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COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN ENGLISH 
 ' AND COMPARATIVE LITERATURE 
 
 EGBERT GREENE 
 
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 SALES AGENTS 
 
 New York: 
 LEMCKE & BUECHNER 
 30-32 West 27th Street 
 
 London: 
 
 HUMPHREY MILFORD 
 
 Amen Corner, E.G. 
 
 \ 
 
EOBEET GREENE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN CLARK JORDAN, Ph.D. 
 
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 Beta gotk 
 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 1915 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
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 Copyright, 1915 
 By Columbia University Press 
 
 Printed from type, September, 1915 
 
 THE'PLIMPTON'PBES! 
 NOBWOOD'MASS-U'S'i 
 
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 ©CI.A414065 
 
 OCT 16 1915 
 
 io/ 
 
TO 
 IVIY GRANDFATHER 
 
 JOHN DOWNEY 
 
This Monograph has been approved by the Depart- 
 ment of English and Comparative Literature in Columbia 
 University as a contribution to knowledge worthy of 
 publication. 
 
 A. H. THORNDIKE, 
 
 Executive Officer, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Robert Greene has been written about profusely. 
 ''More time and trouble have been bestowed than one cares 
 to remember," complained the late Mr. Collins as he laid 
 down his editor's pen. So much, indeed, has been done, 
 so various have been the researches as to Greene's sources, 
 his literary relationships, his friendships and his quarrels, 
 his sinning and repenting, that one who desires to study him 
 must go over a vast amount of material. There is the fur- 
 ther difficulty that a few sensational remarks in Greene's 
 writings have been given such emphasis as to withdraw at- 
 tention from certain other aspects of his works and to obscure 
 what is of more importance. I have tried to present a com- 
 prehensive treatment, based upon the investigations of pre- 
 vious writers and developed by what I have been able to add 
 of my own. 
 
 In the personality of Greene, and in the nature of his 
 activity, there is considerable to stir the imagination, and 
 to invite criticism and evaluation. These two elements, the 
 human and the literary significance of Greene's work, I have, 
 therefore, sought to bear in mind. Thus submitting Greene 
 to analysis, I have found the outlines of his character as a 
 man of letters to be rather sharply drawn. Sharply enough, 
 I think, to be permanent. New facts will be added, new 
 sources discovered. But these will only help to make the 
 portrait a little more distinct. They will not, I believe, 
 change our fundamental idea of the man or of his attitude 
 toward literature. 
 
 To those scholars who have made my work possible I 
 acknowledge my indebtedness. Especially have I benefited 
 
 ix 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 from the labors of Dr. Samuel Lee Wolff, whose contribu- 
 tions to the knowledge and understanding of Greene have 
 been of great value. To the librarians of Columbia Univer- 
 sity, and to Miss Jennie Craig and her assistant. Miss Olive 
 Paine, of the English Seminar Library of the University of 
 Illinois, I give my thanks for generous help. To my wife I 
 owe much for criticism and for preparation of the manuscript 
 for the press. 
 
 It is a pleasure to express my appreciation for the obliga- 
 tions I am under to the Department of English and Com- 
 parative Literature at Columbia University: to Professor 
 G. P. Krapp; to Professor J. B. Fletcher, who has offered 
 many valuable suggestions. To Professor A. H. Thorndike, 
 in whose mind my work had its inception, and whose counsel 
 and letters have aided me greatly, I feel sincere gratitude. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Introduction 1 
 
 II. Omne Tulit Punctum 9 
 
 III. Sero Sed Serio 53 
 
 IV. Nascimur Pro Patria 82 
 
 V. The Poetry 127 
 
 VI. Chronology of the Non-Dramatic Work . . . 164 
 
 VII. The Plays 174 
 
 VIII. Conclusion 201 
 
 appendices 
 
 I. Tabulation of the Framework Tales .... 207 
 
 II. Misconceptions Concerning Greene 211 
 
 III. Early Allusions to Greene 215 
 
 Bibliography 221 
 
 Index 227 
 
EGBERT GREENE: A STUDY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Robert Greene was baptized in Norwich^ on July 11, 
 1558.2 He died in London, September 3, 1592. Of the life 
 that extended between these dates there is little of actual 
 record. On November 26, 1575, Greene was matriculated 
 as a sizar at St. John's Cambridge. From that college he 
 received his primary degree in 1578.^ In 1583, July 7, he 
 was at Clare Hall,^ where he was granted the degree of Mas- 
 ter of Arts. Sometime in 1585 or '86 he was married. 
 Oxford conferred a degree in July, 1588; so that he was 
 henceforth the Academiae Utriusque Magister in Artihus of 
 which he was so vain. The facts which I have enumerated, 
 
 Note — All references unless otherwise stated are to Grosart's 
 edition to the Complete Works of Robert Greene, 15 vols. 8vo. 1881-3. 
 Huth Library Series. 
 
 * Greene himself speaks of the "Cittie of Norwitch, where I was bred 
 and borne," {Repentance, Vol. XII., p. 171) and he sometimes added 
 Norfolciensis to his name. See Epistle Dedicatory to Lodge's Euphues, 
 his Shadowe, signed "Rob. Greene Norfolciensis." (Lodge's Complete 
 Works, Vol. II. Printed for Hunterian Club, 1883); also Epistle Dedi- 
 catory to A Maiden's Dreame, signed "R. Greene, Nordovicensis." 
 Vol. XIV., p. 300. 
 
