Shall we confess it? But then shall the work of hindering the slanderer cease!103 Shall I call it a fault, to wish the surety of that state?104 He himself, by his105 own decrees against me, hath made this 99. [of] . . . innocency [of] Windebank, while revising, mistakenly left out this preposition; see n14 of our original-spelling text. accused’ innocency An uninflected possessive; “accusatae innocentiae” (of innocence accused). 100. to wish “voluisse” (to have wished). 101. dela[te] . . . letted dela[te] Windebank wrote “delay,” evidently mishearing Elizabeth’s “delate” (report, accuse, inform of a crime), which is cognate with Boethius’s imperfect subjunctive “deferret” from “deferre” (accuse, denounce; past participle “delatus”) as well as with the verb’s subject, “delator[em]” (slanderer, informer). lessons instructions, possibly also in the sense of ‘rebukes.’ Boethius’s “documenta” has its postclassical sense of evidentiary writing or official documents. The Bibliotheca Eliotae and Thomas Thomas give “lesson” and “proof ” as their first two definitions of “documentum”; “proofs” would be more appropriate here than “lessons.” me Should be “Senate” (senatum). letted prevented. 102. But . . . leave “At volui nec unquam velle desistam” (But I have wished, nor shall I ever cease to to wish). The unexpressed object of the two verbs is the preserving of the Senate. 103. But . . . cease! Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “Sed impediendi delatoris opera cessabit” (But [then] the attempt at hindering the accuser will end). Modern editors prefer “cessavit” (has ended [in failure]). 104. of . . . state “illius ordinis” (of that order, i.e., the senatorial order). 105. He . . . his It . . . its. These third-person singular references are to the Senate and its actions against Boethius.

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thinges can neuer change. nether Lawfull is it for Me by Socrates Rule, to hyde trouth or graunte A lye: but this What it is to yours and Wyse folkes iudgement I leave the censure. whose the trouth of Matter and that manner Manner of matter and trouth that posterite May knowe, to My silent Memory haue committed. For as for false supposed lettres in Which I Am euer accusde to hope for Romayne libertie, What bootes it speake? Whose fraude had lyen all open if I might have Vsde my Accusers confession Which in all Matters beares greatest swaye: for What left liberty May be hoped for? that Wold god there Were any, I had Aunswered then as Canius did, Who being accused by Caius Cesar Germanicus sonne When he Was accused to haue bene guilty of to be guilty of the Coniuration against him by Caius Cesar Germa. Yf I had KnoWen thou hadste not KnoWen: In Which matter, soroW hath not so duld my senses, to m complayne of Wicked men for dooing Mischefe Against Vertue, but rather Much Wonder hoW they could hope performe it: for to Will the Worst, perchaunce Might be our faulte, But to haue poWre against Innocency, for ech Wretch to doo What he conceaues, god being Looker on, seemes Monstrouse: Whence ther is a question Not Without cause, of thy familiar: Yf there be a god, quoth he; Whence coms the euill? The good fro from Whence, yf he be not? but it may be lawfull ynough for Wicked men that thursted the blud of all the senate and all good men, to seeke our Wrak, Whom they haue seene defend the good and saue the Senate. but did We deserue the lyke of the fathers or No? You remember I suppose, for What I sayde or did present you directed Me. You call to mynde quoth I, At Verona when the King greedy of common fall did stryve to bring the treason, layde to Albinus, to the Senates order,

106. is . . . rule is . . . me Elizabeth omits “arbitror” (I think). Socrates’ rule In Plato Republic 6.485C–D; Theatetus 151D. 107. to . . . committed “to my style and memory have committed” is a word-for-word rendering of “stilo etiam memoriaeque mandavi” (I have committed to my stylus and to the memory [of future generations]). [style and] Windebank wrote “silent,” evidently mishearing Elizabeth. style stylus, as in prose 1 above. 108. left remaining. 109. Gaius Caesar Better known as the infamous emperor Caligula (12–41 C.E.). 110. to complain . . . it “ut impios scelerata contra virtutem querar molitos, sed quae speraverint effecisse vehementer admiror” (to complain that wicked men have striven to do evils against virtue, but rather I greatly wonder that they have done what they have hoped). Elizabeth misunderstands Boethius’s distinction.

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unlawful. But Folly, that lies ever against herself, the worth of things can never change. Neither lawful is it for me, by Socrates’ rule,106 to hide truth or grant a lie. But this, what it is, to yours and wise folks’ judgment I leave the censure, whose manner of matter and truth, that posterity may know, to my [style and] memory have committed.107 “For, as for false, supposed letters in which I am accused to hope for Roman liberty, what boots it speak? Whose fraud had lain all open if I might have used my accusers’ confession, which in all matters bears greatest sway. For, what left108 liberty may be hoped for? That, would God, there were any! I had answered then as Canius did, who, accused by Gaius Caesar,109 Germanicus’s son, to be guilty of the conjuration against him: ‘If I had known, thou hadst not known.’ In which matter, sorrow hath not so dulled my senses, to complain of wicked men for doing mischief against virtue, but rather much wonder how they could hope perform it.110 For, to will the worst, perchance might be our fault;111 but to have power against innocency, for each wretch to do what he conceives, God being Looker-on, seems monstrous. Whence there is a question not without cause, of thy familiar:112 ‘If there be a God,’ quoth he, ‘whence comes the evil? The good from whence, if He be not?’113 But it may be lawful enough for wicked men, that thirsted the blood of all the Senate and all good men, to seek our wrack, whom they have seen defend the good and save the Senate.114 But did we deserve the like of the Fathers,115 or no? “You remember, I suppose. For what I said or did,116 you directed me. You call to mind,” quoth I, “at Verona, when the king, greedy of common fall, did strive to bring the treason laid to Albinus, to the

111. our fault i.e., a normal human failing. 112. thy familiar thy intimate friend, cognate with “tuorum quidam familiarium,” which can mean ‘one of your friends’ but here suggests ‘one of your servants,’ i.e., a disciple. 113. “If . . . not?” The quotation is from Proclus’s commentary on Parmenides, 1056.10– 16. 114. defend . . . Senate Elizabeth’s version is stronger than Boethius’s “propugnare bonis senatuique” (fight for good men and for the Senate). 115. Fathers senators; “patribus.” The OED notes that “fathers” is a standard Elizabethan term for ancient Roman senators. 116. what . . . did “me dicturum quid facturumve” (what I was about to say or do).

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how I defended then the innocency of all and the Senat with Most assurance of my owne danger. You Know the all this that true it is I tel, and that No boste I make of any my Prayse. for thassurance of an honest a graunting conscience diminishith it selfe in a sorte, as oft as bosting receauith the rewarde of fame. But you see What end my Innocency hath. for true Vertues rewarde, We suffer false factes Payne. for Whose manifest confession of Wicked facte, euer Made all Judges so agree in seueritie that eyther the faulte of humaine Witt, or thincertayne state of fortune, may not Leave out somewhat? Yf We haue had bene sayd to haue burned the sacred houses, to haue sLayne the preestes with wicked sworde, and bred destruction of all good men, they the sentence had punished men present confessing and convicted. Now allmost fyfty thousand myles of fyve hundred thousand Paces of, it though farr of, and Vnwearyed, We are condemnde to death and exile, for our ready indeuors for the Senates good. O that we Woorthy men, amongest Whom for such a faulte, none of them shal be convinced. the Value Woorth of Whose guiltynes, they themselves haue seene that Brought it. Which to dym With mixture of som Wickednes, they haue false belyed me, to haue stayned my consicence With sacrilege for Ambition sake. And thou thy self ingraftest grafted in me, all desyre of mortall thinges from seate of my mynde hast pluckt, for Vnder thy sight ther Was no place for sacrilege faulte. for to My eares thou didst instill, and to my thoughtes this Pythagorian Worde, Obey thy God.15 15. Obey . . . God Here, and below where indicated by italic typeface, Windebank shifts from secretary to italic hand. 117. the king . . . assurance the king . . . fall “rex avidus exitii communis” (the king eager for the general destruction—i.e., of the senatorial order). the king Theodoric the Ostragoth. to bring . . . order to shift onto the whole Senate the treason charge laid against Albinus. with . . . assurance “quanta . . . securitate” could mean ‘with how great assurance,’ but the context suggests ‘with how great heedlessness.’ 118. that . . . praise that . . . tell that what I tell is true. no . . . praise “in nulla unquam mei laude iactasse” (and that I have never boasted in praise of myself). 119. assurance . . . conscience “se probantis conscientiae secretum” (the aloofness of a conscience approving itself). of a granting of a [conscience] assenting to; “probantis.” 120. for . . . pain Word-for-word rendering of “pro verae virtutis praemiis falsi sceleris poenas subimus.” for instead of. false . . . pain punishment for an uncommitted deed. 121. may . . . somewhat? “ut non aliquos . . . submitteret?” (that might not moderate some of them [i.e., the judges]?). leave out Probably Windebank’s mishearing of “leviate,” an early modern equivalent of “alleviate,” here used in the sense of ‘mitigate, palliate,’ rendering “submitteret” (moderate). somewhat Elizabeth’s addition. 122. sacred . . . convicted sacred houses temples of the gods; “sacras aedes.” bred “struxisse” (prepared, contrived). “Breed” is one of Elizabeth’s favorite verbs; see

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Senate’s order, how I defended then the innocency of all the Senate with most assurance117 of my own danger. You know all this, that true it is I tell, and that no boast I make of any my praise.118 For the assurance of a granting conscience119 diminisheth itself in a sort, as oft as boasting receiveth reward of fame. But you see what end my innocency hath: for true virtue’s reward, we suffer false fact’s pain.120 For whose manifest confession of wicked fact ever made all judges so agree in severity, that either the fault of human wit or the incertain state of Fortune may not leave out somewhat?121 If we had been said to have burned the sacred houses, to have slain the priests with wicked sword, and bred destruction of all good men, the sentence had punished present confessing and convicted.122 Now, almost five hundred thousand paces off, though far off and unwearied, we are condemned to death and exile for our ready123 endeavors for the Senate’s good. O worthy men! For such a fault none of them shall be convinced.124 “The value of whose guiltiness125 they themselves have seen that brought it: which, to dim with mixture of some wickedness, they have false belied me to have stained my conscience with sacrilege for ambition’ sake. And thou thyself, grafted in me, all desire of mortal things from seat of my mind hast plucked; for under thy sight there was no place for sacrilege’ fault. To my ears thou didst instill and

CW, 105–6 (two instances), and our introduction to her translation of Seneca’s Epistle 107. the sentence . . . convicted “praesentem tamen sententia, confessum tamen convictumve punisset” (the sentence / verdict had punished me, yet with me present, having either confessed or been convicted). 123. almost . . . ready almost . . . off Elizabeth renders word for word Boethius’s “quingentis fere passuum milibus procul” (a distance of almost five hundred thousand passus / five hundred Roman miles), treating “passus” as an English “pace.” Though a “passus” equaled five “pedes,” and “pace” normally meant the distance covered in a foot, or sometimes two, the Bibliotheca Eliotae finesses the point by defining “passus” as “a pace, which doth conteyn five feete.” far . . . unwearied Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “moti, atque indefensi” (moved [from Rome] and defenseless); Elizabeth mistakes “indefensi” (defenseless) for “indefessi” (unwearied). Modern editions read “muti atque indefensi” (unable to speak and defenseless). exile “prescriptioni” (proscription). Proscription was the Roman practice of proclaiming citizens outlaws and confiscating their goods. ready willing; “propensius” (too willing, too partial). 124. O . . . convinced “O meritos de simili crimine neminem posse convinci” (O surely we deserve that nobody [least of all ourselves] could be convicted of a like crime). convinced convicted. 125. The . . . guiltiness “cuius dignitatem reatus” (the value of which charge).

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Neyther did it becom me to seeke the help of Vilest spirites, Whom thou hadst framed to such an excellency that lyk to god thou madest them. Agayne, the Innocent closet of my house, resorte of honest frendes, my holy father laws father Symmacus, And for his deedes reuerenced, defendes Vs from all suspicion of this cryme: but O Mishap. They beleeuid all this cryme, and for this synne We Were confoned, for that We Were indewed With thy lesson, and framed of thy condition. B So bootes but them it not ynough, that thy reuerence should protecte Me, but that Withall thou shouldest be Vexed With my offence. But this is greatest heape of to our mishap, that the Valuing of Moste regardes Not More fortunes event, than causes Merit, And Judgith that best prouided, that felicitie recommendith. Which makes that true through Waying waight first leaveth the Vnhappy man. What Now the rumors be, hoW Variable, and increasing their Judgmentes, to remember, it greeves me. This only can I saye, that the last burden of fortune is, that Whilest faultes be layde to the Wretchedest charge, they are beleeuid the g to deserue they that is layde to their charge And my self bereued of all my goodes, spoyld of my dignities, spotted in my fame, for benefitt, receaue punishment. Me thinkes I see the wicked shops of Vilest men fLoWing With Joye and mirth. And euery Wickedst Man, overLayeng Me with new fraudes of accusation. I see the good lye doWne prostrate for feare of

126. ‘Obey . . . God’ “ἕπου θεῷ” (follow God). An ancient Greek precept adapted by several philosophical schools. 127. vilest spirits demons. 128. whom . . . them “quem tu in hanc excellentiam componebas ut consimilem deo faceres” ([me] whom you were molding in such excellence, so that you might make [me] godlike). whom i.e., me whom. them It seems much likelier that Windebank misheard Elizabeth’s “him” as “them” than that she construed the singular object “quem” as a reference to plural evil spirits, and not to the speaker. 129. law’s . . . reverenced law’s father father-in-law; “socer.” and . . . reverenced Pulmann’s edition reads “aeque actu ipso reverendus” (equally to be reverenced for his very action). Modern editions adopt a 1607 emendation: “aeque ac tu ipso reverendus” (and worthy to be reverenced just as much as you yourself). 130. They . . . confo[u]n[d]ed They . . . crime Elizabeth follows an error in Pulmann’s 1562 edition, which reads “illi vero de re tanti criminis fidem capiunt” (but they [the accusers] command belief about the matter of so a great crime). She misconstrues the idiom “fidem capere” as “believe.” (In Pulmann’s 1580 edition “de re” is corrected to “de te,” the standard reading, with the sense that the accusers ‘command belief of so great a crime, on account of you [Philosophy].’) and . . . confo[u]n[d]ed “atque hoc ipso videbimur affines fuisse maleficio” (and for this reason, we will seem to have been accomplices to

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to my thoughts this Pythagorean word, ‘Obey thy God.’126 Neither did it become me to seek the help of vilest spirits,127 whom thou hadst framed to such an excellency, that like to God thou madest them.128 Again, the innocent closet of my house, resort of honest friends, my holy law’s father, Symmachus, and for his deeds reverenced,129 defends us from all suspicion of this crime. But oh, mishap! They believed all this crime, and for this sin we were confo[u]n[d]ed:130 for that we were endued with thy lesson, and framed of thy condition. So boots it not enough that thy reverence should protect me,131 but that withal thou shouldst be vexed with my offense. But this is greatest heap132 to our mishap: that the valuing of most, regards more Fortune’s event than cause’s merit, and judgeth that best provided,133 that felicity recommendeth: which makes that true weight first leaveth the unhappy man.134 What now the rumors be, how variable and increasing135 their judgments, to remember, it grieves me. This only can I say, that the last burden of Fortune is, that whilst faults be laid to the wretchedest’ charge, they are believed to deserve that136 is laid to their charge. And myself, bereaved of all my goods, spoiled of my dignities, spotted in my fame, for benefit137 receive punishment. “Methinks I see the wicked shops of vilest men, flowing with joy and mirth, and every wickedest man overlaying me138 with new frauds of accusation. I see the good lie down prostrate for fear of my fall;

this evil deed). confo[u]n[d]ed mixed together, rendering “affines” (accomplices). Windebank miswrote “confoned.” 131. thy . . . me thy reverence reverence for you. should . . . me Elizabeth or Windebank conveys the opposite sense of Boethius by failing to translate “nihil” (not at all). 132. this . . . heap “hic . . . cumulus accedit” (this additional amount is added [to our ill fortune]). Elizabeth construes “cumulus”—here, ‘additional amount’—in its sense of ‘heap.’ 133. provided foreseen, prearranged; “provisa” (foreseen). 134. weight . . . man weight influence, authority; “existimatio bona” (good reputation). unhappy man Boethius has a plural, “infelices” (unhappy people). 135. increasing “multiplesque” (manifold), construed as “multiplicans” (increasing, multiplying). 136. of Fortune . . . that of Fortune “adversae fortunae” (of adverse fortune). wretchedest’ charge accusation against the most wretched people. Here and in the next clause the idiom “lay to one’s charge” means ‘charge one with,’ ‘accuse one of.’ that that which, what. 137. benefit good deed, with the same sense as Boethius’s cognate “beneficium.” 138. overlaying me overlaying oppressing; “imminentem” (threatening). me Elizabeth’s addition.

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my fall, Ech Wicked Man bol bolde Vnpunishd to faulte To doo the Which thoroW rewardes they be styrred, but Innocent folkes not only of surety, but of defence depriued. Wherefore thus May I excLaime 5. Myter O framar of starry Circle Who lening to the Whirled Lasting grounstone16 Withe Whorling bLast heVens turnest And and Law CompeLst the skies to beare NoW that with fuLL horne meting alL her brothers flames the Lessar stars the mone dimmes NoW darke and pale her horne Nar to Son Loseth her Light And she that at beginning of night Hesperus frosen rising makes, And Luciϕar palled by Φebus Vprise Againe her wonted raines exchangeth thou, by the Cold of Lefe falne shade straightist thy Light With shortar abode Than Whan the fervent sommar Comes Easy nights houres deuidest Thy poWer tempers the changing year that What Leues boreas blastz bereues GentiL Seϕirus17 brings as fast Sedes that the Northe star doth behoLd

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16. grounstone Penslip for “groundstone.” Elizabeth indents only this line and the last line of this Meter. 17. Seφirus Zephyrus. 139. each . . . stirred bold . . . fault bold to do wrong, because unpunished. to . . . stirred to be incited by rewards to do evil. Elizabeth loosely translates “flagitiosum quemque ad audendum quidem facinus impunitate, ad efficiendum vero praemiis incitari” (every base man incited, by impunity, at least to dare a crime and, by rewards, really to carry it out). 140. leaning . . . ground-stone leaning to “nixus” (resting upon). ground-stone foundation stone. Elizabeth evidently confuses Boethius’s “solio” (on the throne) with “solo” (on the ground / foundation). “Solio” is correctly translated in line 31. 141. Meeting . . . brother’s Meeting “obvia” (facing opposite). her brother’s the sun’s.

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each wicked man, bold, unpunished to fault, to do the which through rewards be stirred;139 but innocent folks not only of surety but of defense deprived. Wherefore thus may I exclaim:— Meter 5 O Framer of starry circle, Who, leaning to the lasting ground-stone,140 With whirling blast heav’ns turn’st, And law compell’st the skies to bear: Now, that with full horn Meeting all her brother’s141 flames, The lesser stars the moon dims; Now dark and pale her horn, Near to sun loseth her light. And she that at beginning of night Hesperus’142 frozen rising makes, And Lucifer,143 pall’d by Phoebus’ uprise, Again her wonted reins exchangeth.144 Thou, by the cold of leaf-fall’n shade,145 Straitest Thy146 light with shorter abode, Then when the fervent summer comes, Easy147 night’s hours divid’st. Thy power tempers the changing year That, what leaves Boreas’ blasts bereaves, Gentle Zephyrus148 brings as fast; Seeds that the North Star doth behold,

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142. she . . . Hesperus’ the planet Venus or Jupiter, as the evening star Hesperus. 143. Lucifer the planet Venus or Jupiter, as the morning star Lucifer (‘light bearing’). 144. Again . . . exchangeth Each time Venus alternates from one to another celestial role, she switches her accustomed reins for driving across the sky. 145. shade “brumae” (of winter), evidently mistaken for “umbrae” (of shade). 146. Straitest Thy Straitest narrows, contracts. Thy “The” would be a better reading; the light is winter’s, not God’s. 147. fervent . . . easy fervent hot, boiling; “fervida.” easy offering little resistance; “agiles” (swift, easily moved). 148. Gentle Zephyrus Elizabeth renders “mitis Zephyrus,” the reading in all sixteenth-century editions consulted. Modern editors prefer “mites,” modifying “frondes” (leaves).

