The Anatomy of Melancholy

Learning’s hope and support lie in Caesar alone.

What he said long ago, we may truly say now. He is our amulet, our sun, our only comfort and refuge, our Ptolemy, our common Maecenas: “James the generous, James the peacemaker, initiate of the Muses, a Platonic king; our great glory and support.” A renowned scholar himself, and the sole patron, pillar and sustainer of learning—

but his merit in this respect is so well known that, as Paterculus said of Cato, “it would now be wrong even to praise him”; and as Pliny said to Trajan, “Serious poetry and the everlasting honour of the annals will celebrate you, not this brief and shameful proclamation.” But he is now gone. Our sun has set, and yet no night follows:

The sun has set; no night has followed.

We have another such king in his place:

One golden bough torn away, another Springs into leaf with the same metal.

And long may he reign and flourish among us.

Let me not be malicious and belie my own disposition. I cannot deny that a sprinkling of our gentry, one here and another there, are exceptionally learned, like the Fuggers in Germany; Du Bartas, Du Plessis and Sadeel in France; Pico della Mirandola, Schottus and Barotius in Italy.

A few scattered swimmers appear in the vast whirlpool.

But they are few beside the multitude. Most—again excepting some of middling attainment—are wholly devoted to hawks and hounds, and often carried away by uncontrolled lust, gambling and drinking. If they ever read a book, “if meanwhile there is any leisure from hunting, drinking, dice and prostitutes”, it is an English chronicle, Sir Huon of Bordeaux, Amadis of Gaul, a playbook or some news pamphlet, and only when they cannot go out, to pass the time. Their only conversation is about dogs, hawks, horses—and what is the news?

If someone has travelled in Italy, or as far as the emperor’s court, spent a winter in Orléans, and can court his mistress in broken French, dress neatly in the latest fashion, sing a few choice foreign tunes and talk about lords, ladies, towns, palaces and cities, he is an accomplished gentleman, to be admired. Otherwise he and the rest are much alike: there is no difference between master and servant except their honourable titles. Shut your eyes and choose between the man who sits down to eat and the man who holds the platter behind him—apart from their clothes, there is nothing to choose. Yet these men must be our patrons, and sometimes our governors too: statesmen, magistrates, noble, great and wise by inheritance.