The Poet’s Triumph

“Since then poetry is of all human learnings the most ancient, and of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken their beginnings; since it is so universal that no learned nation doth despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; since both Roman and Greck gave such divine names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other of making, and that indeed that name of making is fit for him, considering that where all other arts retain themselves within their subject, and receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet, only, only bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a matter but maketh matter for a conceit; since, neither his description nor end containing any evil, the thing described cannot be evil; since his effects be so good as to teach goodness and to delight the learners; since therein (namely in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges) he doth not only far pass the historian, but for instructing is well nigh comparable to the philosopher, for moving leaves him behind him; since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no uncleanness) hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not only in their united forms but in their severed dissections fully commendable – I think (and think I think rightly) the laurel crown appointed for triumphant captains doth worthily of all other learnings honour the poet’s triumph.”– Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)

The pauper shepherd’s tune of people’s misery

Lies underneath the pretty tales of wolves and sheep

All while that wailing and lamenting elegy

Can stir the kindest heart from blame to pity keep.

From bitter steps a trumpet blast of villainy

Or tickled by the satire’s feather into burst

With comedy’s guffaw sees virtuous beauty

As clear as all that could be called man’s very worst.

The saddest tale came flowing sweet as spilled blood tastes

To enervate with learning what horror can gain

And throbbing with truly tuned harmonics of grace

Close like a tightly insulated window pane

For as the image of each action moves the mind

The hero knows them to be worthy, wise, and kind.