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at hiest blade the dokstar18 burnith vp Naught Loused from auncient Law LeVes the Worke of her oWne place AL giding With assured end Mans Workes alone thou dost dispice O gidar by right desart from meane to kipe for Why so many sLipar fortune turnes doth make oppressing fautles dew paine for Wicked dew mete but in hy Seats the Wicked factz abide And Wicked stamps on holy necks With uniust turne And Cleare Vertu dimmed with th thick blackenis Lurketh And iust man the Wickeds Crime doth beare fals othe in fraude doth them annoy Who Whan the Can Vse ther forse Whom many Vulgar feare the mightiest kings they can subdue O now behold of wretched erthe thou how who so ties the bondz of alL Vs men regard of thy greatest worke not the vilest part hoW tost We be With fortunes Waues O Weldar apeace the Roring floudes

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18. dokstar dogstar. Elizabeth occasionally spelled hard g as k—e.g., her reference to “brinking of me vp in lerninge and honestie” (ACFLO, 23). 149. North Star, Dog Star “Arcturus” (Bear-Watcher); “Sirius.” 150. Man’s . . . keep “Hominum solos respuis actus / Merito rector cohibere modo” (Only the acts of man do You refuse, / As Governor, to keep within a proper measure / mean). O . . . desert Elizabeth construes “merito rector” as ‘guide by merit,’ treating “merito” as the ablative of the noun “meritum” rather than an adjective modifying “modo.” despise . . . to scorn or disdain to. from . . . keep Elizabeth seems to construe “cohibere modo” (to keep within measure / the mean) as its opposite (to keep from measure / the mean). She presumably meant to express Boethius’s idea that God disdains to keep man within measure, but she did not correlate her rendering of “cohibere modo” with her preceding “despise” to convey the sense coherently. 151. slipper slippery. 152. oppressing . . . meet i.e., oppressing the faultless with the pains fit for the wicked. 153. high . . . facts in . . . seats “celso . . . solio” (on high throne). facts deeds; “Mores” (practices, habits).

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At highest blade, the Dog Star149 burneth up. Naught loosed from ancient law Leaves the work of her own place; All guiding with assurèd end, Man’s works alone thou dost despise, O Guider by right desert, from mean to keep:150 For, why so many, slipper151 Fortune, Turns doth make? oppressing faultless, Due pain for wicked meet.152 But, in high seats, the wicked facts153 abide, And wicked stamps on holy necks With unjust turn.154 And clear virtue, dimmed With thick blackness, lurketh;155 And just man the wicked’s crime doth bear. False oath in fraud doth them annoy;156 Who, when they can use their force, Whom many vulgar fear,157 The mightiest kings they can subdue. O now, behold, of wretched Earth, Thou, who so ties the bonds of all, Us men regard (of Thy great work, not vilest part), How tossed we be with Fortune’s waves. O Wielder,158 appease the roaring floods,

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154. wicked . . . turn wicked stamps “calcant / . . . nocentes” (the wicked . . . trample on). turn change, but with associations akin to Boethius’s “vice” (alternation, recompense). 155. lurketh lives in obscurity or retirement. 156. False . . . annoy Probably taking “ipsis” to refer to the previously mentioned “iustus” (just man), despite the change in number, Elizabeth omits two negatives and loosely translates two lines that read as follows in Pulmann’s 1562 edition: “Nil periuria, nil nocet ipsis / Fraus mendaci coempta colore” (Neither perjuries hurt them [unjust men], nor doth / Deceit bought with lying semblance). Corrected in the 1580 edition, “coempta” (bought) is a misprint for “compta” (adorned), the reading in all other editions consulted. 157. Who . . . fear Who i.e., unjust men. Whom . . . fear In Boethius this clause refers to the “kings” of line 40. Elizabeth’s line is ambiguous in referring either to the unjust men or to the kings they conquer. many vulgar “innumeri . . . populi” (innumerable peoples). 158. Wielder Ruler, from “wield” in its sense of ‘rule.’

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And with what boundz the great heauen thou gidest the stable erthe do stedy. 5. Prose This when With contynuall wo I had burst out, seeing her With mylde countenance Nothing Mooued with my Mones, When the quoth she, sad and WayLing I sawe, sraight any a Wretch and exile I k exule I Knew the haste but hoW farre of thy banishment Was, but that this thou toldste I Knew Not. but thou wit how farre from countrey thou art Not expulst, but hast strayed yet if thou woldest thou choosest rather to be hadst rather be thought expulst thou thy self hast throWne it. for that was for other Was neuer lawfull than the to doo. for if thou remember from What countrey thou cammest Not guyded as Athens was, by rule of multitude, but one is King and Ruler, that Joyeth more in subiectes nomber than their expulse. With Whose raynes to be guyded and Justice obeyde, is greatest libertie. Art thou ignorant of the auncientest Law of thy Citie, which commaundz that No man may be banisht from it, in how they that choosith to build ther sea Whoso choosith there to build them a seate. for Who so in her trench and suerty is conteynde, No feare shall haue Nor exul dreades deserues to be: but Who so leaves to Will her habitation, opre allso Wantes allso deseruith. Wherfore this place thy Looke not this place so much Moouith me, Nor doo I desyre my shops Walles adornid with yuory or gLasse, rather than the seate of thy mynde. In Which I placed Not Bookes, but that that giues them price, in the sentences of

159. with . . . bounds “foedere” (here, with that imposed law or limit). 160. seeing her Elizabeth’s addition. 161. hadst . . . expulsed if you would prefer to be thought expelled. expulsed expelled. 162. thou . . . [ou]t “te . . . ipse pepulisti” (you have driven yourself out). Windebank evidently misheard Elizabeth’s “out” as “it” when she dictated a characteristically literal rendering, “thou thyself hast thrown out.” 163. for other . . . thee it was never lawful for other than thee. lawful The usual meaning of “fas,” but here the sense is closer to ontologically ‘possible.’ 164. ‘but . . . ruler’ Pulmann’s edition reads “ἀλλα εἶς βασιλεύς ἐσὶν, εἶς κοίρανον” (but one king, one leader there are)—a corrupt quotation based on Homer Iliad 2.204–5. Modern editions give a reading closer to Homer’s original: “εἶς κοίρανός ἐστιν, εἶς βασιλεύς” (there is one leader, one king).

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And with what bounds159 the great heaven Thou guid’st, The stable earth do steady. Prose 5 This, when with continual woe I had burst out, seeing her160 with mild countenance nothing moved with my moans: “When thee,” quoth she, “sad and wailing I saw, straight a wretch and exile, I knew thee. But how far off thy banishment was, but that this thou toldst, I knew not. But thou, how far from country, art not expulsed, but strayed. Yet hadst rather be thought expulsed,161 thou thyself hast thrown [ou]t.162 For that, for other was never lawful, than thee,163 to do. For if thou remember from what country thou camest, not guided as Athens was by rule of multitude, ‘but one king and ruler,’164 that joyeth more in subjects’ number165 than their expulse: with whose reins to be guided, and justice obeyed, is greatest liberty. Art thou ignorant of the ancientest law of thy city, which commands that no man may be banished from it, whoso chooseth there to build a seat? For whoso in her trench and surety is contained, no fear shall have, nor exile deserves to be.166 But whoso leaves to will her habitation, wants also deserve [it].167 Wherefore thy look, not this place, so much moveth me, nor do I desire my shop’s walls adorned with ivory or glass, rather than the seat of thy mind, in which I placed not books, but that that gives them price, sentences of mine own works.168

165. subjects’ number “frequentia civium” (concourse of citizens). 166. surety . . . be surety “munimine” (within [the city’s] fortification). no . . . be “nullus metus est ne exul esse mereatur” (there is no fear that he should deserve to be an exile). Elizabeth treats the subjunctive final clause as correlative with the main clause, as if “nullus . . . ne” were “neque / nec . . . neque / nec.” 167. leaves . . . deserve leaves to ceases to. wants . . . deserve [it] “pariter desinit etiam mereri” (likewise ceases even to deserve)—i.e., no longer deserves to live with Philosophy. Windebank evidently misheard “deserve it” as “deserveth” in Elizabeth’s close rendering “wants also deserve it,” with ellipsis of “to” before “deserve.” wants fails to. 168. sentences . . . works “librorum quondam meorum sententias” (opinions contained in my books in times past). Elizabeth does not translate “quondam.” sentences opinions, pithy sayings.

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myne oWne woorkes. Thou haste rehersed truth of thy desart for common good. but little has thou told, of Nombers great thou hast receaued. Thou hast remembred thinges Knowen to all, obiected against the, eyther for good or falshode. of Mischefz or fraudes of thy sLaunderers rightly thou haste straightly touched that they might the better and farder be Knowen with prayse of Vulgare folk. Vehemently hast thou inVyede inVayde against the Senates Iniustice. of our complaynt haste haste moned and bewaylde the losse Wrack of Lost opinion estymations Loste. The last thy Wo agaynst fortune inVayed, complayning that she equalled not desertes rewarde In end of thy wood ragyng moode muse, requirste a graunte that the same peace that which ruleth the heauen might so rule thearth. But for that a greate heape of affections ouerWhelme the, and soroW, ire, wo, diuersly distractes the, such as now thy Mynde is now as yet it thy remedies be No greater, Wherfore easyer lett vs Vse a While that such as by groWing paynes in swelling hath bene hardenid, that they may beare more sharp receites, With a soft touch to still them be doulced therby 6. M[yter] Whan heuy Cancer smit by Φebus beames inflames than he that Lent plentyes19 sead to foroWes that denied them bigiLed by Ceres faithe

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19. plentyes plenteous. 169. thou hast received “gestorum tibi” (of things done by you). Puzzled by “tibi” (a dative of agent), Elizabeth probably misconstrued this phrase as ‘of things brought to you.’ 170. hast . . . against hast remembered “memorasti” can mean ‘you have remembered’ but the context suggests ‘you have mentioned.’ objected against charged against, cognate with Boethius’s “objectorum” (of the charges). 171. straitly . . . folk straitly scantily; “strictim” (superficially). that . . . folk “quod ea melius uberiusque recognoscentis omnia vulgi ore celebrentur” (since they are celebrated in the mouth of the common people, who find out about everything better and more fully). Elizabeth mistakes a causal for a purpose clause. 172. our . . . loss Of . . . complaint of the accusation against us—a literal rendering of “nostra . . . criminatione.” hast . . . loss “laesae . . . opinionis damna flevisti” (you have bewailed the damage to [our] wounded reputation). moaned . . . bewailed Elizabeth’s expansion. wrack disaster. estimation repute. 173. she . . . reward she (Fortune) did not match the reward that you merited; “non aequa meritis praemia pensari” (your rewards were not equal to your deserts).

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“Thou hast rehearsed truth of thy desert for common good, but little hast thou told of numbers great thou hast received.169 Thou hast remembered things known to all, objected against170 thee either for good or falsehood. Of mischiefs or frauds of thy slanderers, rightly thou hast straitly touched, that they might the better and farther be known with praise of vulgar folk.171 Vehemently hast thou inveighed against the Senate’s injustice. Of our complaint, hast moaned and bewailed the wrack of estimation’s loss.172 The last, thy woe against Fortune inveighed, complaining that she equaled not desert’s reward.173 In end of thy raging Muse, requirest a grant174 that the same peace which ruleth the heaven, might so rule the earth. But, for that175 a great heap of affections overwhelm thee, and sorrow, ire, woe diversely distracts thee, such as thy mind is now, as yet thy remedies be no greater. Wherefore, easier let us use awhile, that such as by growing pains in swelling hath been hardened, that they may bear more sharp receipts, with a soft touch be dulced.”176

Meter 6 When heavy Cancer,177 smit By Phoebus’ beams, inflames, Then he that lent plenteous seed To furrows that denied178 them, Beguiled by Ceres’ faith,179

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Let him seake the Acorne tre the decked wodz seak not Whan thou Violetz gather Whan With the Northy blastz The roring fiLdz affrightz Nor Seake not thou With gredy handz The springing Palmes to Weld Grapes if thou Wische inJoy In Autumne bacchus her gift bestows rather hys giftes bestowes Times God assignesth fit for eche mans office best Nor by the tournes as that he apoints Suffers to be mixte So What so Leues by racheLous Way the Certain rule Joyful ende shal neuer hit.20

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^ 6. Pr[ose] First then suffre me With questions few thy myndes state of to touche, and it to prooue, that betteR May I I Know of thy cure the way Ask me then quoth I according to thy Will, What ask thou woldest my aunsweres that I shall be. Then she, thinkes thou that this World is Wheeled by rash and happing chaunce? or dost suppose that Reasons Rule is in it? I can no way think, quoth I, that With so rash chaunce, soe

20. hit In the manuscript, meter 7 immediately follows meter 6, both in Elizabeth’s hand. At the end of meter 6 there is a jotting on the right in secretary hand (with a later penciled insertion) that reads: “^ first then suffer.” These are the opening words of prose 6, and the caret is an instruction to key in that part of the text at this point. The heading of prose 6 is likewise marked with an insertion caret, as indicated in our transcription. 180. acorn tree Acorns were thought to have been a major food of the preagricultural era, conceived either as a harshly primitive period or as a Golden Age; see book 2, meter 5, line 5. 181. deckèd adorned, arrayed; “purpureum” (reddened). The sense is that violets are not in season in autumnal woods. 182. springing . . . weld springing springtime, though perhaps also with its modern sense. palms False cognate for “palmites” (vine shoots). to weld Probably a form of “to wield,” used in the sense of ‘to control, to rule’; “stringere” (to clip, prune). Alternatively,

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Let him seek the acorn tree.180 The deckèd181 woods seek not When thou violets gather, When with the Northy blasts The roaring fields affrights; Nor seek not thou with greedy hands The springing palms to weld;182 Grapes, if thou wish enjoy, In autumn Bacchus, rather, His gifts bestows. Times God assigneth fit For each man’s office183 best, Nor the turns184 that He appoints Suffers to be mixed. So whatso leaves, by reckless way, The certain rule, Joyful end shall never hit.185

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Prose 6 “First, then, suffer me186 with questions few thy mind’s state to touch, and it to prove, that better may I know of thy cure the way.” “Ask me,” quoth I, “according to thy will; what thou wouldst, my answers be.”187 Then she: “Thinks thou that this world is wheeled by rash and happing chance?188 Or dost suppose that reason’s rule is in it?”

Elizabeth may have construed “stringere” in the sense of ‘to bind’ and meant “to weld” in the sense of ‘to join.’ 183. For . . . office “propriis . . . . officiis” (for appropriate duties)—a probable reference to the seasons’ duties, not to humankind’s. 184. turns Elizabeth’s usual rendering of “vices”—here meaning ‘alternations,’ specifically, ‘seasons.’ 185. shall . . hit will never attain; “non habet” (does not have). 186. suffer me A question, “paterisne” (will you allow me?), rather than an exhortation. 187. my . . . be my answers will be (given). 188. by . . . chance by rash “temerariis.” Throughout, Elizabeth renders forms of Boethius’s “temerarius” and its cognates in the sense of ‘rash’ where the sense of ‘fortuitous, accidental’ is appropriate. happing chance A pleonasm replicating “fortuitisque casibus” (and by fortuitous chances). happing occurring by chance.

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certain thinges are Moued; but I Know that God the maker dot hit guides, nor euer shall com day that from truth of this opinion shall draw me. Its it so, quoth she, A little afore this thou hast tolde and hast bemonde that Men Were so furr from godes care of creat depriued; for With the rest thou art nothing Moued, but that With reason they Were led. Good Lord I Wonder Much when why pLaced in so right a Mynd thou canst be sick? But let Vs serch a little hyar. I Wote Not What, somewhat lackes I troWe. But tell Me, for that thou doutst Not the World by god be rulde, seest thou by What raynes it is guided. Scarce sa do I KnoW, said I, the meaning of the question, nor ne yet can I aunswer thy demandes, Yet Was I Not ignorant that somewhat Lackt? as the roote of a tree By which lik cliff front of Ramper21 shrinking, dist the minds woes disease into the mynde is crepte: but tell me doth dost thou remember What is the end of all And whither tended the intent of all Nature. I have hard it aunswered, but my Memory dampt soroW hath made. But who whom dost thou Know Wh all Whence all proceedes? I Know is god quoth I how And god is he I Know quoth I and aunswere And how can it be then, that begynning Knowen, the end of thing thereof thou KnoWest Not. But this is the fashon of troubles, and such is their Wont, that Mooue they may a Man from his place, But ouerthroW or Wholly pluck out Vp, they can Not. But this Wold I haue the aunswer, Remembrest thou thy self A Man? how What els quoth I should I not remember that? Canst thou tell Me What man is then? dost thou

21. cliff . . . Ramper cliff A variant spelling of “cleft.” Ramper A variant spelling of “rampart.” 189. Is it so? A statement in Boethius, not a question. 190. with . . . moved you are not at all perturbed in the case of the rest (nonhuman creatures). thou . . . moved A literal rendering of “nihil movebare.” 191. Good Lord An idiomatic equivalent of Boethius’s exclamation of surprise or wonder, “Papae autem!” 192. I wot . . . trow I wot . . . somewhat “I wot [i.e., know] not what” is a word-forword rendering of “nescio quid” (something or other), while “somewhat,” in its older sense of ‘something,’ provides the Latin phrase’s closest sense equivalent. trow believe.

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“I can no way think,” quoth I, “that with so rash chance, so certain things are moved. But I know that God the Maker it guides, nor ever shall come day, that from truth of this opinion shall draw me.” “Is it so?”189 quoth she. “A little afore this thou hast told and hast bemoaned that men were so far from God’s care deprived. For, with the rest, thou art nothing moved,190 but that with reason they were led. Good Lord,191 I wonder much why, placed in so right a mind, thou canst be sick. But let us search a little higher. I wot not what, somewhat lacks, I trow.192 But tell me, for that thou doubtest not the world by God be ruled, seest thou by what reins it is guided?” “Scarce do I know,” said I, “the meaning of the question. Ne yet193 can I answer thy demands.” “Was I ignorant, that somewhat lacked—by which, like cleft front of rampart shrinking,194 the woes’ disease into the mind is crept? But tell me, dost thou remember, what is the end of all, and whither tendeth the intent195 of all Nature?” “I have heard it,” [I] answered. “But, my memory damped,196 sorrow hath made.” “But whom, dost thou know, whence all proceeds?” “I know,” quoth I. “And God is He,” I answer. “How can it be, then, that beginning known, the end thereof thou knowest not? But this is the fashion of troubles, and such is their wont:197 that move they may a man from his place, but overthrow or wholly pluck up, they cannot. But this would I have thee answer, Rememberest thou thyself a man?” “What else?”198 quoth I. “Should I not remember that?” “Canst thou tell me what man is, then?”

193. Ne yet Nor yet. Elizabeth possibly misread “nedum” (much less) as “necdum” (nor yet). 194. Was . . . shrinking Was . . . ignorant “me . . . fefellit” (was I mistaken / deceived?). like . . . shrinking “velut hiante valli robore” (like the gaping strength of a palisade). shrinking giving way, collapsing. 195. tendeth . . . intent A replication of the wordplay in “tendat intentio.” 196. [I] . . . damped [I] answered Windebank evidently failed to hear or failed to record Elizabeth’s dictated “I”; Boethius reads “inquam” (I said). damped deadened. 197. wont habit; “valentia” (vigor). 198. What else? Certainly! “quidni?” (of course!).

