[2]
But, although during the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I, the
stage seems to have afforded the principal employment of the poets,
there wanted not many, who cultivated, with success, the other
departments of Parnassus. It is only necessary to name Spenser, whose
magic tale continues to interest us, in despite of the languor of a
continued allegory; Drayton, who, though less known, possesses perhaps
equal powers of poetry; Beaumont the elder, whose poem on Bosworth Field
carries us back to the days of the Plantagenets; Fairfax, the translator
of Tasso, the melody of whose numbers became the model of Waller;
besides many others, who ornamented this era of British literature.
Notwithstanding the splendour of these great names, it must be
confessed, that one common fault, in a greater or less degree, pervaded
the most admired poetry of Queen Elizabeth's age. This was the fatal
propensity to _false wit_; to substitute, namely, strange and
unexpected connections of sound, or of idea, for real humour, and even
for the effusions of the stronger passions It seems likely that this
fashion arose at court, a sphere in which its denizens never think they
move with due lustre, until they have adopted a form of expression, as
well as a system of manners, different from that which is proper to
mankind at large. In Elizabeth's reign, the court language was formed on
the plan of one Lillie, a pedantic courtier, who wrote a book, entitled
"Euphues and his England, or the Anatomy of Wit;"[3] which quality he
makes to consist in the indulgence of every monstrous and overstrained
conceit, that can be engendered by a strong memory and a heated brain,
applied to the absurd purpose of hatching unnatural conceits.
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