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Ask Me this, whither that I Know that I Am a reasonable creature and mortall? I Know it, and that to be I Must confesse. Then she, Knowest thou Not thy self ought els? Nothing. but I Know quoth she, that the greatest cause of thy disease, is to have left to KnoW What thou art. Wherfore eyther fully have I founde the reason of thy sicknes, or a Waye to reconcile the home agayne. for being confounded through thy obliuion, thou hast Bewaylde thy self An exuL and spoyled of thine oWne goodes. but for being ignorant of thy end, thou hast supposde mighty and happy the Wicked folkes and lewde, and forgetting by What brydle the World is guided, the aventes22 of fortune thou supposest with out a guide to run. Great causes not only to disease But to ruin to. But thanked be thy host23 that Nature hath Not yet Wholly destroyed the. We haue the greatful foode for thy helth they true s opinion of the Worldes Rule, Whom thou belieuest not subiect to chaunce but Ru Rulde Ruled by diuine Reason. feare nought therfore. Allready from this little sparke thy helth is vitall heate is sprong. but because the tyme is Not yet for strongeR Remedyes, and that the Nature of the Mynde Myndes is such, that When they haue cast away the true, and are indued with false opinion by Which are a springing darknes of woe confoundes that true sight, I Will Assay a While therfore with lenitiues and meane fomentations to skant them that darKnes of deceauing affection remoouid the shyne of true light mayst obtayne

22. aventes events. 23. thy host Although underlining usually marks phrasing to be revised, no revision has occurred here. 199. But “iam,” which can mean “but” in negative and interrogative contexts but here has its most common sense, ‘now.’ 200. a way . . . again “aditum reconciliandae sospitatis” (an approach for restoring thy health). way probably intended literally as a ‘path’ (aditum). reconcile thee restore thee, recalling its Boethian cognate “reconciliandae.” home Elizabeth confuses “sospes” (safe, unharmed) and “sospitas” (health) with forms of “hospes” (host, guest) at several points; here she evidently construed “sospitatis” as ‘of a host,’ hence “home.” 201. lewd evil, wicked. 202. events occurrences; “vices” (changes, alternations). 203. thy host “sospitatis auctori” (to the cause of thy health), i.e., God. Elizabeth again confuses “sospitatis” with “hospitis” (of a host).

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“Dost thou ask me this, whether that I know that I am a reasonable creature and mortal? I know it; and that to be, I must confess.” Then she: “Knowest thou not thyself aught else?” “Nothing.” “But199 I know,” quoth she, “that the greatest cause of thy disease is to have left to know what thou art. Wherefore either fully have I found the reason of thy sickness, or a way to reconcile thee home again.200 For being confounded through thy oblivion, thou hast bewailed thyself an exile and spoiled of thine own goods. For being ignorant of thy end, thou hast supposed mighty and happy the wicked folks and lewd.201 And forgetting by what bridle the world is guided, the events202 of Fortune thou supposest without a guide to run: great causes not only to disease, but to ruin too. But thanked be thy host,203 that Nature hath not yet wholly destroyed204 thee. We have the grateful food205 for thy health, thy true opinion of the world’s rule, whom thou believest not subject to chance, but ruled by divine reason. Fear naught, therefore. Already from this little spark thy vital heat is sprung.206 But because the time is not yet for stronger remedies, and that the nature of the minds is such, that when they have cast away the true, are endued with false opinion, by which a springing darkness207 of woe confounds that true sight, I will assay awhile therefore with lenitives and mean fomentations208 to scant them, that darkness of deceiving affection removed, the shine of true light mayst obtain.”

204. hath . . . destroyed “destituit” (has forsaken), which Elizabeth presumably misread as “destruit” (destroys) and confused with perfect “destruxit” (has destroyed). 205. food “fomitem” (kindling), which Renaissance dictionaries noted could be used figuratively of “whatsoever incendeth, exciteth, or stirreth vehementlie to doe” something (Thomas Thomas). “Food” is used metaphorically in the Middle Ages and the early modern period for whatever nourishes something; the OED records a medieval sense of “material for keeping up a fire.” 206. already . . . sprung Elizabeth changes the tense of “iam . . . inluxerit” (soon . . . will blaze). 207. by . . . darkness by . . . springing from which (i.e., false opinion) rising; “ex quibus orta.” darkness “caligo” (fog, mist). 208. with . . . fomentations “lenibus mediocribusque fomentis” (with gentle and moderate fomentations / poultices). Elizabeth renders the adjective “lenibus” (gentle) with a cognate noun. mean moderate.

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7. M[yter] 24 Dim Cloudes Skie Close Light none Can a Loud afourd If Roling Seas boustius Sowth Mixe his fome Griny ons Like the Clirristz days the Water straigt moude sturd aL foule the Sigh gainsais straight moude sturd Vp al fouLe the Sight gainsais Running streame that poures from hiest hilz Oft is staid by SLaked stone of Rock thou if thou Wilt in Clirest Light the trothe behold by straight Lin

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24. 7. M[yter] Meter 7 is out of sequence in the manuscript as written; it immediately follows meter 6 on fols. 21r–22v. 209. Dim . . . close Dim clouds hide the sky; “Nubibus atris / Condita . . . / Sidera” (the stars / heavens hidden by black clouds). close keep out of sight, hide. 210. Light . . . afford Can yield no light; “nullum / Fundere possunt / Sidera lumen” (The stars / heavens can emit no light). While the subject of Boethius’s clause is the cloud-hidden heavens, Elizabeth’s subject could be construed as “sky,” “clouds,” or “none” (neither clouds nor sky). 211. If . . . foam This cryptic phrasing probably means “if the rough South [wind] stirs up the rolling seas’ foam.” Elizabeth follows Boethius’s word order: “Si mare volvens / Turbidus Auster / Misceat aestum” (If the turbulent South wind should disturb the sea rolling its swell). seas . . . his foam Probably means ‘seas’ foam,’ with “his” in place of “their.”

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Meter 7 Dim clouds Sky close,209 Light none Can afford.210 If rolling seas Busteous South Mix his foam,211 Greeny once Like the clearest Days, the water, Straight—mud Stirred up—all foul, The sight gainsays.212 Running stream That pours From highest hills Oft is stayed By slaked Stone of rock.213 Thou, if thou wilt In clearest light The truth behold, By straight line

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“His” and “their” following nouns can indicate possession in Renaissance English. Busteous variant of “boistous,” itself a variant of “boisterous,” here used in the sense of ‘rough.’ South the South wind. Mix stir up, rendering cognate “misceat.” 212. Greeny . . . gainsays This probably means ‘the water, once green, like clearest days, immediately all filthy with stirred-up mud, hinders the sight.’ Elizabeth again follows Boethius closely: “Vitrea dudum / Parque serenis / Unda diebus / Mox resoluto / Sordida caeno / Visibus obstat” (The wave, once glass-colored and similar to calm days, now filthy with stirred-up mud, hinders our sight). Greeny “vitrea” (glass-colored, greenish). straight straightaway, immediately. mud . . . foul “resoluto / Sordida caeno” (filthy with stirred-up mud). mud . . . up with mud stirred up. gainsays denies, hinders. 213. slaked . . . rock Probably means ‘a loosened stone of a cliff,’ rendering “Rupe soluti / Obice saxi” (with the barrier of a rock loosened from a cliff ). slaked loosened.

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hit in the pathe Chase Joyes repulse feare thrust out hope Wo not retaine Cloudy is the mind With snafle bound Wher they raigne

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heere endith the first booke25 25. heere . . . booke This rubric is in Windebank’s secretary hand, as is the heading immediately following. 214. Hit in Direct one’s course in a particular direction, rendering “carpere,” which has the contextual sense of ‘to press on along’ a road.

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Hit in214 the path, Chase215 joys; Repulse fear; Thrust out hope; Woe not retain. Cloudy is the mind, With snaffle216 bound, Where they reign.

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Here endeth the first book. 215. Chase Dispel, scatter, rendering “Pelle” (drive out, dispel). Elizabeth varies the diction by translating an emphatic second use of “Pelle” in the next line as “Repulse.” 216. With snaffle with bridle; “frenis” (with bridles, curbs). Elizabeth used the verb “snaffle” in a 1566 speech (CW, 93).

The second Booke. / 1. Pro[se] After this, a While she pawsde, and When my heede By my modest silence she markt, thus she Began: If alltogither thy cause of greefe and state I Know, thou pynest with the affection and want of former fortune. She so much in changyth the state of thy Mynde, As thou ymaginest ouerthrowes hit: I vnderstand the many sharp shaped deceites of her Wonder, and so farre exercisith a flattering familiaritie, with them she myndes deceaue till she confound With intollerable Woe, whom without hope she hath left. Whose nature, conditions and desert, if thou remember, thou shalt Know that thou hast Nether had Nor Lost by her Any thing ought Worth. but as I suppose, I shall Not Need to Labour Much to call these thinges to thy memory. for thou art Wont When she Was present and dicseved fLattered the, to inV inVay against her with manly Woordes in chassing her from our doores, With thy sentence invaydst her. But euery souden change neuer haps 1. my . . . marked “attentionem meam modesta taciturnitate collegit” (when she gained my attention by modest silence). marked observed; “collegit,” construed by Elizabeth in its senses of ‘gathered, inferred.’ 2. She . . . it Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “Ea tantum animi tui statum, sicuti tu tibi fingis mutata pervertit” (Changed Fortune, as you imagine, has cast down the state of your soul to such an extent). Elizabeth misread “mutata” (changed) as “mutat” (she changes) and fit the rest of the sentence to this misreading. 3. of . . . wonder “illius prodigii”—most easily construed as “of that notorious wonder / monster” (i.e., Fortune), with “illius” taken as an intensifier. But “illius” might be

The Second Book Prose 1 After this, a while she paused, and when my heed by my modest silence she marked,1 thus she began: “If altogether thy cause of grief, and state, I know, thou pinest with the affection and want of former Fortune. She so much changeth the state of thy mind, as thou imaginest, overthrows it.2 I understand the many-shaped deceits of her wonder,3 and so far exerciseth a flattering familiarity with them she minds deceive till she confound, with intolerable woe, whom without hope4 she hath left. Whose nature, conditions, and desert, if thou remember, thou shalt know that thou hast neither had nor lost by her anything aught worth. But, as I suppose, I shall not need to labor much to call these things to thy memory. For thou art wont, when she was present and flattered thee, to inveigh against her with manly words, in chasing her from our doors with thy sentence5 inveighedst her. But every sudden change construed as Elizabeth does, as referring in an ordinary possessive sense to the wondrous evil that Fortune produces. wonder A wondrous thing or a portent (for good or ill), but with older senses of ‘evil action’ or ‘destruction’; “wonder” thus captures various senses of “prodigium” (a marvel, evil portent, monster). 4. without hope A misconstrual of “insperata” (unforeseen), referring to Fortune’s unpredictable departure, not the state of her abandoned victim. 5. art . . . sentence art wont “solebas” (wert wont). chasing . . . sentence “de nostro adyto prolatis insectabare sententiis” (chased her with opinions taken from our shrine). Elizabeth confuses “adyto” (shrine) with “aditu” (doorway).

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without a greate streame of thye mynde, So doth it hap 1 that thou a While hast parted from thy ease. But tyme it is for thee to drawe and taste som sweeter thning and pleasant, which passing to the inward partes may make a Way for behoofuller draughtes. Let persuasion of sweete Rhetorik assist the, which then goith in rightest path only, When she Leaves Not our precepts. And When With this musick the guest of our home, sowndes now easyer now Weightyer Notes. What is it therfore O Man that that hastth2 throWne the down to Wo and Wayle? Thou hast seene I beleue some new Vnwonted thing, Thou yf thou thinkest that of toward the fortune be changed, Art deceaud. This Was euer her Nature, manner this was her nature She hat hath euer kept toward the, rather her own constancy in her mutabiltie. Such one Was she Whan she beguild the, and did deceaue with allurementes of false felicitie. Thou hast Vnderstode noW, the doutfull face of the blynde Goddesse, Which though she hyde her self to others, hath made her self to the manifest. Yf thou allow her vse her fashon, complayne not therof; Yf thou hast hatist her treason, sKorne her and cast her of. that so falsely begylde the. for she that Now is cause of thy Woe the self same ought by be of thy quyett. She hath left the Whom no man can be sure that Will not leave him. Canst thou beleeue of flyeng felicitie the precious? and can thy present Luck be deere to the: whych never faythfull in abode, and When she partes, bringes nought but Woe: And if nether she can be Kepte with iudgement, and Whan she flyes, makes them wretched, what ought else Meanith her flight than a show of a comming calamitie? for alone it suffisith not to beholde, What afore our eyes is sett, Wisdom the end of thinges beyond all measures. for

1. bifaL Correction in Elizabeth’s hand. 2. hastth Correction in Elizabeth’s hand. 6. stream flood, outbreak; “quodam quasi fluctu” (some sort of flood, i.e., disturbance). 7. thou “tu quoque” (even you). 8. sweeter . . . draughts sweeter “molle” (soft, gentle). way . . . draughts “validioribus haustibus viam” (the way for stronger potions). behoovefuller fitter, more necessary. 9. music . . . home Pulmann’s edition reads “cumque hac musica laris nostri vernula” (and with this Music, the house-slave of our home). Boethius figures Music—presumably, the metrics of his Meters—as Rhetoric’s servant. Elizabeth upgrades her to a “guest.” 10. woe . . . wail “maestitiam luctumque” (sadness and grieving). 11. If . . . thinkest Renders Pulmann’s reading, “Si tu . . . putas” (if you think).

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never haps without a great stream6 of the mind. So doth it befall, that thou7 a while hast parted from thy ease. But time it is for thee to draw and taste some sweeter thing and pleasant, which passing to the inward parts may make a way for behoovefuller draughts.8 Let persuasion of sweet Rhetoric assist thee, which then goeth in rightest path only, when she leaves not our precepts, and, with this Music, the guest of our home,9 sounds now easier, now weightier notes: “What is it, therefore, O man, that hath thrown thee down to woe and wail?10 Thou hast seen, I believe, some new, unwonted thing. Thou, if thou thinkest11 that toward thee Fortune be changed, art deceived. This was ever her manner; this was her nature. She hath ever kept toward thee rather her own constancy in her mutability. Such one was she, when she beguiled thee, and did deceive with allurements of false felicity. Thou hast understood now the doubtful12 face of the blind goddess, which, though she hide herself to others, hath made herself to thee manifest. If thou allow her, use 13 her fashion, complain not thereof; if thou hatest her treason, scorn her and cast her off, that so falsely beguiled thee.14 For she that now is cause of thy woe, the selfsame ought be15 of thy quiet. She hath left thee, whom no man can be sure that will not16 leave him. Canst thou believe flying felicity17 precious? And can thy present luck be dear, never faithful in abode,18 and when she parts brings naught but woe? And if neither she can be kept with judgment, and when she flies, makes them wretched, what aught else meaneth her flight19 than a show of a coming calamity? For alone it sufficeth not to behold what afore our eyes is set: wisdom the end of all measures; for her

12. doubtful ambiguous, rendering “ambiguos,” which here is closer to ‘changing, double-faced.’ 13. allow . . . use allow approve of. use use for your advantage (imperative); “utere.” 14. so . . . thee “perniciosa ludentem” (making a game of ruinations)—a reference to Fortune’s toying with humans. Here and elsewhere Elizabeth makes the addressee Boethius the object of what is expressed as more generalized outrage in her source text. 15. ought be “debuisset” (should have been, ought to have been). 16. will not she will not. 17. flying felicity “abituram felicitam” (felicity destined to leave). 18. And . . . abode And . . . dear “Et cara tibi est fortuna praesens” (And is Fortune, when present, dear to you?) faithful . . . abode “manendi fida” (trustworthy to remain). 19. with . . . flight with judgment “ex arbitrio,” better translated here as “at (your) will.” her flight “fugax” (a fleeting creature—i.e., Fortune).

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her Mutabilitie in both neither Makes her fortunes threates feared, nor her beguylinges Wistched3 Lastly, thou Must paciently beare, what so befalles in fortunes Courte, Whan once to her Yok thy neck thou bowest: but if thou Wilt prescribe her Lawe, to byde or parte, Whom thou hast freely chosen thy gouuernesse, shoulst thou not be iniurious and sharp short thy luck With thy impatience, which change thou canst Not? Yf thou Woldst throwe the the sayles to wynde, not Whither Will Wolde, but Whither the blast doth dryve rough Blast so furr thou goest. yf thou doo craVing Lend the furrowes seed, thou must beare with deere yeeres and barren: yf to fortunes guide thou hast betaken the, thou Must obey thy Dames conditions. doest Woldst thou stryve to staye the course of a turning Wheele? But a foole thou of all Mortall men the foolisht, if hap byde, it Leavith to be chaunce. 1. Myter This whan her proud hand changeth Cours And Euripus foming Like is throwne, WhiLowm that she fierce kings CrueL destroyes and LoWe Looke of of Won man4 deceitful raiseth She hereth not the Wretche nor hedeth not his teares Willingly skornes the sighs that Cu spitful she made

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3. Wist Correction in Elizabeth’s hand. 4. Won man Although underlined, the phrase does not need revision. Boethius reads “victi” (of conquered). 20. wisdom . . . both wisdom . . . measures “rerum exitus prudentia metitur” (prudence measures the outcome of things). her mutability “eademque . . . mutabilitas” (and the very mutability). in both “in alterutro,” i.e., in good and bad Fortune. 21. court An enclosed space, possibly one for sports like tennis (befitting Fortune the game player), possibly a royal court (befitting Fortune the capricious ruler); “auream” has similar possible senses. 22. sharp . . . luck sharp sharpen. luck Here, ill-fortune. 23. thou . . . barren dear years “Dear year,” a time of dearth, is an ancient idiom. and barren A pleonastic doubling. Probably misreading “feraces” (fertile) as “feroces” (savage, cruel), Elizabeth makes Boethius’s “feraces inter se annos sterilesque pensares” (you must balance barren years against fertile ones) a bleaker command to patiently bear dearth. She mistakes “feracior” for “ferocior” in book 3, meter 8, line 10.

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mutability in both20 neither makes her (Fortune’s) threats feared nor her beguilings wished. Lastly thou must patiently bear what so befalls in Fortune’s court,21 when once to her yoke thy neck thou bowest. But if thou wilt prescribe her law, to bide or part, whom thou hast freely chosen thy governess, shouldst thou not be injurious, and sharp thy luck22 with thy impatience, which change thou canst not? If thou wouldst throw the sails to wind, not whither will would, but whither the blast doth drive, so far thou goest. If thou do lend the furrows seed, thou must bear with dear years and barren.23 If to Fortune’s guide thou hast betaken thee, thou must obey thy dame’s24 conditions. Wouldst thou strive to stay the course of a turning wheel? But, thou of all mortal men the foolishest, if hap bide, it leaveth to be chance.”25 Meter 1 This, when her proud hand changeth course, And, Euripus-foaming-like, is thrown,26 Whilom she fierce kings, cruel, destroys,27 And low look of won28 man, deceitful, raiseth. She heareth not the wretch, nor heedeth not his tears, Willingly scorns29 the sighs that, spiteful, she made.

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24. If . . . dame’s If . . . thee Elizabeth treats as hypothetical what Boethius treats as fact: “te . . . dedisti” (you have given yourself). guide guidance. dame’s female ruler’s, mistress’s; “dominae.” 25. if . . . chance if chance were to stay, it would cease to be chance. 26. This . . . thrown This “Haec.” This one of whom we have spoken—Fortune. is thrown “fertur” (is borne). The simile compares Fortune’s behavior to the irregular ebbs and flows for which the Euripus strait, which separated the island of Euboea in the Aegean Sea from mainland Greece, was proverbial. 27. Whilom . . . destroys Whilom at some time in the past. Elizabeth seems to construe “dudum” (formerly) in “dudum tremendos . . . proterit reges” (she crushes oncedreaded kings) with the present tense verb rather than with the noun phrase “tremendos . . . reges” (dreaded kings). cruel “saeva.” Elizabeth’s adjective can refer either to “kings” or to “Fortune”; Boethius’s “saeva” must refer to Fortune. 28. of won of conquered; “victi.” Compare Elizabeth’s antonym, “unwon,” in book 1, n17. 29. Willingly scorns “Ultroque . . . . ridet” (And moreover . . . laughs at). Elizabeth misconstrues “ultro” (moreover) in another of its senses, ‘of one’s own accord.’

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Thus playeth she and so her strengh doth trie A Wondar great to hers, she shewes if any If any Wonman you VieW One houre / both thralz him and extolz

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2. Prose A few woordes wold I play pleade with thee on fortunes syde Thou then Marke thou then whither she call the Not in plea, Why me ô Man guilty dost thou Make of daily quarrells? What Wrong doo I thee? What goodes from thee whaue I drawne? pleade thou with or against me afore any Judge let me pleade then for the possession of thy goodes and dignities. p And if thou shoWest that Any Mortall Man haue propertie of Any of them, that thou pretendst thyne oWne, that thou Ask, Willingly I Will yelde. When Nature brought the forth out of thy Motheres Womb, Naked of all and Needy, I vp tooke the, and Nourisht the with my substance, and that that breedes noW thy rage, rage With speedy fauour carefully I bred the; And did indue with plenty and glory of all such thinges as Were My oWne. NoW is it tyme to now may I if I list draw away thy back back my hand, Yeld thankes for vsing not thyne oWne. Thou hast No Lawe for quarrell, As if thyne thyne oWne lost thou hadst. Why sighest thou than? With no Violence haue we Vsed the. goodes honour and all such lyke, of right Myne oWn, My Maydes Knowes their Lady, With me they com, and Whan I parte, they giue place. boldly I affirme, if thyne they Were that Lost thou complaynst, at all thou hast Not lost

30. to hers to her subjects. 31. one . . . extols “una stratus ac felix hora” (laid low, and happy, within a single hour). thralls brings into subjection. extols elevates. 32. on . . . side “fortunae ipsius verbis” (in the very words of Fortune). 33. whether . . . plea Responding to Philosophy’s judicial metaphors, Elizabeth evidently construes “ius” in “an ius postulet” (whether she demand what is just) in its concrete sense of ‘court of law.’ in plea to court. 34. Why . . . quarrels? “Quid tu o homo ream me cotidianis agis querelis?” (Why do you, O man, go to law with daily charges against me as a defendant?). quarrels complaints, legal accusations, cognate with “querelis.” guilty . . . quarrels The sense is probably, as in Boethius, that Fortune is being treated as guilty as the result of such daily accusations, not that she is being treated as guilty of making such accusations.

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Thus playeth she, and so her strength doth try; A wonder great, to hers30 she shows: If any man you view, one hour Both thralls him and extols.31

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Prose 2 “A few words would I plead with thee, on Fortune’s side.32 Mark thou, then, whether she call thee not in plea:33 “ ‘Why me, O man, guilty dost thou make of daily quarrels?34 What wrong do I thee? What goods from thee have I drawn? Plead thou against me, afore any judge, for the possession of thy goods and dignities.35 And if thou showest that any mortal man have property of any of them that thou pretendest thine own, that thou ask, willingly I will yield. When Nature brought thee out of thy mother’s womb, naked of all, and needy, I uptook thee and nourished thee with my substance.36 And that that breeds now thy rage, with speedy favor carefully37 I bred thee, and did endue with plenty and glory of all such things as were my own. Now is it time, now may I, if I list, draw back my hand. Yield thanks, for using not thine own.38 Thou hast no law for quarrel39 as if thine own, lost thou hadst. Why sighest thou then? With no violence have we used thee. Goods, honor, and all suchlike—of right, mine own. My maids knows their lady;40 with me they come, and when I part, give place.41 Boldly I affirm, if thine they were that, lost, thou complainest, at all thou hast42 not lost them.

35. dignities high offices, as in cognate “dignitatum.” 36. substance possessions, goods. 37. speedy . . . carefully speedy advantageous, helpful. carefully with much solicitude; “indulgentius” (overindulgently). 38. Now . . . own Now . . . list Elizabeth expands and adds conditional force to “Nunc mihi . . . libet” (Now it pleases me to). using . . . own being allowed to use what was not yours. 39. law . . . quarrel “ius querelae” (right of legal complaint). The phrase is either Elizabeth’s word-for-word rendering or Windebank’s mishearing of “lawful quarrel.” 40. My . . . lady Fortune metaphorically figures goods and honors as her slaves. 41. give place they get out of the way; “discedunt” (they leave). 42. hast Possibly Windebank’s mishearing of “hadst.”

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them: Am I Alone forbyd my right to Vse? The To heauens is lawfull to bring thee pleasant dayes and dark the same with the Misty nightes. To yeare is lawful adorne the earthes face with floures and frute, Som tyme With cloudes and coldes confound. The Sea May with quyet calme be pleasd, Now terrible by Waues and tempest. W the Vnsaciable desyre of Men, shall it bynd Vs to constancy? furr from our condition? This is our powre, this Contiynuall play We Make, The Wheele by turning Rolle we Whirle, and Joye the LoWest change With hyest, and hyest makes the same to Matche: Com Vp and you Will, but on that condition, that ye counte it Not iniury to descend Whan the fashon of My dalyance requires it. Wert thou ignorant of my conditions? Knewest thou Not Cresus King of Lydia, a little before fearfull to Cyrus, straight way wretched Man bequeathed to fLamy heate, defended from heauen by a Mist sent doWne? Dost thou not remember hoW Paul shed many teare An honest teare for the calamitie of Perseus King, whom he tooke? What does Tragedies clamour More bewayle, than A main5 turning happy Raigne by blynde fortunes stroke? Hast thou not Learnt that there lay in Jupiters thressholl, twoe barrells fyld all one with yll, the other of good? What yf thou suckest vp more Largely of the better part? What yf I left the Not all alone? What if this My right Mutabilitie haue bred the cause to hope for better? But be Not thou amasde, that sett in the common raigne of all other, to lyue lyve by thine oWne Lawe thou desyre desirest6

5. A main amain. 6. desirest Correction in Elizabeth’s hand. 43. my . . . use to exercise my right(s). 44. change . . . match change to change. highest . . . match make the highest equal the lowest, and vice versa. Elizabeth varies a chiastic repetition, “infima summis summa infimis mutare.” the same the aforesaid things, i.e., the lowest. 45. an’ if (a later sixteenth- and earlier seventeenth-century colloquialism). 46. conditions ways of behaving; “mores.” 47. Croesus The defeat of Croesus (ca. 595–546 B.C.E.), the last king of Lydia, at the hands of the Persian king Cyrus is recounted in Herodotus Histories 1.86–87. 48. Paul Aemilius Paulus won a victory over the king of Macedonia, Perseus, in 168 B.C.E. See Livy Ab urbe condita 45.7. The story as sketched here may derive from the play Paulus by the Roman tragedian Pacuvius (second century B.C.E.). 49. more . . . stroke more . . . than “aliud . . . nisi” (what else but that). amain violently. turning . . . stroke “indiscreto ictu fortunam felicia regna vertentem” (Fortune overturning happy reigns with an indiscriminate stroke).

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“ ‘Am I alone forbid my right to use?43 To heavens is lawful to bring thee pleasant days, and dark the same with misty nights. To year is lawful adorn the earth’s face with flowers and fruit, sometime with clouds and colds confound. The sea may with quiet calm be pleased, now terrible by waves and tempest. The unsatiable desire of men, shall it bind us to constancy far from our condition? This is our power; this continual play we make: the wheel by turning roll we whirl, and joy the lowest change with highest; and highest makes the same to match.44 Come up an’45 you will, but on that condition, that ye count it not injury to descend when the fashion of my dalliance requires it. Wert thou ignorant of my conditions?46 Knewest thou not Croesus,47 king of Lydia, a little before fearful to Cyrus, straightway wretched man bequeathed to flamey heat, defended from heaven by a mist sent down? Doest thou not remember how Paul48 shed many an honest tear for the calamity of Perseus, king, whom he took? What does tragedy’s clamor more bewail than, amain, turning happy reign by blind Fortune’s stroke?49 Hast thou not learnt that there lay in Jupiter’s threshold “two barrels filled, one with ill, the other of good”?50 What if thou suckest up51 more largely of the better part? What if I left thee not all alone? What if this my right mutability have bred thee cause to hope for better?52 But be not thou amazed that, set in the common reign of all other,53 to live by thine own law desirest.’ ”

50. learnt . . . good learnt Elizabeth does not translate “adulescentulus” (as a very young man), which occurs at this point. two . . . good Pullman’s text reads “δύο τοὺς πίθους τὸν μὲν ἕνα κακῶν τὸν δε ἕτερον καλῶν” (two jars, one of evils, the other of blessings). The quotation is from Homer Iliad 24.527–28. 51. suckest up Possibly Windebank’s mishearing of “suckedst up”; “sumpsisti.” Alliterating s’s are sustained in translation. Elizabeth activates one specific sense—‘to take food or drink’—of the verb “sumere,” which means in general ‘to take up, make one’s own.’ 52. What . . . better “Quid si haec ipsa mei mutabilitas iusta tibi causa est sperandi meliora” (What if this very mutability of mine is a rightful cause for you to hope for better?). Philosophy probably refers to the possibility of a reprieve for Boethius. my . . . mutability Elizabeth construes “iusta” with “mutabilitas” rather than “causa.” 53. be . . . other be . . . amazed do not be bewildered; “ne animo contabescas” (do not pine in your soul). set . . . other being set in a kingdom that is common to all men; “intra commune omnibus regnum locatus.”

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2. Myter. If starrye sandz suche store by raging flaWes as Stured Sea turns Vp Or Skies bidect with nighty stars The heuens aL that Lightz And suche welthe bestoWes Nor plenty with fullist horne Withdrawes her hand Mankind yet Ceaseth not thogh aL With waiLing mones beWaiL him thogh God his VoWes Willingly receues The LiberaL doLar of goLds plenty And gridy folke with honors great indues Naught to haue Got they seame But Cryi Egar Rauining deuouring What they had Stretcheth the Chawes for more What raignes Can drawes bak hedLong desiar to stable end Whan thirst of getting inflames The floWing man with Largist gifts No man thinkes him riche Who quaking mones beleues a beggar

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3. Prose. Yf fortune for her self had spoken thus to the, thou hadst no cause to grudge agaynst her, but if ought ther be Wherby thy quarrell by Law 54. sands . . . flaws sands . . . store so much abundance of sand. flaws As in book 1, meter 2, line 3, sudden bursts or squalls of wind; “flatibus” (by gales). 55. such . . . horn such so much. Elizabeth blurs the logical connection of the first three couplets by incorporating in two clauses with “such” (1, 5) three correlatives, “quantas” (1), “quot” (3), and “tantas” (5), that shape a hypothetical comparison: if plenty bestowed as much wealth (5–6) as there were sands (1–2) and stars (3–4). bestows “fundat” (should pour forth). Here, and for several later verbs in this Meter—“withdraws” (6), “ceaseth” (7), “endues” (11)—Elizabeth substitutes indicatives for subjunctives, thus obscuring Boethius’s imagining of an unreal condition. fullest horn The traditional image of the cornucopia or horn of plenty. 56. Though . . . . receive Even if God should accede to men’s prayers (“vota”). receive “excipiat” (were to accept). Elizabeth originally wrote the indicative “receives” but corrected herself to render Boethius’s subjunctive.

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Meter 2 If sands such store, by raging flaws,54 As stirrèd sea turns up, Or skies bedecked with nighty stars The heavens all that lights, And such wealth bestows, Nor plenty with fullest horn55 withdraws her hand, Mankind yet ceaseth not With wailing moans bewail him. Though God his vows willingly receive56 (The lib’ral Doler57 of gold’s plenty), And greedy folk with honors great endues, Naught to have got, they seem;58 But eager ravening, devouring what they had, Stretcheth the jaws for more.59 What reins can draw back Headlong desire to stable end,60 When thirst of getting inflames The flowing man with largest gifts?61 No man thinks him rich Who, quaking, moans, believes62 a beggar.

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Prose 3 “If Fortune for herself had spoken thus to thee, thou hadst no cause to grudge against her.63 But if aught there be whereby thy

57. (The . . . Doler [And were to be] the generous Dispenser; “prodigus.” 58. Naught . . . seem “Nil iam parta videntur” (Things that have already been gained seem as nothing). 59. what . . . more what . . . had “quaesita” (that which is sought for). Stretcheth . . . more “Alios pandit hiatus” (Spreads open other gaping jaws). 60. to . . . end “certo fine” (within settled bound). 61. The . . . gifts The man flowing with largest gifts; “largis . . . muneribus . . . fluens.” 62. thinks . . . believes thinks . . . rich “dives agit” (lives as a rich person). believes believes himself; “sese credit.” 63. thou . . . her “quid profecto contra hisceres non haberes” (you would assuredly not have anything to blurt out in reply). cause probably activates the legal sense of ‘case’ or ‘charge.’

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thou canst defend, tell it thou must; place to speake we giue. Than I fayre these be in show quoth I, and flowing florist oVer7 Retorik and musik with the honny of ther sweetnes, why they only delite whan they be hard, but deeper sense of yll the Wretched hath. Wherfore, when these haue don, to sounde our eares, ingraffed Wo our mynde oppressith. And she, So it is, sayd she, These for8 These be not yet remedyes for thy disease, but serues for bellowes against the cure of thy resisting sorowe, for When I see tyme, I shall apply such remedyes as shall pearce deeper, But leste thou shouldst suppose thy self a Wretch, Hast thou forgotten, the tyme and meane of thy felicitie? I leave Vntolde how desolate of parentes, the care of greatest men fosterd the, and chosen to affinitie of the cities Rulers, And that Kynde that is of Kyndred the neerest, first thou wert deere afore thou wert next. Who wold Not haue famed the most happy with so greate honour of father in Lawes, of Wyfes modestie, and seasonable obtayning of a Man childe. I ouerpasse (for so I Will common thinges) dignities receauid in youth denyed to older folkes: it pleasith me, That this is happed to the singuler heape of thy felicitie. Yf any frute of mortall thinges may beare a Waight of blessednes, can the memory of such a daye be scrapte out by any waight of groWing harmes? when thou hast seene twoo Consuls at once, thy children

7. florist oVer Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 8. for Insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 64. quarrel . . . law legal complaint; “querelam . . . iure.” 65. these . . . sweetness these these arguments of Fortune. flourished-over . . . sweetness overadorned with Rhetoric and Music and with the sweetness of their honey; “oblitaque Rhetoricae ac Musicae melle dulcedinis” (daubed with the honey of rhetorical and musical sweetness). Either Elizabeth or Windebank has omitted “with” from the first phrase. 66. have . . . engraft have done have ceased. engraft engrafted (unrecorded in OED). 67. bellows . . . sorrow bellows Elizabeth construes “fomenta” (warm poultices or lotions) in a general and metaphorical sense, as an application that incites warmth, inspired by the cognate “foment” in the sense of ‘to warm.’ The Bibliotheca Eliotae and Thomas Thomas define “fomentum” as “a nourishing / nourishment of naturall heat.” Elizabeth later employs the cognate “fomentation.” against . . . sorrow “adhuc contumacis adversum curationem doloris” (of the sorrow still resisting against cure). By following Boethius in placing “sorrow” after “against cure,” Elizabeth makes it seem as if the “bellows” (poultice) rather than the “sorrow” were “against the cure.” Her “bellows against the cure” makes

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quarrel by law64 thou canst defend, tell it thou must; place to speak we give.” Then—“Fair these be in show,” quoth I, “flourished-over, Rhetoric and Music, with the honey of their sweetness.65 They only delight when they be heard. But deeper sense of ill the wretched hath. Wherefore, when these have done to sound our ears, engraft66 woe our mind oppresseth.” And she—“So it is,” said she, “for these be not yet remedies for thy disease, but serves for bellows against the cure of thy resisting sorrow.67 For when I see time, I shall apply such remedies as shall pierce deeper. But lest thou shouldst suppose thyself a wretch,68 hast thou forgotten the time and mean69 of thy felicity? I leave untold how, desolate of parents, the care of greatest men fostered thee; and chosen to affinity of the city’s rulers, and that kind that is of kindred the nearest: first thou wert dear afore thou wert next.70 Who would not have famed71 thee most happy, with so great honor of father-in-law’s, of wife’s modesty, and seasonable obtaining of a man-child? I overpass (for so I will, common things) dignities received in youth, denied to older folks. It pleaseth me that this is happed,72 to the singular heap of thy felicity. “If any fruit of mortal things may bear a weight of blessedness, can the memory of such a day be scraped out by any weight of growing harms?73 When thou hast seen two consuls at once, thy children,

better sense if “against” is given its early modern sense of ‘in preparation for,’ even though this diverges from the Latin. Perhaps she translates word for word while allowing English meanings irrelevant to the Latin to carry the sense. 68. thou . . . wretch “te existimari miserum velis” (you should wish to be thought a wretch). 69. time . . . mean “numerum modumque” (the number and measure / extent), a phrase translated with different resonances as “number and trade” near the end of this section. mean A standard early modern translation of “modus” in its ethical sense of ‘proper measure, moderation.’ 70. nearest . . . next nearest most closely affecting one; “pretiosissimum” (most valuable). nearest . . . dear Elizabeth adds the evocation of such expressions as “near and dear,” “nearest and dearest.” next nearest in kin; “proximus.” 71. would . . . famed “non . . . praedicavit” (did not proclaim). 72. is happed has come about by (good) Fortune. Elizabeth misconstrues “venire delectat” (it pleases me to come—to this point in my discourse). 73. of . . . harms of . . . day “illius . . . lucis” (of that day, of that splendor). of growing harms “ingruentium malorum” (of threatening evils).

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borne to accompanyed to with Nomber of the fathers, with the and peeples Joye, when they sitting in the Court as Curules though thou the Orator of kinges prayse, deseruest thou Not glory of wit and eloquence? when amidst them both thou satisfidest the expecttion of consuls with all the rowte, as with a liberall tryomph? Thou fLatteredst fortune as I suppose while she stroked the and cherisht as her darling, Thou tokest away the rewarde that to priuate man she neuer Lent afore, Will you now spurne at her? hathe she with a heavy eye now strayned the? Yf thou doo wayen9 the Nomber and trade of plesant and Wofull, thou canst not yet deny thy self happy: yf therfore thou thinkst Not thy self fortunate for seeming Joyes by past, No cause why thou thy self a Wretch suppose: for passe they doo that Woful now be thought. Camst thou now first into the stage of life, of a souden, and stranger? Supposest thou Any constancy to be in humayne Matters Whan speedy houre a Man himself Vndoes? for tho rare credit of abode owght happing chaunce to haue, Yett, the Last daye of lyfe may serue for fortune that remaynes. What Meanest thou to speake? Wilt thou leave her dyeng, or she thee slydng flying 3. M[yter]. In pooLe10 whan Φebus With reddy waine the light to spred begins The star dimed with flames opprissing 9. wayen An earlier infinitive form of the verb “weigh.” 10. pooLe pole, upper air; “polo.” 74. fathers’ . . . eloquence? fathers’ “patrum”— of the Conscript Fathers, i.e., of the Senate. curules “curules aediles”—one of a class of officers who used the official curule chair, adopted by the Romans from the Etruscans, and took their name from it. deservest . . . eloquence? Unlike modern editions, Pulmann punctuates “tu . . . meruisti” as a rhetorical question: “did you deserve?” Elizabeth’s negative phrasing, “deservest . . . not,” underscores the question’s rhetorical nature. 75. liberal triumph bountiful celebration; “triumphali largitione” (with the largesse befitting a “triumph”). 76. Will . . . her? “Visne igitur cum fortuna calculum ponere?” (Do you now want to settle your accounts with Fortune?) spurn at strike at. Elizabeth may have construed the idiom “calculum ponere” as ‘cast a stone.’ 77. Hath . . . thee? Elizabeth recasts an assertion as a rhetorical question. with . . . eye with a sad eye; “liventi oculo” (with an envious eye). strained distressed; “praestrinxit” (touched, weakened).

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accompanied too with number of the fathers’ and people’s joy, when they sitting in the court as curules, thou the orator of king’s praise: deservest thou not glory of wit and eloquence?74 When amidst them both thou satisfiedst the expectation of consuls with all the rout, as with a liberal triumph?75 Thou flatteredst Fortune, as I suppose, while she stroked thee and cherished as her darling. Thou tookest away the reward that to private man she never lent afore. Will you now spurn at her?76 Hath she with a heavy eye now strained thee?77 If thou do weigh the number and trade78 of pleasant and woeful, thou canst not yet deny thyself happy. If therefore thou thinkest not thyself fortunate for seeming joys bypast, no cause why thou thyself a wretch suppose: for pass they do, that woeful now be thought. Camest thou now first into the stage of life, of a sudden, and stranger?79 Supposest thou any constancy to be in human matters when speedy hour a man himself undoes? For though rare credit of abode ought happing chance to have, yet the last day of life may serve for Fortune that remains.80 What meanest thou to speak? Wilt thou81 leave her, dying; or she thee, flying?” Meter 3 In pole, when Phoebus, with reddy wain,82 The light to spread begins, The star dimmèd with flames oppressing

78. number . . . trade “numerum modumque” (number and measure / extent). trade course or way, rendering “modum” construed as ‘manner, way.’ See book 1, n78. 79. stranger as a stranger. 80. credit . . . Fortune credit . . . abode trustworthiness with respect to remaining; “manendi fides.” happing chance “fortuitis” (things that come by chance). serve . . . remains take the place of what Fortune remains; “mors quaedam fortunae est . . . manentis” (is a kind of death for what Fortune remains). Alternatively, Windebank may have misheard Elizabeth’s rendering “sever Fortune” as “serve for Fortune.” 81. What . . . thou A misconstrual based on Pulmann’s reading: “Quid igitur referre putas? Tune . . . ?” (Why therefore do you think it makes a difference? You . . . ?). Elizabeth’s rendering attends to the meaning of some individual words but not to the overall construction. Modern editions punctuate differently, to yield “Quid igitur referre putas, tune . . .” (Why do you think it matters whether you . . . ?). 82. pole . . . wain pole See book 1, meter 3, line 4. reddy wain rosy chariot.

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Pales her whitty Lookes Whan riVar wood with Siφirus11 mildding blast blusheth with the springing Roses And cloudy Sowthe bloWes his breth he his blustering blastes AWay from stauke the beauty goes Sometime with Calmy fayre the Sea Void of Waues doth Run Oft boistrus tempestz the North With foming Seas turnes up If rareLy stedy be the Worldz forme If turnes so many hit makes Beliue sLippar mens Luckes trust that sLiding be ther goodz Sure Certain and in Eternal Law is Writ, Sure standeth naugh is made

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4. Prose Than I, truth hast thout thou told me, ô of all Vertue the nursse, Nor can I blame the speedy course of My prosperitie, but this is it, that considering, Most Vexith me, that in All fortunes aduersitie I finde this Most Miserable to haue bene happy. That thou quoth she, byd blame of beares payne for false opinion, that Rightly thou oughtest Not on matters themsellves impose. for if the Vayne Name of gliding chauncing felicitie Mooue the, Repete With me, With how Many and great thou who delited aboundest. Yf the preciousest of all thou didst possesse of so in fortunes Censure, that to thy self vnharmed or broken be kepte, 11. Siϕirus Zephyrus. 83. star . . . looks Boethius’s “stella” refers not, as in Elizabeth, to a single ‘star’ but rather to a ‘constellation,’ as “albentes vultus” (white faces) reveals. 84. Zephyrus’ . . . springing Zephyrus’ the West wind’s. milding becoming or making mild; “tepentis” (of mild [Zephyr]). springing springtime (“vernis”), also perhaps with the modern sense of ‘sprouting.’ 85. South . . . stalk South the South wind; “Auster” (the South wind); see book 1, n211. blasts “spiret” (lets blow). from stalk “spinis” (from thorns). 86. Sometime “saepe” (often). Elizabeth translates “saepe” as “oft” in line 11, preferring variety to parallelism. 87. Believe . . . goods Believe men’s fortunes to be slippery and that their good experiences are unreliable. Boethius reads “Crede fortunis hominum caducis, / Bonis crede fugacibus” (Trust in men’s transitory fortunes, / Trust in fleeting goods”). Elizabeth turns

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Pales her whitey looks.83 When wood, with Zephyrus’ milding blast, Blusheth with the springing84 roses; And cloudy South his blust’ring blasts, Away from stalk85 the beauty goes. Sometime86 with calmy fair, the sea Void of waves doth run; Oft boisterous tempests the North With foaming seas turns up. If rarely steady be the world’s form, If turns so many it makes, Believe slipper, men’s lucks; Trust that sliding be their goods.87 Certain, and in eternal law is writ: “Sure standeth naught is made.”88

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Prose 4 Then I: “Truth has thou told me, O of all virtue the nurse; nor can I blame89 the speedy course of my prosperity. But this is it that, considering, most vexeth me: that in all Fortune’s adversity I find this most miserable, to have been happy.” “That thou,” quoth she, “bears pain90 for false opinion, that rightly thou oughtst not on matters themselves impose. For if the vain name of chancing felicity move thee, repeat with me, with how many and great91 thou aboundest. If the preciousest of all thou didst possess in Fortune’s censure—that to thyself, unharmed or broken be kept— Boethius’s ironic exhortation to trust in transitory pleasures into a serious command to believe in Fortune’s fickleness. sliding slippery, unreliable. goods good experiences; pleasures. 88. Sure . . . made Nothing that is made stands firm. naught . . . made Boethius’s “genitum nihil” (nothing that is begotten) implicitly distinguishes transitory creatures from the eternal God. To similar effect, Elizabeth’s “naught [that] is made” echoes “ea quae facta sunt” (the things that have been made) in Romans 1:20 (Vulgate). 89. nor . . . blame Pulmann’s edition reads “nec possum inficiari” (nor can I deny), using a variant spelling of “infitiari” (deny). Elizabeth perhaps confused “inficiari” with “inficere” (stain, poison). 90. pain punishment; “supplicium.” 91. repeat . . . great repeat “reputes” (you should consider), evidently confused with “repetas” (you should repeat). how . . . great how many and great things.

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canst thou When best thinges be retaynde, complayne by right, of yll hap? Safe doth remayne Symmachus thy father in Lawe, of all Mankynde most worth, And that with price of lyfe thou careles should not buye, that Man made of Wisdom and Vertue, sure of his oWn Mones for thy Wronges. Thy Wyfe of modest Wit, excelling for her shamfastnes, and that all her guiftes in short I may include, her father lyke lyuith, I saye, and Keepingith thy spirit, though hatyng lyfe, from Which depriued my self Will graunte skanten thy felicitie, And for Lack of the, with teares and Woe pynith. What shall I speake of thy children Consuls, whoms fathers and grandfathers Witt appeerith as their Yong Yeeres permitt. Whan then the chefest care for Mortall men is to be lyfe to keepe, ô happy thou yf knoW thou couldst thy good, to Whom such thinges do hap, as No Man doubtes the deerest thinges12 in lyfe. Dry Vp therfore thy teares. fortune hath not yet hated all men, nether hath to greeuous a tempest ouerwhelmed the, for Ankers holde remaynes, Which neither suffers present comfort, nor comming hope to Leave the. And let them holde quoth I fast still I pray. for they enduring, hoWsoeuer the World goes, out We shall Wade; But you see quoth I hoW much honour we have Lost. Then she, We will help the, yf thou be Not weary of all thy Lott. But I can not abyde such your delytes, of which as depriued of som of thy felicitie, Wayling and careful thou complaynst. for What man is of stayd felicitie, that quarrels Not with some degre of his estate? Carefull is the condition of mans goodes, Which eyther Neuer all happs, or euer bydes. This 12. thinges Insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 92. Fortune’s . . . right Fortune’s censure judgment of—i.e., concerning—Fortune, rendering Pulmann’s reading “omni fortunae censu” (the whole reckoning of fortune). Modern editions and all other sixteenth-century editions consulted read “omni fortunae tuae censu” (the whole reckoning of your fortune). thyself Elizabeth does not translate “diuinitus” (by divine providence), which follows at this point. broken To be construed as ‘unbroken’ in conjunction with ‘unharmed’; “inviolatum” (inviolate, unbroken). by right aright; “iure” (justly, rightly). 93. (and . . . own (and . . . buy) “et quod vitae pretio non segnis emeres” (and that which you would not be sluggish to buy at the cost of your life). Boethius’s clause has the force of a parenthetical insertion. The negative particle attaches to “careless,” not “buy.” sure . . . own confident regarding his own (troubles); “suarum securus” (free from worry about his own). 94. modest . . . spirit of . . . wit of temperate, demure mind; “ingenio modesta.” Elizabeth’s phrase has an unfortunate ambiguity. her father [like]) “pater similis” (like her father). Elizabeth evidently dictated “her father like,” which Windebank originally wrote. But the sequence “like liveth” evidently confused him, and he mistakenly deleted

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canst thou, when best things be retained, complain by right,92 of ill hap? Safe doth remain Symmachus, thy father-in-law, of all mankind most worth (and that with price of life thou, careless, should not buy); that man, made of wisdom and virtue, sure of his own,93 moans for thy wrongs. Thy wife, of modest wit, excelling for her shamefastness (and, that all her gifts in short I may include, her father [like]) liveth, I say, and keepeth thy spirit,94 though hating life (from which deprived, myself will grant, scanten thy felicity);95 and for lack of thee, with tears and woe pineth. What shall I speak of thy children, consuls, whose father’s and grandfather’s wit appeareth as their young years permit? When then the chiefest care for mortal men is life to keep, O happy thou, if know thou couldst thy good, to whom such things do hap, as no man doubts, the dearest things in life.96 Dry up therefore thy tears. Fortune hath not yet hated all men;97 neither hath too grievous a tempest overwhelmed thee, for anchors’ hold remains, which neither suffers present comfort nor coming hope to leave thee.” “And let them hold,” quoth I, “fast still, I pray. For, they enduring, howsoever the world goes, out we shall wade.98 But you see,” quoth I, “how much honor we have lost.” Then she: “We will help thee,99 if thou be not weary of all thy lot. But I cannot abide such your delights as, deprived of some of thy felicity, wailing and careful,100 thou complainest. For what man is of stayed felicity, that quarrels not with some degree of his estate? ‘Careful’ is the condition of man’s goods, which either never all haps,

“like.” liveth . . . spirit “vivit . . . tibi tantum . . . . spiritum servat” (lives for you alone . . . keeps her life-spirit). 95. (from . . . felicity) the deprivation of whom—i.e., Boethius’s wife—I myself will concede, to diminish your happiness; “quoque uno felicitatem minui tuam vel ipsa concesserim” (and even I must concede that in this alone is your happiness lessened). Boethius’s parenthetical clause refers to what follows, the wife’s tears of longing; Elizabeth adds “from which [i.e., whom] deprived” to provide a clearer reference. 96. When . . . life When then Since then; “Cum igitur” (Now although). dearest . . . life “quae vita . . . esse cariora” (that are dearer than life). 97. all men “omnes”—in context, a reference to Boethius’s family. 98. out . . . wade we shall escape, perhaps also with the sense of ‘walk through water’; “enatabimus” (we shall escape by swimming). 99. We . . . thee “Promovimus . . . aliquantum” (we have made a little progress). 100. But . . . careful But . . . delights Elizabeth’s word-for-word rendering of “Sed delicias tuas ferre non possum.” The sense is ‘I cannot bear your luxuriating in your grief.’ careful anxious. This and the subsequent “careful” render forms of “anxius.”

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man hath honour, but his blotted blud shames him. This man Nobilitie Makes famous, but inclosed with Neede, rather Vnknowen he choosith: An other Man having both, the sole lyfe bewayles: An other for Mariage happy, childles keeps his goodes for An other heire. Some Joye with children, with teares bemoanes the faultes of sonne or daughter, No man therfore easely agrees with his fortunes state. generall to all, that the Vntryed Knowes Not, thexpert abhorrith. Add to withall that ech man hath A most delicate sense of his oWn felicitie, And Without all hap to his bek beck, throwen down he is, with any Vnwontid aduersitie, though in leste matters. Bef by such tryfles they be that drawes from happyest Men the top of bLiss. HoW many be there supposest thou that Wold think them Nerest heauen, if skraps of thy fortune hap to thy ther13 share? This place which thou thy st bannishment them calld is the wh inhabitantes countrey, so nothing is Wretched but When it is thought so,14 and blessed is all luck that haps With sufferers ease. What Man is so happy that hath giuen hand to impatience, that Wisshith Not his fortune changed? The sweetnes of Mans lyfe, with how many bitternesses is it mixt, which if they seemid to the enioyer delitefull When he Wolde, it is gon, therfore he may not Keepe it. The blessednes of Mortall goodes, plainly is Miserable, that nether perpetually duryth With the contented, nor Wholly delites the afflicted / What th Why doo ye Mortall men seeke outwardly your felicitie sett withou Within you? Error and blyndnes confoundes

13. ther Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 14. which . . . calldst . . . so Insertions above the line and correction in Elizabeth’s hand. 101. ever In this context—never; “numquam.” Elizabeth here and elsewhere uses one negative conjunction to negate two verbs. Compare “broken” for ‘unbroken’ in n92 above. 102. honor A misconstrual of “census”—literally, ‘register of property,’ hence, ‘riches.’ 103. enclosed . . . unknown enclosed . . . need fenced in by poverty. unknown to be unknown. 104. both . . . sole both riches (“honor” in Elizabeth) and noble birth. sole unmarried; “caelibem.” 105. Some . . . children Someone who is joyful to have children. 106. General . . . abhorreth It is common in all things, that what the inexperienced person does not know about, the person who has experienced it abhors. untried, expert “inexpertus,” “expertus.” 107. each . . . beck each . . . felicity Elizabeth misconstrues “felicissimi cuiusque delicatissimus sensus est” (the most fastidious sense belongs to the one who is most

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or ever101 bides. This man hath honor,102 but his blotted blood shames him. This man nobility makes famous but, enclosed with need, rather unknown103 he chooseth. Another man having both, the sole104 life bewails. Another, for marriage happy, childless keeps his goods for another’ heir. Some joy with children,105 with tears bemoans the faults of son or daughter. No man therefore easily agrees with his fortune’s state. General to all, that the untried knows not, the expert abhorreth.106 Add too, withal, that each man hath a most delicate sense of his own felicity; and, without all hap to his beck,107 thrown down he is with any unwonted adversity, though in least matters. Such trifles they be that draws from happiest men the top of bliss. “How many be there, supposest thou, that would think them nearest heaven, if scraps of thy fortune hap to their share? This place, which thou thy banishment callest, is the inhabitants’ country. So, nothing is wretched but when it is thought so; and blessed is all luck that haps with sufferer’s ease.108 What man is so happy that hath given hand to impatience,109 that wisheth not his fortune changed? The sweetness of man’s life, with how many bitternesses is it mixed! Which, if they seemed to the enjoyer delightful, when he would, it is gone; therefore he may not keep it.110 The blessedness of mortal goods plainly is miserable, that neither perpetually dureth with the contented nor wholly delights the afflicted.111 Why do ye mortal men seek outwardly your felicity within you? Error and blindness

happy). delicate fastidious, dainty. without . . . . beck unless everything happens according to his whim. 108. with . . . ease “aequanimitate tolerantis” (with the equanimity of the one suffering it). 109. hath . . . impatience once he has given a hand to impatience. Elizabeth’s word-forword rendering of “dederit inpatientiae manus” may indicate her misunderstanding of its idiomatic sense, ‘has yielded to discontent.’ Alternatively, she may be employing the early modern idiom “give hands to,” in the sense of ‘consent to.’ 110. they . . . it they seemed “videatur” (it seems). Elizabeth initially makes plural “bitternesses” the subject, rather than singular “sweetness.” when . . . it A garbling of “tamen quo minus cum velit abeat retineri non possit” (yet it [the sweetness] cannot be prevented from leaving when it will). Elizabeth misconstrues “cum velit” (when it will) as referring to the enjoyer rather than the happiness enjoyed. 111. afflicted depressed, dejected; “anxios.”

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you. I will shew the shortly the thressholl15 of thy felicitie, Is there to the ought More precious than thy self? Nothing, quoth I. Then if thou be wise thou shalt possesse that Nether thou canst Lose, Nor fortune take away. And that thou Mayste Knowe felicitie Not to stand in happing chaunces, Consider it this. Yf happynes be thy the greatest good of Nature dwelling in lyuing by Reason nether is it greatest good hit nor it hit16 the greatest good that may be taken away, the cause it doth exceede that may Not so, It is manifest that fortunes ma change can Not attayne to the obtayning getting17 of bliss. Besydes, whom falling felicitie caryes, eyther knoWith haue her18 or seeth her Mutabilitie. Yf he be ignorant, What happy luck can blynde felicitie haue? Yf he Know it, he Must needes feare to Lose that he is sure can not be Kepte. His contynuall feare then, p depriuith his happyness. for or if he haue Lost, will he not care for it? for hit19 should it be a sLender good, that a Man will wold20 easely Lose. And because thou art the same that art persuaded and holdes it sure by many demonstrations, Mens Myndes not to be Mortall, and when it is playne, that chauncing feliciite the With21 bodies death is finished, No man can doubte, Can this bring felicitie, but rather all mortall folkes in deathes misery by22 deathes end is brought. Yf many We Knowe to haue sought the frute of bLessednes not only by death, but by Woes and tormentes, for that suerite May a how can the present lyfe may make them happy hoW whom Miserable the past passed tyme passed could not?

15. thressholl threshold. 16. hit Correction and insertion, and identical ones immediately following, in Elizabeth’s hand. 17. getting Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 18. her Insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 19. hit Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 20. wold Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 21. With Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 22. by Insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 112. threshold “cardinem”—literally, the hinge on which a door swings at the threshold, and, figuratively, the crucial factor. 113. “Nothing . . . I Elizabeth turns into direct discourse a response that Philosophy merely imputes to Boethius: “Nihil inquies” (Nothing, you will say). 114. wise “tui compos” (in control of yourself). 115. this Elizabeth occasionally uses “this” with the force of ‘thus’ in her writings. 116. of nature . . . so of nature . . . reason of a nature that lives by reason, of a rational creature (like a human being). nor it nor is it. [b]ecause “quoniam.” Windebank

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confounds you. I will show thee shortly the threshold112 of thy felicity. Is there to thee aught more precious than thyself?” “Nothing,” quoth I.113 “Then if thou be wise,114 thou shalt possess that neither thou canst lose nor Fortune take away. And, that thou mayst know felicity not to stand in happing chances, consider it this.115 If happiness be the greatest good of nature living by reason, nor it the greatest good that may be taken away, [b]ecause it doth exceed that may not so;116 it is manifest, that Fortune’s change cannot attain to the getting of bliss. Besides, whom falling felicity carries, either knoweth her or seeth117 her mutability. If he be ignorant, what happy luck can blind felicity have? If he know it, he must needs fear to lose that he is sure cannot be kept. His continual fear, then, depriveth his happiness. Or, if he have lost, will he not care for it?118 For it should be a slender good that a man would easily lose. And because thou art the same that art persuaded, and holds it sure by many demonstrations, men’s minds not to be mortal; and when it is plain, that chancing felicity with body’s death is finished, no man can doubt, can this bring felicity, but rather all mortal folks in misery by death’s end is brought.119 If many we know to have sought the fruit of blessedness not only by death but by woes and torments—for that how can the present life make them happy, whom miserable time passed could not?”120 evidently misheard “because” as “the cause.” it doth . . . so that which may not be taken away is superior (to that which can be taken away). 117. or seeth “vel nescit” (or does not know). Either Elizabeth or Windebank omitted a “not.” 118. will . . . it? “neglegendum putat?” (does he think it a negligible matter?). 119. and when . . . brought and when and since; “cumque” (with subjunctive). chancing . . . finished “fortuitam felicitatem corporis morte finiri” (the fortuitous happiness of the body is ended with death]. Elizabeth’s construal of “corporis” (of the body) with ‘morte’ (death) rather than with ‘felicitatem’ (happiness) is syntactically possible but weakens Boethius’s contrast between false bodily happiness and true happiness. can this . . . felicity that this (bodily happiness) can bring felicity. Pulmann’s 1562 edition reads “sed haec affere beatudinem potest” (but that this can bring happiness). “Sed” is an error, corrected in 1580, to the standard reading, “si” (if). The sense, obscured by Pulmann, is that even if bodily pleasure brings happiness, such happiness ends in death. is brought “labatur” (falls). 120. for . . . how because how . . . ? miserable . . . not time passed could not make miserable. time passed Renders “quae . . . transacta,” referring to the passing of what only seems to be happiness.

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4. Myter Who warely a Lasting seat wiL setteL Who lasting WyL Wary setteL seat, And stable not of Roring Eurus blastz ben overcome won, And Careth skornes the waues of thretning Sea Shuns Soking Sandes and top of hiest mount One in the froWard Southe With alL his affrightz The other Lovsed23 refuse A hanging Waight to beare flying perillous Lot Of pleasantz Seat On LoWe stone remember thy house sure to place Thogh Wynd blowe Myxing Waters to botom Thou happy plast in strengh Of quietz Rampar Easy happy shalt Liue And smiLe at Skies Wrathe

[5]

[10]

[15]

[20]

23. Lovsed loosed. 121. Who . . . seat Who, as a wary person, wishes to establish a lasting home. 122. Eurus’ . . . won Eurus’ the Southeast wind’s. been won to be overcome by; “been” with the past participle was a sixteenth-century form of the passive infinitive. 123. careth scorn takes care to avoid; “Curat spernere.” 124. soaking sands “bibulas . . . . harenas.” In this context, ‘thirsty (desert) sands,’ though “bibulas” can mean ‘sodden.’ Elizabeth reverses the sequence of mountain and sands.

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Meter 4 Who lasting will, Wary, settle seat,121 And stable, not of roaring Eurus’ blasts been won;122 And careth scorn123 The waves of threat’ning sea, Shuns soaking sands,124 And top of highest mount. One, the froward South, With all his affrights;125 The other, loosed, refuse A hanging weight to bear.126 Flying perilous lot Of pleasant’st seat, On low stone, remember Thy house sure127 to place. Though wind blow, Mixing waters to bottom, Thou, happy placed in strength Of quiet’s rampart,128 Happy shalt live, And smile at sky’s wrath.

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125. One . . . affrights “Illud protervus Auster / Totis viribus urget” (The one—i.e., the mountaintop as prospective building site—the vehement South wind / Drives at with all its violent force). Elizabeth’s couplet lacks a verb, though perhaps “affrights” does double duty as a noun rendering “viribus” and a verb rendering “urget.” 126. The other . . . bear “Hae pendulum solutae / Pondus ferre recusant” (The others [desert sands], loosened, / Refuse to bear a heavy-hanging weight). loosed loosened. 127. sure “certus” (certain, confident). Elizabeth’s “sure” may refer to the “sure” or ‘confident’ person, as in Boethius, or to the “sure” or ‘safe’ home. 128. happy . . . rampart “conditus quieti / Felix robore valli” (Settled in quiet, / Happy in the strength of a rampart).

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5. Prose. But because the fomentations of my reason haue entred in the, I suppose I must Vse som stronger remedies. Go to. yf now the giftes of fortune be Not fLeeting and changeable, What is ther that eyther thou canst make thyne, or if thou seest and perceuist, Wilt not dispise? Are riches eyther thyne or by their Nature pretious? What is the golde therof? but heape of gathered pence? And such as shynes More with their spending than with their heapes. hatefull Men doth Auarice macke,24 but bountie Noble. And if it can Not byde by A Man that is giuen to An other, Than Monny is most pretious When turnd to others by Vs Liberall Vse, hath lost the possession. The same, if but with one abyde, from hoW Many it be pluckt, the rest it leaves full Needy. The fame therof fills Many mens eares, but Riches not distributed may Not passe to Many: Which when they ha it is don, they must Make poWer poorer Whom they leave. O sKant and needy riches, Which neyther is all to gain is not lawfull for Many to haue and com not to Any one without they begger of the rest. Doo Jewels luster drawe thyne eyes? Yf Any beauty they haue, it is the stones be light not Mens; Which I muse why men so admire. for What is there that wantes a spirit and lymmes partage, that Justly May seeme fayre to the Myndes and Reasons nature? Which tho as Creators goodes and his diuisions, may draw som Later beaut beauty, placed it Vnder your Worth, no way deserue your Wonder. doo sick mens palenes please 24. macke make. 129. some stronger somewhat stronger; “paulo validioribus.” This sense of “some” with a comparative was common in sixteenth-century English. 130. Go . . . despise? Go to An exhortation with the force of ‘Come, now!’—equivalent to Boethius’s “age.” if now . . . not fleeting Elizabeth’s hypothetical renders Boethius’s contrary-to-fact “si . . . caduca . . . not essent” (if they were not fleeting [but they are]). what . . . despise? Elizabeth substitutes indicatives for subjunctives. canst . . . thine “vestrum . . . fieri queat” (could become yours). if thou . . . perceivest “perspectum consideratumque” ([when] thoroughly inspected and considered). wilt not despise “non . . . vilescat” (would not become worthless). 131. What . . . pence Pulmann’s edition reads “Quid earum potius, aerumne an vis congestae pecuniae?” (What exactly of riches [is precious]: the gold itself or the value of the heaped-up money?). 132. noble illustrious, celebrated; “clarus” (famous). 133. hath . . . possession “desinit possideri” (it ceases to be possessed). 134. The same . . . needy The same thing, money, if it were to stay with just one man: from as many people as it were plucked, it would leave them all poor. Elizabeth’s “from

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Prose 5 “But because the fomentations of my reason have entered in thee, I suppose I must use some stronger129 remedies. Go to, if now the gifts of Fortune be not fleeting and changeable, what is there that either thou canst make thine, or, if thou seest and perceivest, wilt not despise?130 Are riches either thine, or by their nature precious? What is the gold thereof, but heap of gathered pence?131 And such as shines more with their spending than with their heaps: hateful, men doth avarice make; but bounty, noble.132 And if it cannot bide by a man, that is given to another, then money is most precious when, turned to others by liberal use, hath lost the possession.133 The same, if but with one abide, from how many it be plucked, the rest it leaves full needy.134 The fame thereof fills many men’s ears,135 but riches, not distributed, may not pass to many: which, when it is done, they must make poorer whom they leave. O scant and needy riches, which all to gain is not lawful for many, and come not to anyone, without they beggar the rest. “Do jewels’ luster draw thine eyes? If any beauty they have, it is the stones’ light, not men’s, which I muse why men so admire. For what is there that wants a spirit and limbs’ partage that justly may seem fair to the mind’s and reason’s nature?136 Which though, as Creator’s goods and His divisions may draw some latter beauty,137 placed under your worth, no way deserve your wonder. Do sick men’s paleness please

how many it be plucked” misconstrues “si . . . quanta est ubique gentium congeratur” (if . . . however much money there is everywhere in the world were heaped together). 135. The fame . . . ears “Et vox quidem tota pariter multorum replet auditum” (And a voice fills the hearing of many equally). Boethius’s point is that, unlike money, a sound need not be divided to reach many people. 136. wants . . . nature wants . . . partage Like most sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s edition reads “carens animae motu atque membrorum compage” (lacking the movement of a living spirit and a structure of limbs). wants lacks. limbs’ partage apportioning into limbs; the OED treats Elizabeth’s “partage” as a mistranslation of “compages” (structure). mind’s . . . nature “animatae rationabilique naturae” (to a living and rational nature). Elizabeth confuses “animatae” (living) with “animi” (of the mind). 137. as . . . beauty as . . . goods “conditoris opera” (by the effort of the Creator); Elizabeth mistakes “opera” with long a, the ablative of means of “opera” (activity, effort, work), for “opera” with short a, the nominative plural of “opus” (handiwork, achievement). and . . . divisions “suique distinctione” (by their difference [in appearance]). some . . . beauty “postremae aliquid pulchritudinis” (something of the last—i.e., lowest—

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you? What the els for it is a fayre portion of a goodly Woork. So somtymes We delite in face of smothest sea. So doo we Vew the heauen, the starres, sonne and Moone. doo Any of these touch the? darest thou boste at any of their Lusters? A Shalt thou be poynted out for the fLorishing springes sake, or shall thy plenty increase to sommer frutes? Why art thou drawne with Vayne Joyes? Why dost thou cherish others goodes for thyne? Fortune shall neuer Neuer make those thyne, that nature hath made other folkes? The earthes frutes doutles be due to best Nourishment, Yf thou Wilt fill the Neede that Nature Requires, thou Needest not seeke fortunes plenty. for with few or little nature is contented. Whose Ynough if thou Wilt make to Much, that Noyful Noyfull and Vnpleasant to taste Will make: But now Thou brinkest thinkest it beautifull to shyne With diuers garmentes, Whose show yf it please the eye, eyther they Will wonder at Nature of the substance, or the Witt of the Craftesman. But shall the long trayne of Many serVantes happy the, Who if they be of Vile condition, it is an yll burden for the house, and most fo foe to his Lord: but if euill good they be, how canst thou sett other mens Vertue among thy goodes? by Which all, It is playne seene, that those thou reckenst for thy goodes, is are none of thyne: In which if ther be No beauty obteyned got, What is it that thou waylest for losse, or Joyest to haue haue? If by nature they be fayre. What carest thou, for such thinges of themselves separated from thy substance should haue pleased. for precious they be Not to haue com among thy ryches: but because they Were precious, thou chosedst rather place them among among them. Why, Lack you fortunes

beauty). latter last—here, in the sense of last in estimation; “postremae.” Windebank’s spelling, “later,” is ambiguous. 138. Do . . . you? Elizabeth was misled by an error in her source. Pulmann’s 1562 edition reads nonsensically: “An vos aegrotumque [i.e., aegrotorumque] pulchritudo delectat?” (And does the beauty of sick men delight you?), corrected in 1580 to the standard reading, “agrorum pulchritudo” (beauty of fields). 139. What . . . goodly What else? Certainly; “quidni?” See book 1, n198. of . . . goodly of a good-looking; “pulcherrimi” (of the most beautiful). 140. others’ . . . thine “externa bona pro tuis” (others’ / outward goods as if they were your own). 141. beast’ “animantium” (of living creatures). “Beast” in early modern English could refer to any living being. Windebank wrote “best,” an early modern spelling of “beast.” Either Elizabeth intended an uninflected possessive “beast’” or she dictated “beasts’” and Windebank misheard.

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you?138 What else? for it is a fair portion of a goodly139 work. So, sometimes, we delight in face of smoothest sea; so do we view the heaven, the stars, sun, and moon. Do any of these touch thee? Darest thou boast at any of their lusters? Shalt thou be pointed out for the flourishing spring’s sake, or shall thy plenty increase to summer fruits? Why art thou drawn with vain joys? Why dost thou cherish others’ goods for thine?140 Fortune shall never, never make those thine, that Nature hath made other folks’. The earth’s fruits doubtless be due to beast’141 nourishment. If thou wilt fill the need that Nature requires, thou needest not seek Fortune’s plenty. For with few or little, Nature is contented. Whose ‘Enough’ if thou wilt make ‘Too much,’ that ’noyful and unpleasant to taste142 will make. “But now, thou thinkest it beautiful to shine with divers garments, whose show, if it please the eye, either they will wonder143 at nature of the substance or the wit of the craftsman. But shall the long train of many servants happy thee,144 who, if they be of vile condition, it is an ill burden for the house and most foe to his lord. But if good they be, how canst thou set other men’s virtue among thy goods? By which all, it is plain seen, that those thou reckonest for thy goods, are none of thine. In which, if there be no beauty got, what is it that145 thou wailest for loss or joyest to have? If by nature they be fair, what carest thou? For such things of themselves, separated from thy substance, should have pleased. For precious they be, not to have come among thy riches but, because they were precious, thou chosedest rather place them among them.146

142. ’noyful . . . taste “aut iniucundum quod infuderis fiet aut noxium” (what you shall have poured in will become either unpleasant or harmful). Elizabeth reverses two adjectives and turns “or . . . or” into “and.” ’noyful aphetic form of “annoyful,” meaning ‘annoying’ or ‘harmful.’ to taste Elizabeth plausibly takes “quod infuderis” (what you shall have poured in) as referring specifically to food and drink. 143. they . . . wonder the lookers-on will wonder (?); “mirabor” (I will wonder). 144. happy thee make thee happy. 145. got . . . that got “appetendae” (to be sought). what . . . that word-for-word rendering of “quid est quod” (what does it mean that?; why?). 146. not . . . them not . . . come i.e., not because they came. were precious “pretiosa videbantur” (seemed precious). thou . . . them you chose to place these precious things among your own riches.

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exclamation? I beleeue you seeke to beate away beggery with plenty: but this happes aWry, for ye had neede of Many helpes to preserue the Variety of deere goodes, And this is true: that they neede Many, that possesse muche. And agayne they lack leste, that nether mesure their oWn abundance by Natures necessitie, not Ambitions greedynes. But is it so? Is there [no]25 proper good ingraft in you of your own, that you should seeke it in outwar[d] and meane matter? Is the World so changed that the diuine Creature for Reason sake should no otherWise florish but that it neede possession of domm Ware? And all other thinges contented be with their oWne, but We he we lyke god of Mynde, shall We take the ornaments of excellent Nature from Basse thinges? Nor shall We not Vnderstand how the much therby We Iniure our Creatour? he wold haue Vs exceede all earthly thinges, You But We you throWese your Worth Among basest stuff, for if euery mans possession seemes more deere that it is his oWne, When the Meanest thinges the best you doo your own you Judge Wrong, to them you yeld y[ou] With your worthe: prising Which nott Without desert happs. for this is the state of humayn nature, that then it exceedes all other, Whan it self it KnoWes, but is made baser than Very beastes, if to KnoW it self, it leave. for naturall it is for other beastes not KnoW themselves, In man it is a Vice. how farre stretchith your arroWe, erroure Which doo supposte to be deckt with other mens ornamentes? for yf mu of outward thinges, Any lyke be had, those be praysde from Whence they cam: but if ought ther be

25. [no] The paper is torn away at the right margin of fol. 31r. We explain our emendation in n149 of our modern-spelling version. 147. Why . . . exclamation? Elizabeth renders “Quid autem tanto fortunae strepitu desideratis?” (What of Fortune, therefore, do you demand with such loud noise?). She construes the genitive “fortunae” with “strepitu” instead of “quid,” yielding “Fortune’s exclamation,” but it is unclear how she might have understood this phrase. lack miss. 148. ambition’s greediness “ambitus superfluitate” (by excess of ambition). 149. [no] The paper is torn away at the right margin of fol. 31r, where only the first stroke of n remains visible; Boethius reads “nullum” at this point. Reconstruction in the following instances, “outwar[d]” and “y[ou],” is equally straightforward. 150. mean “sepositis” (in remote). “Sepositus” can also mean, however, ‘choice, select, sumptuous,’ and Elizabeth probably construed the adjective as Lady Philosophy’s irony— hence, “mean.” 151. divine . . . ware divine . . . sake the creature who is divine on account of reason; “divinum merito rationis animal.” should . . . flourish Loosely renders “non aliter sibi splendere . . . videatur” (should appear splendid to himself in no other way). of . . . ware of senseless stuff; “inanimatae supellectilis” (of lifeless belongings).

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“Why lack you Fortune’s exclamation?147 I believe you seek to beat away beggary with plenty. But this haps awry, for ye had need of many helps to preserve the variety of dear goods. And this is true, that they need many, that possess much, and again they lack least, that measure their own abundance by Nature’s necessity, not ambition’s greediness.148 But is it so? Is there [no]149 proper good engraft in you of your own, that you should seek it in outwar[d] and mean150 matter? Is the world so changed, that the divine creature for reason’ sake should no otherwise flourish, but that it need possession of dumb ware?151 And all other things contented be with their own, but we, like God, of mind, shall we take the ornaments of excellent nature from base things, nor shall not understand how much thereby we injure our Creator?152 He would have us exceed all earthly things, but you throw your worth among153 basest stuff. For if every man’s possession seems more dear that it is his own,154 when the meanest things your own you judge, to them you yield y[ou] with your prizing, which not without desert haps.155 “For this is the state of human nature, that then it exceeds all other when itself it knows, but is made baser than very beasts, if to know itself it leave. For natural it is for other beasts not know themselves; in man it is a vice. How far stretcheth your error, which do suppose to be decked with other men’s ornaments?156 For if of outward things any like be had, those be praised from whence they came; but if aught

152. And . . . Creator? Boethius’s clauses are statements. we . . . we . . . we . . . our “vos,” “vestro” (you, your). Elizabeth seems to have forgotten that the speaker is the personified abstraction, Philosophy. the . . . things “ab rebus infimis excellentis naturae ornamenta” (ornaments from the lowest things for your own excellent nature). Elizabeth construes “excellentis nature,” a genitive used with dative sense, common in late Latin, as a possessive genitive. 153. us . . . among us “genus humanum” (humankind). among “infra” (below). 154. For . . . own “Nam si omne cuiusque bonum eo cuius est constat esse pretiosius” (For if it is manifest that any good belonging to any person is more valuable than he whose good it is). 155. the meanest . . . haps the meanest . . . judge “vilissima rerum vestra bona esse iudicatis” (you judge the cheapest things to be your goods). to . . . haps to them you submit yourself—as inferior—in your own estimation, which often happens not undeservedly. prizing valuing. 156. with . . . ornaments “ornamentis . . . alienis” (with alien ornaments). Elizabeth does not translate the immediately following phrase, “At id fieri nequit” (But that cannot be).

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hid or VnknoWen, bydes in his oWn spot. but I deny that is good, that harmes the hauer. doo I saye Vntruth? No, Wilt thou saye, And riches myght oft haue harmed their owners Whan ech Wicked man, to harme them oWneres (and therfore greedier of others goodes) hath that thought him only Woorthyest, that hath obtaynd golde or Jewelles. Thou that by the speare and sword carefully hast feared, if Wandering empty man, of this of lyfe parte thou the path hadst enterd, afore a theefe woldest sing, O beautfull hap of Mortall goodes, Which when thou hast taken, sure thou art hath left the / 5. M[yter]. happy to muche the formar Age With faithfil fild Content Not Lost by sLuggy Lust that Wontz the Long fastz son got Acorne to Louse by Sone graine that knew not baccus giftz With molten hony mixed Serike Shining flise Nor Sirchet With tirius venom die26 gracce grasse Sound Slipes27 Gaue the herbes ther drink the Running streme Shades gaue the hiest pine not The depth of Sea the fadomd not dryed

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26. Serike . . . die Serike Seric. flise fleece. die dye. 27. Slipes sleeps. 157. if of . . . spot if of . . . came “si quid ex appositis luceat, ipsa quidem quae sunt apposita laudantur” (if something should glitter because of its trappings, it is the trappings that are praised). like liking, good pleasure. but . . . spot “illud vero his tectum atque velatum in sua nihilo minus foeditate perdurat” (but what is covered and hidden by them—the trappings—remains nonetheless in its own foulness). bides . . . spot remains in its own blemished state. 158. hath thought . . . jewels “quidquid usquam auri gemmarumque est se solum qui habeat dignissimum putat” (thinks that that he alone is worthiest to have whatever gold and gems exist anywhere). 159. if . . . man if as a wandering, destitute man; “si . . . vacuus viator” (if as an empty-handed traveler). empty destitute. 160. which . . . thee “quam cum adeptus fueris securus esse desistis” (which, when you have gained, you cease to be safe). sure surety, security. Like her contemporaries, Elizabeth sometimes makes an adjective function as a noun.

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there be hid or unknown, bides in his own spot.157 But I deny that is good, that harms the haver. Do I say untruth? ‘No,’ wilt thou say. And riches oft have harmed their owners, when each wicked man (and therefore greedier of others’ goods) hath thought him only worthiest, that hath obtained gold or jewels.158 Thou that the spear and sword carefully hast feared: if wandering, empty man,159 of life the path hadst entered, afore a thief wouldst sing, ‘O beautiful hap of mortal goods,’ which, when thou hast taken, sure hath left thee!’ ”160

Meter 5 Happy too much the former age, With faithful field, content; Not lost by sluggy lust161 That wonts the long fasts To loose by soon-got acorn;162 That knew not Bacchus’ gifts With molten163 honey mixed; Nor Seric, shining fleece, With Tyre’s venom dye.164 Sound sleeps gave the grass; Their drink the running stream; Shades gave the highest pine. The depth of sea they fathomed not,165

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161. lost . . . lust lost ruined; “perdita.” by . . . lust by sluggish pleasure; “inerti . . . luxu” (in slothful excess). 162. wonts . . . acorn wonts wonted, used to (historical present); “solebat.” acorn A food traditionally associated with preagricultural times, conceived here as the Golden Age; see book 1, meter 6, line 6. 163. molten dissolved in liquid; “liquido.” Honeyed wine was a Roman luxury. 164. Nor . . . dye “Nec lucida vellera Serum / Tyrio miscere veneno” (Nor shining fleeces of silk / To dye with Tyrian dye). Seric Chinese, silken. The OED gives no pre-nineteenthcentury instances, and Elizabeth may have coined the adjective from the Latin counterpart, “Sericus.” Boethius’s noun cognate is “Serum.” venom dye, cognate with “veneno.” Both the English and Latin may suggest another meaning, ‘poison,’ since Tyrian dye, from the Phoenician city of Tyre (in modern Lebanon), figured for the Romans a catastrophic fall into luxury. 165. The . . . not “Nondum maris alta secabat” (Not yet did he [man in the Golden Age] cleave the sea’s deep).

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Nor Wares Chosen from fur Made Stranger find new Shores, Than Wer Nauies StiL Nor bloudshed by CrueL hatez had fearful Weapons staned What first fury to foes shuld any armes Rayse Whan CrueL Woundz he Saw and no ReWard for bloude, Wold God agane Our formar time to Wonted maners feL but Gridy getting Loue burnes Sorar than Etena with her flames O Who the first man Was of hiden Gold. the Waight Or Gemmes that Willing Lurkt The deare danger digdt28

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6. Pr[ose] What shal I dispute of Dignities and rule Wiche you ignorant of true dignitie worth and poWer Withe t the skies do mache, wiche happening to any Wicked man What Etnas fire with brusting fLames or What deluge Suche ruine makes, Surely as I thinke you remember how Consulz rule beginar of liberty for ther pride our fathers soght to put

28. O . . . digdt Elizabeth wrote lines 27–30 vertically in the left margin of fol. 31v after running out of horizontal space on this page for the poem’s full text. 166. Nor . . . shores “Nec mercibus undique lectis / Nova litora viderat hospes” (Nor with merchandise gathered from everywhere / Did he as a stranger see unknown shores). Elizabeth spells out the causal connection between foreign merchandise and foreign travel. 167. navies still navies “classica” (trumpet signals to begin battle), which Elizabeth confuses with “classes” (navies). still silent; “tacebant.” 168. fearful weapons Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s reads “horrida . . . arma” (frightful arms). Modern editions read “horrida . . . arva” (scrubby fields). 169. Would . . . fell “Utinam modo nostra redirent / In mores tempora priscos” (If only our times might return / To the ancient ways). Elizabeth’s obscure formulation seems to express Boethius’s wish in an opposite fashion: rather than wishing that present times might return to past ways, she wishes that the past (“our former time”) would come again and

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Nor wares chosen from far, Made stranger find new shores.166 Then were navies still;167 Nor blood shed by cruel hate Had fearful weapons168 stained. What first fury to foes should Any arms raise, When cruel wounds he saw, And no reward for blood? Would God, again our former time To wonted manners fell!169 But greedy-getting love burns Sorer than Aetna with her flames. O who the first man was Of hidden gold, the weight, Or gems that willing lurked, The dear danger digged?170

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Prose 6 “What shall I dispute of dignities and rule, which you, ignorant of true worth and power, with the skies do match?171 Which, happening to any wicked man,172 what Aetna’s fire with bursting flames or what deluge such ruin makes? Surely, as I think you remember, how consuls’ rule, beginner of liberty, for their pride our fathers sought to

bring its “wonted manners” into the present. Would God A Christian equivalent of “utinam modo” (would that only). wonted accustomed, perhaps with implication of once accustomed; “priscos” (ancient). fell would (be)fall. 170. that . . . digged? that . . . lurked “latere volentes” (wishing to lie in hiding). dear . . . digged? The alliteration parallels “Pretiosa pericula fodit?” ([Who] dug the perilous precious things?). 171. which . . . match which you An exact rendering of Pulmann’s reading, “quas you” (which you). The reference is to the two preceding qualities, “dignities” and “rule.” Modern editions read variously “quas,” “qua,” “quae,” with correspondingly different senses. with . . . match “caelo exaequatis” (you place on a level with heaven). match treat as equal with. 172. Which . . . man Which i.e., dignities and rule. Continuative relative pronouns, e.g., “which” and “the which,” placed at the beginning of sentences, are a frequent linking device in sixteenth-century English prose. wicked man “improbissimum” (worst man).

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doWne, Who for Like faulte out of the Citie the name of kings Abolisshed, but if sometime as Seldom haps, honors On Good men be bestoWed, What aught elz in them doth please than Vsars goodnis, So haps29 that honour is not giuen to Vertue for her worth, but Vertue esteemd for by dignitie. but What is this, your craved and beautifull force? Do you vp Not see hoW earthly be the bestes that you Rule, for euin Among the myse yf ye see Any one chalinging rule or gouuernment aboue the rest, what a Laughter doo ye mooue? but What if ye haue respect to the body? What can be Weaker than man, Whom somtyme the byt of a flye and somtyme the passage an hidden path into Any secret parte May destroye What Rule hath How farre oght stretch that ought any man stretch the Rule of aught ouer on the body alone alone can and his circumstances, fortune I meane can satisfie? fortune her self? Will you euer guide ought with free mynde, and Will ye remooue the same sticking to her self by good reason, fro the state of from the state of fro fro her oWn quiet? When a tyrant thought to afflicte A poore Man With his tormentes to confesse the Knowers of a conspiracy against him, his tongue he byt and threw it away, throWing it to the face of the Wicked tyrant, So the torture that he supposde to Make stuff for his cruelty, a Wise man Made for his Vertue. for What is it that Any Man can doo to Any other, that to be don to himself can he beare?

29. What shal I . . . So haps The opening lines of prose 6 are in Elizabeth’s hand. 173. consuls’ . . . abolished The expulsion of the Roman kings was traditionally dated to the inception of the dual consulships about 509 B.C.E. The power of the aristocratic consuls was subsequently challenged by the growing power of the tribunes of the people, an office instituted in 495 B.C.E. 174. honor . . . dignity “non virtutibus ex dignitate sed ex virtute dignitatibus honor accedat” (honor comes not to the virtues because of the office, but to the office because of the virtue [of its holder]). Elizabeth says almost the opposite of Boethius, perhaps because she construes “dignitas” / “dignity” more positively than he does. 175. craved . . . force “vestra expetibilis ac praeclara potentia” (your so desired and splendid power). 176. Do . . . rule? “Nonne, o terrena animalia, consideratis quibus qui praesidere videamini?” (Do you not consider, O earthly beings, over whom you seem to rule?). 177. challenging . . . move challenging . . . government “ius sibi ac potestatem . . . vindicantem” (claiming for himself legal authority and power). challenging laying claim to, demanding as a right. what . . . move “quanto movereris cachinno” (how much you would be moved by laughter). 178. ye . . . to you give heed to by looking at; “spectes” (you should consider).

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put down, who for like fault out of the city the name of kings abolished.173 But if sometime, as seldom haps, honors on good men be bestowed, what else in them doth please than users’ goodness? So haps that honor is not given to virtue for her worth, but virtue esteemed by dignity.174 “But what is this your craved and beautiful force?175 Do you not see how earthly be the beasts that you rule?176 For, even among the mice, if ye see any one challenging rule or government above the rest, what a laughter do ye move!177 But what if ye have respect to178 the body? What can be weaker than man, whom sometime the bite of a fly, and sometime the hidden path into any secret part, may destroy?179 How far ought any man stretch the rule on the body alone, and his circumstances—I mean, Fortune herself?180 Will you ever guide aught with free mind?181 And will ye remove the same, sticking to herself by good reason, from the state of her own quiet? When a tyrant thought to afflict a poor man with his torments to confess the knowers of a conspiracy against him, his tongue he bit and threw away,182 throwing it to the face of the wicked tyrant: so the torture that he supposed to make stuff for his cruelty, a wise man made for his virtue. For what is it that any man can do to any other, that to be done to himself can he bear?183 Busidides, we hear, was wont his guests to kill, slain himself

179. whom . . . destroy “saepe muscularum quoque vel morsus vel in secreta quaeque reptantium necat introitus” (whom often even either the bite of little flies or the entrance of a creeping thing into any recess kills). 180. How . . . herself? This sentence has been heavily revised in the manuscript; see our original-spelling version. Pulmann’s edition reads “Quo vero quisquam ius aliquod in quempiam nisi in solum corpus et quod infra corpus est, fortunam loquor, possit exercere? (How could anyone exercise any authority over anyone else, except over his body or what is inferior to his body—I mean, his fortune?). Elizabeth’s translation is puzzling; probably she read “exercere” (exercise, exert) as “exerere” construed as ‘stretch.’ She then sought to fit the rest of the passage to that sense. 181. Will . . . mind Pulmann’s edition reads “Num quidquam umquam libero imperabis animo?” (Will you ever command anything to a free mind?). guide Probably in the early modern sense of ‘lead’ or ‘command,’ equivalent to “imperabis.” 182. poor . . . away poor man “liberum quendam virum” (a certain free man). This self-mutilator, as Renaissance commentators noted, could be either Zeno of Elea (Plutarch Moralia 505D; Diogenes Laertius Lives of the Philosophers 9.27) or Anaxarchus (Valerius Maximus Factorum et dictorum memorabilium libri 3.3.4; Diogenes Laertius Lives of the Philosophers 9.59). threw away “abscidit” (cut off ). 183. For . . . bear? “Quid autem est quod in alium facere quisque possit, quod sustinere ab alio ipse non possit?” (What is there that anyone is able to do to any man, which

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Bucidides We heare, was Wont his guestes to Kyll, sLayne himself by hercules his host. Regulus cast many prisoners into yrons in the punik Warr, but straight himself sett handes on Victorerers chaynes. dost thou think his poWre ought, Whyl as What himself May, in any other can not lett that An other should doo him? Besides if euin in Souueraynties and poWres, ther should be Any 1 naturall and proper good, neuer be should they hap to Wicked. for contrarieties seld consorte. Nature denyes that contrarieties disagreings30 be Joyned. Wherfore When playn it is that Many men beare greate office, this is sure that of their natures, good they be not, that will good, wiche31 stick to Wickedst folke. The greatest Worth that fortunes guiftes Woorthyest can giue, be such As in Abondant sort to Wicked folkes do hap , Who so few fruct quiknes quicknes hath, it Maketh a Man, hit swift a man doth make32 So Musick the Musicall, phisick the Phisician, Retorik Rhetoricians Makith. for the nature of ech Man thing doth his propertie, nor is Myxt With effect of contrarietie. And freely dryves expells that is against it: Nether can riches Vnsaciable auarice refrayne, nor makes Not fere free his own whom Vitious Lust lust with Vnbroken chaynes, holdes bound, And dignitie on Wicked bestoWde, not only makes them Not worthy, but betrayes and discouers their indignitie. Why doth it hap so? You Joye somtyme to falsifie with other Name, Whose effect shames themselves. Wherfore neither those riches, nor same

he is not able himself to bear being done to him by another man?). Elizabeth would have translated accurately with ‘can he not bear?’ Either she or Windebank inadvertently omitted a “not.” 30. disagreings Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 31. good, wiche Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 32. a . . . make These four words are in Elizabeth’s hand. 184. Busidides . . . host Busidides The dealings of Busiris, king of Egypt, and Hercules are narrated in Hyginus Fabulae 31.2. host “hospes” can mean guest or host; Hercules was in fact the guest. 185. Regulus . . . chains Regulus, hero of the first Punic war (264–41 B.C.E.), was captured by the Carthaginians, who sent him to Rome to argue for a peace treaty. Returning to Carthage as he had sworn to do, he argued against the treaty and was grimly executed; see Cicero De officiis 3.99 and Aulus Gellius Noctae Atticae 6.4. set . . . chains “victorum catenis manus praebuit” (submitted his hands to his captors’ chains). 186. what . . . let what . . . may who what he himself may do. let prevent. 187. when . . . to when since. men Elizabeth omits the adjective “pessimos” (the most wicked men). stick to “se . . . haerere patiantur” (allow themselves to stick).

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by Hercules, his host.184 Regulus cast many prisoners into irons in the Punic war, but straight himself set hands on victorers’ chains.185 Dost thou think his power aught, what himself may, cannot let186 that another should do him? “Besides, if even in sovereignties and powers there should be any one natural and proper good, never should they hap to wicked, for contrarieties seld consort. Nature denies that disagreeings be joined. Wherefore when plain it is that many men bear great office, this is sure, that of their nature they be not good, which stick to187 wickedest folk. The greatest worth that Fortune’s gifts worthiest can give, be such as in abundant sort to wicked folks do hap.188 Whoso quickness hath, it swift a man doth make;189 so music the musical, physic the physician, rhetoric rhetoricians maketh. For the nature of each thing doth his property,190 nor is mixed with effect of contrariety, and freely expels that is against it. Neither can riches unsatiable avarice refrain; nor makes not free, his own, whom vicious lust with unbroken191 chains holds bound. And dignity on wicked bestowed not only makes them not worthy, but betrays and discovers their indignity.192 “Why doth it hap so? You joy sometime to falsify with other name, whose effect shames themselves.193 Wherefore neither those ‘riches,’ nor same ‘power,’ nor like ‘dignity’ can by right be called.

188. The . . . hap The . . . give “Quod quidem de cunctis fortunae muneribus dignius existimari potest” (The same can be very worthily judged true of all the gifts of Fortune). hap Elizabeth does not translate the immediately following sentence: “De quibus illud etiam considerandum puto, quod nemo dubitat esse fortem, cui fortitudinem inesse conspexerit” (About which I think this too is to be considered, that no one doubts him to be brave, in whom he sees bravery to be present). 189. it . . . make “manifestum est esse velocem” (it is clear that he is swift). 190. doth . . . property does what is proper to it; “agit . . . quod proprium est.” property peculiar or exclusive attribute. 191. nor . . . unbroken nor . . . own i.e., nor does it make free [and] his own [man]. Elizabeth omits the subject of Boethius’s claim, “potestas” (power). nor . . . not emphatic double negative. free, his own Two renderings of “sui compotem” (in command of himself). unbroken “insolubilibus” (unbreakable), a postclassical usage. 192. indignity unworthiness; “indignos.” 193. sometime . . . themselves sometime Elizabeth’s addition. other name Elizabeth omits Boethius’s phrase concerning the object of falsification, “res sese aliter habentes” (things that are otherwise). whose . . . themselves “quae facile ipsarum rerum redarguuntur effectu” (which [false names] easily are contradicted by the effect of the things themselves).

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poWre, nor lyke dignitie, can by right be be called. Lastly, the same We may conclude of all fortune, that hath nothing in her nor it is playne to be desyrde, not of naturall goodnes, Who eyther Neuer accompanyes the good, Nor makes them good Whom she is neerest 6. M[yter] We knowe hoW many ruines made Whan flamed Citie and fathers sLain That tirant Who ons brother kild Imbrued with mothers bloude With Looke oVerVewed ther body Cold No teares bedewes his face, but was A domar was of dedded beautye the self same yet With Sceptar peple Ruled, Euin suche As Son espies going doWne at furdest West from the Orison Come Whom frosty Seuen stars OuerLookes Whom WrothfuL North with drie heat Affraies in Sithing of the burning Sandz Could aL his Lofty power at Lenghe Turne the rage of frantique Nero? O griVous hap Whan Wicked Sword To Cruel Venom Joingnes

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194. nothing . . . good nothing . . . goodness Elizabeth makes two items of “nihil nativae bonitatis” (nothing of native goodness). either never “nec . . . semper” (neither . . . always). the good “bonis”—in context, “good men.” 195. made . . . fathers made were made. fathers senators. 196. That tyrant Elizabeth’s term, rendering “qui . . . ferus” (he who was savage). Belatedly identified by name (line 15) for dramatic effect, the tyrant is Nero, Roman emperor from 54 to 68, who poisoned his stepbrother Britannicus in fear that he would become emperor, and murdered his mother Agrippina in 59. Tacitus (Annales 14.9) says that some reported that Nero, looking upon his dead mother, praised her beauty. 197. was . . . beauty was “esse . . . potuit” (was able to be); Boethius’s formulation emphasizes Nero’s abnormality. doomer a judge, derived from “to doom,” which could mean both ‘to judge’ in a neutral sense and ‘to consign to some adverse fate.’ Boethius reads “Censor” (judge, critic). deaded killed.

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Lastly, the same we may conclude of all Fortune, that hath nothing in her nor, it is plain, to be desired—not of natural goodness—who either never accompanies the good,194 nor makes them good whom she is nearest.”

Meter 6 We know how many ruins made, When flamèd city, and fathers195 slain; That tyrant196 who, once, brother killed; Imbrued with mother’s blood, With look o’erviewed her body cold: No tears bedews his face, but was A doomer of deaded beauty.197 The same yet with scepter people ruled: Ev’n such as Sun espies at furthest West From the horizon198 come; Whom frosty Seven Stars o’erlooks;199 Whom wrathful North with dry heat Affrays, in seething200 of the burning sands. Could all his lofty power, at length, Turn the rage of frantic201 Nero? O, grievous hap, when wicked sword To cruel venom joins.202

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198. at . . . horizon at . . . West “condens radios sub undas” (when sinking his rays under the waves). From . . . horizon “extremo . . . ab ortu” (from the farthest East). 199. Seven Stars “septem . . . triones” (seven plow-oxen), the seven stars that make up what is now known as the Big Dipper, in the constellation Ursa Major (the Great Bear). o’erlooks looks down upon from above, perhaps also with the sense of ‘despises’; “premunt” (they press down upon, afflict). 200. North . . . seething North the North wind, misrendering “Notus” (the South wind). Affrays “Torret” (burns), which Elizabeth confuses with “terret” (terrifies). seething boiling. 201. of frantic of insane. Pulmann’s edition reads “insani” (of insane). Modern editions and all other sixteenth-century editions consulted read “pravi” (of debased). 202. O . . . joins “quotiens iniquus / Additur saevo gladius veneno!” (How many times is the wicked sword added to cruel poison!).

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7. Pro[se] Then I Thou thy self knowest that No ambition of mortall thinges did Rule Vs We were Not guided by the Ambition pride33 of Any Mortall glory, but Wish a ground in our affayres, by Which silent Vertue should Not growe olde. Then she. This is that that Noble Myndes by nature but not yet brought by perfection to the Vttmost top of Vertue, might intice, I Meane Gloryes desyre and fame of best actes for common Welth: Which hoW small it is and empty of all Waight, consider this, As Astrologers demonstrations haue told you of, al the Earthes circle, it is playne, gess gettes som Meane to knoW these partes of the heauens face, that if it be matched with the greatnes of the celestiall globe, It is supposde to haue no space, And its is of this little region of the wor World, almost but the fourth portion, As thou hast he Lernede learnd by ptolomés graunte, which is inhabited by vs that knoWes much its inhabitans, by Creatures knoWen34 From this fourth if in thy mynde thou draw away, as much as Sea and Marish couers, and As so35 much As Wasted ground by dryeng drynes his hath dispended, distended36 the straytest roome is left for mans habitation. If in this so small a typple of title, the smallest a point of title,37 We be hedged in and inclosed, What think We so much of enlarging fame and name promoting? for What large

33. pride Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 34. by . . . knoWen Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 35. so Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 36. distended Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 37. title tittle. 203. no ambition “minimum . . . ambitionem” (the least ambition). 204. We . . . old We . . . glory Elizabeth’s addition. wish . . . old “materiam gerendis optavimus quo ne virtus tacita consenesceret” (we wished for matter of action, so that virtue [being] silent might not wither with age). wish Either Elizabeth or Windebank failed to render the past tense “optavimus” (we wished). a . . . affairs a basis for our conduct; “materiam gerendis.” 205. This . . . virtue This . . . that “Atqui hoc unum est” (Yet that is the only thing). to . . . virtue “ad extremam manum virtutum” (to the finishing touches of their virtues). 206. astrologers’ demonstrations astronomical proofs, rendering the cognate phrase “astrologicis demonstrationibus.” For both Boethius and Elizabeth, astrology—literally, the science of the stars—was not distinct from astronomy; in early modern England, astrology was generally conceived as the applied branch of astronomy. 207. all . . . with all . . . face “Omnem terrae ambitum. . . . ad caeli spatium puncti constat obtinere rationem” (it is certain that the entire circumference of our earth, [compared] to the extent of the heavens, occupies the ratio of a point). Boethius’s technical for-

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Prose 7 Then I: “Thou thyself knowest that no ambition203 of mortal things did rule us. We were not guided by the pride of any mortal glory; but wish a ground in our affairs, by which silent virtue should not grow old.”204 Then she: “This is that, that noble minds by nature, but not yet brought by perfection to the utmost top of virtue,205 might entice. I mean glory’s desire and fame of best acts for commonwealth— which, how small it is and empty of all weight, consider this. As astrologers’ demonstrations206 have told you: all the earth’s circle ([it] is plain) gets some mean to know these parts of the heavens’ face, that if it be matched with207 the greatness of the celestial globe, it is supposed to have no space. And it is of this little region of the world almost but the fourth portion, as thou hast learned by Ptolemy’s grant, which is inhabited: by us, creatures known.208 From this fourth, if in thy mind thou draw away as much as sea and marsh covers, and so much as wasted ground by dryness hath distended, the straitest room is left for man’s habitation. If, in this so small a point of tittle, we be hedged in and enclosed, what think we209 so much of enlarging fame, and name-promoting? For what large and magnific

mulation poses various difficulties. Elizabeth evidently construed “obtinere rationem” as ‘to attain a rational account’—hence her “gets some mean to know”—rather than in its geometrical sense of ‘occupies the ratio.’ She also construed “caeli spatium puncti” loosely to mean “parts of the heavens’ face.” [it] Either Elizabeth or Windebank mistakenly deleted the pronoun, which is needed as the subject of the parenthetical comment “constat” (it is plain). that if “id est, ut” (that is, if). matched with compared with, in respect of superiority. 208. by Ptolemy’s . . . known by . . . grant by Ptolemy’s acknowledgment. Elizabeth evidently construes “probante” in the ablative absolute, “Ptolomaeo probante” (by Ptolemy’s proof) in its sense of ‘assenting to’ rather than in its contextually more relevant sense of ‘proving.’ Ptolemy Claudius Ptolemaeus, Alexandrian astronomer and geographer (second century C.E.). by us . . . known “nobis cognitis animantibus” (by creatures known to us). Elizabeth’s Latinate word order leaves unclear whether she is reproducing Boethius’s meaning or whether she misconstrues him as meaning “by us, (who are) the only known creatures.” The revisions in our original-spelling text reveal Elizabeth’s uncertainty regarding this passage. 209. so . . . we so . . . tittle “hoc . . . minimo puncti quodam puncto” (this as it were smallest point of a point). tittle dot, minuscule point. we . . . we Boethius has second-person plural constructions. what why.

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and magnifick thing hath gLory sl bounde in so straight and small lymites? Ad to this that though but small, it self is enuirond is with habitation of many Nations, tongues and conditions that in all trade of lyfe differs. To which not only no report of ech man, but ni Not of Cities, can com through hardnes of Way and difference of speeche, and diuers traffik. In Marcus Tullius tyme as he himself in place hath sayde, the fame of Romayn Empire Neuer past Caucasus Mounte, and yet it was florishing and fearfull to the parthians and to all peeple inhabiting such places. dost thou not see then, how Narrow and neere prest gLory is, which to stretch out spred thou Labourst? shall the gLory of a Romayn go so furr, as Where neuer Romayn name hath past? What, for that the diuers natures of peeple and their orders disagree? so that, What among som is prayse, Among the rest sett for a cryme. So haps that if Any mans fame prayse delyte, to him the same is said his name doth neuer proffit Exept to haue it spred to many Nations peeple sent. Is Any man content that Among his oWn, his glory byde, and Immortalities of fame be tyed in boundes of his oWn soyle? but how many noble men in their tymes haue fayling obliuion of writers hath haVe38 dasht? but What proffites Writinges? Which with the office, a Long and dark age suppressith. but doo you thinke to get immortality With thought of comming tyme? yf thou Joyne it with the infinit spaciousnes of eternitie, What hast thou to Joye of thy Lasting Name? for if the abode of one Moment is with ten thousand yeeres be compared, for that both space is ending, It shall haVe, tho a little, som portion. but this Nomber of yeeres, hoW oft so euer Multiplyed, may

38. haVe Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 210. though . . . traffic though . . . habitation “hoc ipsum brevis habitaculi saeptum” (this very enclosed space of a small dwelling-place). not only . . . cities “non modo fama hominum singulorum sed ne urbium quidem” (not the fame of individual men only but even indeed of cities). through . . . divers traffic from . . . various commerce; “commercii insolentia” (from infrequency of trade). Elizabeth seems to have inadvertently retranslated “diversitate” from the preceding phrase, instead of translating “insolentia.” 211. Marcus . . . people Marcus . . . said Cicero De re publica 6.22, preserved in Macrobius Commentarium in somnium Scipionis 2.10. to . . . people “ceterisque . . . gentibus” (to other peoples). 212. to . . . outspread Renders the pleonastic doublet “dilatare ac propagare” (to expand and enlarge). 213. never . . . passed “transire . . . nequit” (cannot pass beyond). 214. What . . . orders What . . . that “Quid quod” (What of the fact that?). orders customary practices; “instituta” (customs, practices).

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thing hath glory bound in so strait and small limits? Add to this that, though but small itself, environed is with habitation of many nations, tongues, and conditions, that in all trade of life differs: to which, not only no report of each man, but not of cities, can come through hardness of way, and difference of speech, and divers traffic.210 In Marcus Tully’s time, as he himself in place hath said, the fame of Roman Empire never passed Caucasus’ mount, and yet it was flourishing and fearful to the Parthians and to all people211 inhabiting such places. Dost thou not see, then, how narrow and near-pressed glory is, which to stretch outspread212 thou laborest? Shall the glory of a Roman go so far, as where never Roman name hath passed?213 What for that the divers natures of people and their orders214 disagree, so that, what among some is praise, among the rest, a crime. So haps that, if any man’s praise delight, to him the same doth never profit, to many people sent.215 Is any man content that, among his own, his glory bide, and immortality’s fame be tied in bounds of his own soil?216 “But how many noble men in their times, failing oblivion of writers217 have dashed? But what profits writings—which, with the office, a long218 and dark age suppresseth? But do you think to get immortality, with thought of coming time?219 If thou join it with the infinite spaciousness of eternity, what hast thou to joy of thy lasting name? For if the abode of one moment, with ten thousand years be compared—for that both, space is ending—it shall have, though a little, some portion.220 But this number of years, how oft soever 215. many . . . sent many people “plurimos populos” has the sense of ‘many peoples’ of the world. Elizabeth may intend a similar sense, since “people” in the singular was a common early modern term for ‘nations.’ sent to be sent. 216. Is . . . soil? Elizabeth recasts an assertion as a question. immortality’s fame “praeclara illa famae immortalitas” (that glorious immortality of fame). Elizabeth dampens the ironic hyperbole. of . . . soil “unius gentis” (of one nation). 217. noble . . . writers noble “clarissimos” (most famous). failing . . . writers oblivion being deficient in writers; “scriptorum inops . . . oblivio” (oblivion devoid of writers). Elizabeth’s construction with “of ” follows Boethius, not English usage. 218. with . . . long with . . . office with the one who performs the function—here, a writer; “auctoribus” (with their authors). long “longior.” 219. But . . . time “Vos vero inmortalitatem vobis propagare videmini, cum futuri famam temporis cogitatis” (But you seem to yourselves to extend your immortality when you think upon your fame of future time). Elizabeth renders an assertion as a question. 220. for that . . . portion “quoniam utrumque spatium definitum est, minimam, licet, habet tamen aliquam portionem” (since each is a determinate length of time—each

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Not compare with the Vnending Lasting. Somtyme som ending outWard39 thinges ther be, compard Among themselves, haue ende, but that Wontes that neuer hath, twixt infinite and ending40 neuer earst no comparison may beare. So is it that the Lasting of Any longest tyme tyme, if it be matcht With contynuall Vnbounde eternitie, not small but None shall seeme, for Without you be ignorant hoW rightly to please popular eares and Vayne rumors, and leaving care of conscience and Vertue, ask aw rewarde of other Mens frute, see hoW in the Myldnes of such an Arrogancy, hoW pleasantly a man May be begylde. for When one once had sKornde A man that clothed him not with Philosophy for true Vertues Vse, but for proude gloryes sake, and saide he Wold try him whither he Were a Philosopher that easely could beare in patience iniuryes, he tooke Vpon him to be suffring, and taking the sKorne as A raging man, dost thou, at length, Vnderstand me a Philosopher? Then nippingly he said, I should haue Vnderstode it, if thou hadst bene siLent. What n Meanes it?, that cheefest Men (for of them I speake) that seeke thoroWgh Vertue glory, What hath death to doo with them, after the body is dissolued, At their end? for be it that our Reason it self denyes Vs to beleeue that has a certain proportion to the other, even if a very small one). for . . . ending since both spaces (of time) have an ending. portion A misleading translation of cognate “portionem” (proportion). 39. outward Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 40. twixt . . . ending Insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 221. unending lasting infinite eternity; “interminabilem diuturnitatem.” 222. Sometime . . . [but] Sometime . . . end Elizabeth’s sense is obscure; evidently she was puzzled by the technical phraseology: “Etenim finitis ad se invicem fuerit quaedam” (For there could be some [comparison] to each other with respect to finite things). outward The adjective has no counterpart in Boethius. It may mean ‘worldly, secular,’ as contrasted with the eternal. [but] “vero” (yet, on the other hand). Elizabeth mistakenly deleted this conjunction while revising the wording that follows it. 223. lasting . . . time “quamlibet prolixi temporis fama” (fame of however lasting a time). 224. For . . . fruit Elizabeth’s sense is obscure in this sentence fragment. without . . . rumors “nisi ad populares auras inanesque rumores recte facere nescitis” (you do not know how to act rightly except when favored by popular winds and empty rumors). without unless. leaving . . . virtue Boethius’s ablative absolute reads “relicta conscientae virtutisque praestantia” (the excellence of your conscience and virtue abandoned). ask reward you ask reward. of . . . fruit “de alienis . . . sermunculis” (of other men’s chatter). Windebank probably misheard or miswrote “fruit” in place of “bruit” used in the sense of ‘rumor.’

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multiplied, may not compare with the unending lasting.221 Sometime some outward things there be, compared among themselves, have end; [but]222 ’twixt infinite and ending, no comparison may bear. So is it that the lasting of any longest time,223 if it be matched with unbound eternity, not small but none shall seem. For, without you be ignorant how rightly to please popular ears and vain rumors, and leaving care of conscience and virtue, ask reward of other men’s fruit.224 See how in the mildness of such an arrogancy, how pleasantly a man may be beguiled.225 For when one once had scorned a man that clothed him not with philosophy for226 true virtue’s use, but for proud glory’s sake, and said he would try him whether he were a philosopher that easily could bear in patience injuries; he took upon him to be suffering and, taking the scorn as a raging man:227 ‘Dost thou at length understand me a philosopher?’ Then nippingly he228 said: ‘I should have understood it, if thou hadst been silent.’ What means it, that chiefest men (for of them I speak) that seek, through virtue, glory, what hath death229 to do with them after the body is dissolved, at their end? For be it (that our reason itself denies us to believe), that all men die, then there is no glory, when he is not, of whom she speaks.230 But if the

225. in . . . beguiled how a man cursed with such mild arrogancy may be humorously tricked. mildness . . . arrogancy Elizabeth renders a typographical error in Pulmann’s 1562 edition: “huiusmodi arrogantiae lenitate” (the mildness of this kind of arrogance), corrected in 1580 to the standard reading of “levitate” (vanity, triviality). pleasantly humorously, facetiously; “festive.” 226. not . . . for with philosophy not for. 227. he . . . man “ille patientiam paulisper adsumpsit acceptaque contumelia velut insultans” (he [the pseudo-philosopher] for a little while assumed patience and as if mocking the insults he received). suffering long-suffering, patient. raging While this adjective sounds incongruous here, Boethius’s corresponding “insultans” suggests that “raging” has the now obsolete sense of ‘behaving wantonly, playing.’ 228. nippingly he nippingly sharply, sarcastically. he the scorner of the pretended philosopher. 229. What means . . . death Elizabeth’s rendering, which loosely imitates the redundant phraseology in Boethius, may be paraphrased, “What does death offer the best sort of men (for of these I speak), men who seek glory through virtue?” death A mistake for “fame” (fama). 230. all . . . speaks all . . . die Elizabeth misconstrues “toti moriuntur homines” (men wholly perish), i.e., men have no afterlife, as equivalent to “omnes moriuntur homines” (all men die). of . . . speaks i.e., of whom fame speaks; “cuius ea esse dicitur” (to whom she—fame—is said to belong).

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all Men dye, then ther is no gLory, When he is not, of whom she speakes. but if thise mynde it self with conscience good dissolued from earthly geayle giaL41 are all freed seekes heauen. WoLd she not all earthly thinges despise, who heauen enioyeng, Joyes earthly thinges to Want. 7. Myter Who so with hedLong mynd alone glory Glory aLone beliues as Greatist thing And quarters of the Largist heuens behold With straightid seat of erthe WyL blusche that hit not filz The Short Compas of Gridy desire; Why proude men do you Curake,42 Your necks from mortal yoke retire? Thogh Fame by people strange flying spred the tonges Open And noble house by Great titelz shine dethe hates the hiest glory Intangels LoW and hauty hed And equaLs Lest to most Wher noW lies faithful fabritius bones? Wher brutus or Currish Cato SmaL Lasting fame Signes A vaine name with feWest Lettars

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41. giaL gaol / jail. Correction and insertion in Elizabeth’s hand. 42. Curake crook. 231. to want to lack; “exemptam” ([to be] freed from). 232. glory . . . thing “petit / Summumque credit gloriam” (seeks glory and believes it to be the highest good). 233. quarters . . . seat quarters regions; “plagas.” behold should behold (?). Boethius has a hortatory subjunctive: “cernat” (let him perceive). With compared with. straited seat constricted site; “artum . . . situm.” 234. Will . . . desire “Brevem replere non valentis ambitum / Pudebit aucti nominis” (Will blush that his widespread name is not strong enough to fill [even] his brief ambition). Elizabeth does not translate “aucti nominis,” but her “it” presumably refers to “glory,” as Boethius does. 235. crook . . . retire? “colla mortali iugo / Frustra levare gestiunt?” (Why do they— i.e., proud men—seek to lift their necks, in vain, from the mortal yoke?). retire to retire, i.e., to withdraw.

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mind itself, with conscience good, dissolved from earthly jail, all freed seeks heaven, would she not all earthly things despise, who, heaven enjoying, joys earthly things to want?”231

Meter 7 Whoso, with headlong mind, glory Alone believes as greatest thing,232 And quarters of largest heav’ns behold With straited seat233 of earth, Will blush that it not fills The short compass of greedy desire.234 Why, proud men, do you crook Your necks, from mortal yoke retire?235 Though Fame, by people strange Flying, spread, the tongues open,236 And noble house by great titles shine: Death hates237 the highest glory, Entangles low and haughty head, And equals least to most. Where now lies faithful Fabricius’ bones? Where Brutus, or currish Cato?238 Small-lasting Fame signs A vain name with fewest letters.239

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236. Fame . . . open “Licet remotos fama per populos means / Diffusa linguas explicet” (Although Fame, passing among remote nations, / Spread abroad, may loosen tongues). 237. hates “spernit” (disdains). 238. lies . . . Cato Elizabeth follows the reading in Pulmann’s edition, “iacent” (lie). He provides as a marginal variant the reading in modern editions and all other sixteenthcentury editions consulted, “manent” (remain, endure). Fabricius . . . Cato Caius Fabricius Luscinus, consul in 282 B.C.E., was known for his incorruptible patriotism. “Brutus” may be Lucius Junius Brutus, the traditional founder of the Roman republic, who expelled the last Tarquin king from Rome, or Marcus Junius Brutus, the assassin of Julius Caesar; and “Cato” could be Marcus Porcius Cato “the Censor,” the consul in 195 B.C.E. known for his strict morality, or his great-grandson Cato the Younger, the Stoic defender of the Roman republic. currish snappish, snarling; “rigidus” (stern). 239. Small . . . letters “Signat superstes fama tenuis pauculis / Inane nomen litteris” (Scant-surviving Fame marks down an empty name in but a very few pieces of writing).

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But why do we Leue to knoWe noble names Do We not See them to Consumed Ly you shal vnknoWen at alL Nor fame shaL uttar Who If you Suppose that Life be Longar drawen For brethe of mortal fame Than the Second dethe Exspect

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8. Pro[se] but Lest you shuld Suppose against fortune I make an Endles War, Ther is a time Whan she, the begiLing one, SomeWhat WeL of men desarues Euen than Whan discouerd her self she sheWes and maners hers detectz, Perchanche yet thou Wotz not What I say, Wondar hit is, that I mynd teL and mening skars with Wordes may Expres for men I Suppose more Get by aduerse than Lucky fortune, for she euer with sheWe of blis, with Seming as al false deceues and euer true she is43 in change Whan When Vnstable she seemes. The one beguyles, the other instructes. This tyeth in Joyers mynds with sheWe frames falshode Vnder show tyes44 the enioyers myndes with show of lyeng good, the other Loovsith them With KnoWLedge of frayle felicitie. This KnoW therfore for Wyndy, fLeeting, and ignorant of her self, This the other sober, steady and Wise by aduersities exercise, At Last happy he that drawes the strayeng with deceit from greatest good, but Aduersitie of tymes retourning them to surest haps, as by a hoodek doth drawe,

43. but Lest . . . she is The opening lines of prose 8 are in Elizabeth’s hand. 44. tyeth, tyes Windebank presumably forgot to delete the first form of the verb, subsequently emended by Elizabeth to “tyes.” 240. But . . . consumed? Like all sixteenth-century editions consulted, Pulmann’s edition reads “Sed quid decora novimus vocabula, / Num scire consumptos datur?” (But why do we know distinguished names, / Is it granted to know the dead?). Modern editions read “quod” for “quid,” yielding “Because we know . . . / Is it then granted . . . ?” to consumed to be consumed. 241. be . . . For be . . . drawn may be longer drawn. For Because of, On account of. Elizabeth does not translate the immediately following line, “Cum sera vobis rapiet hoc etiam dies” (When the day will be, that will take even this from you). 242. Then . . . expect “Iam vos secunda mora manet” (Still a second death awaits you). Elizabeth converts the gnomic statement into a sardonic exhortation. expect anticipate, await.

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But why do we know noble names: Do we not see them to consumed?240 Lie you shall, unknown at all, Nor Fame shall utter who. If you suppose that life be longer drawn For241 breath of mortal Fame, Then the second death expect.242

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Prose 8 “But lest you should suppose against Fortune I make an endless war, there is a time when she, the beguiling one, somewhat well of men deserves: even then, when discovered, herself she shows, and manners hers detects.243 Perchance yet thou wotest not what I say. Wonder it is that I mind tell,244 and meaning scarce with words may express. For men, I suppose, more get by adverse than lucky Fortune. For she ever, with show of bliss, with seeming all false,245 deceives. And ever true she is in change, when unstable she seems:246 the one beguiles, the other instructs. This ties the enjoyers’ minds with show of lying good; the other looseth them with knowledge of frail felicity. This, know therefore, for windy, fleeting, and ignorant of herself; the other, sober, steady,247 and wise by adversity’s exercise. At last, happy he, that draws the straying with deceit from greatest good; but adversity of times returning them to surest haps,248 as by a hook doth draw. Thinkest thou this for least good, that this currish and fearful 243. she, the . . . detects she, the . . . deserves Elizabeth closely follows Pulmann’s edition: “de hominibus illa fallax nonnihil bene mereatur” (she, the deceiving one, well deserves of men a certain amount). Modern editions and some Renaissance ones, by contrast, read “de hominibus fallax illa nihil, bene mereatur” (when not deceiving at all, she deserves well of men). discovered uncovered. herself . . . detects “frontem detegit moresque profitetur” (uncovers her face and declares her manners). detects uncovers, exposes, rendering cognate “detegit.” 244. thou . . . tell thou wotest you know; “intellegis.” mind tell intend to tell. 245. seeming . . . false completely false appearance; “cum videtur blanda” (when she seems pleasant). 246. seems “demonstrat” (shows herself). 247. fleeting . . . steady fleeting “fluentem” (flowing). steady “succinctam” (girded for action, well prepared). 248. At . . . haps At last Finally (as my last point); “Postremo.” he A continued reference to deceitful “good” Fortune, which should be “she.” surest haps safest fortunes; “vera bona” (true goods).

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Thinkst thou this for Lest good, that this Currish and fearfull fortune hath discouerd the mynde of thy faythfull frendz? The other hath shewed the sume feLloWes sure looks and45 doubtfull, in departing hath taken hers, and thyne affliction hath left the. With how much Woldest thou in prosperous state haue bought this When thou thoughtest it most? Leave to seke Lost goodes. The preciousest Kynde of ryches, frendes thou hast founde. 8. Myter That World with stable trust the changing Seasons turnes And diuers Sedes Lasting Leage holdz stil holdes League T That Φebus the ruddy daye With Golden Car bringes furthe That the that Mone may rule the night Wiche hesper