 2 Register of St. George, Tombland. See J. C. Collins' edition of 
 Greene's Plays and Poems, 1905, Vol. I., p. 12. 
 
 3 University Register. 
 
 4 "From my Studie in Clarehall the vij of Julie." The Epistle to 
 the second part of Mamillia. Vol. II., p. 143. 
 
 1 
 
2 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 together with the records on the Stationers' Register and 
 the title-pages of his works, are all that we have that can be 
 dated. 
 
 Greene talked about himself; others talked about him. 
 And so, while his life can never be known exactly or in de- 
 tail, his comings and goings, the events of his existence in 
 the capital, the man that he was can be perceived with more 
 vividness than can most of his fellows. From his own works,^ 
 and from the bitter controversy which arose after his death, 
 with the harsh words that passed back and forth between 
 Harvey and Nashe,^ we can learn much of how Greene looked 
 and acted. 
 
 ''A jolly long red peake, like the spire of a steeple," says 
 Nashe,^ ''hee cherisht continually without cutting, whereat 
 a man might hang a Jewell, it was so sharp and pendant." 
 . . . "A very faire Cloake," he had, ''with sleeves, of . . . 
 greene; it would serve you as fine as may bee" — this to 
 Gabriel Harvey, the ropemaker's son — ''if you bee wise, 
 play the good husband and listen after it, you may buy it 
 ten shillings better cheape than it cost him. By S. Silver, 
 . . . theres a great many ropes go to ten shillings. If you 
 want a greasy pair of silk stockings also, to show your selfe 
 at the Court, they are there to be had too amongst his 
 moveables." 
 
 "Hee inherited more vertues than vices," says Nashe 
 again. "Debt and deadly sinne, who is not subject to? with 
 any notorious crime I never knew him tainted." . . . "A 
 good fellowe he was;" considerable of a drinker. "Hee 
 made no account of winning credite by his workes, ... his 
 
 5 The Repentance and various of the Prefaces. 
 
 ^ In his Introduction to the Works of Thomas Nashe, Vol. V., Mr. 
 Ronald B. McKerrow has a most excellent account of this quarrel. 
 The subject is there treated exhaustively and finally. 
 
 7 Foure Letters Confuted. Ed. McKerrow, Vol. I., p. 287. 
 
INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 only care was to have a spel in his purse to conjure up a 
 good cuppe of wine with at all times." . . . ''Why should 
 art answer for the infirmities of maners? Hee had his 
 faultes, and thou thy foUyes." 
 
 The young Bohemians lived hard in those days. And 
 they died hard. Greene was only thirty-four when he went 
 to that ''fatall banquet of Rhenish wine and pickled hearing 
 (if thou wilt needs have it so)."^ All through the month of 
 August Greene was ill, at first taking no alarm. He got his 
 Blacke Bookes Messenger ready for the press, and told his 
 plans for the Blacke Booke itself.^ Then gradually, as the 
 days wore on, he came to realize that he could never be well. 
 He was greatly troubled in his mind. If he could only pray, 
 he would be happy. But there was a voice ringing in his 
 ears, ''Robin Greene, thou art damned." He tried to find 
 comfort in the hope of God's mercy, and be pacified. But 
 the battle went on. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he 
 feared. "There was one theef saved and no more, there- 
 fore presume not; and there was one saved, and therefore 
 despair not." 
 
 The last night came. " He walked to his chaire and back 
 againe the night before he departed," writes the printer of 
 the Repentance, ^^ "and then (being feeble) laying him downe 
 on his bed, about nine of the clocke at night, a friende of his 
 tolde him, that his Wife had sent him commendations, and 
 that shee was in good health: whereat hee greatly rejoiced, 
 confessed that he had mightily wronged her, and wished that 
 hee might see her before he departed. Whereupon (feeling 
 his time was but short) hee tooke pen and inke, & wrote her 
 a Letter to this effect. 
 
 ''Sweet Wife, as ever there was any good will or friendship 
 betweene thee and mee see this bearer (my Host) satisfied of 
 
 ® Gabriel would have it so, and the banquet is immortal. 
 » Vol. XI., p. 5. " Vol. Xn., p. 185. 
 
4 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 his debt: I owe him tenne pound, and but for him I had 
 perished in the street es. Forget and forgive my wronges 
 done unto thee, and Almighty God have mercie on my soule. 
 Farewell till we meet in heaven, for on earth thou shalt 
 never see me more. 
 
 This 2 of September. 
 1592 
 Written by thy dying Husband. 
 Robert Greene." ^^ 
 
 Greene ended his days in poverty.^^ His friends deserted 
 him, and he was left alone. He would indeed have died in 
 the streets had not the shoemaker of Dowgate and his wife 
 taken care of him, — a task in which they were assisted by 
 the mother of Greene 's illegitimate son. 
 
 Such was the manner of his death on the third of Septem- 
 ber. Mrs. Isam crowned him with a garland of bay leaves, 
 and on the following day they buried him.^^ 
 
 ''Oh Robin Greene, and unfortunate because thou art 
 Robin!" Greene would have said of one of the unhappy 
 creatures of his imagination. Let us say it of him; there is 
 none it fits better. 
 
 With all its sadness — with all its morbidness and senti- 
 mentalism, some would say — Greene's death was not a 
 tragedy. It does not arouse profound emotion. No manner 
 of death could do that for him. His life had not been big 
 
 " This letter is given by Harvey in practically the same form in 
 his Foure Letters, and certaine Sonnets: Especially touching Robert 
 Greene, and other parties, by him abused. Harvey's Works. Ed. 
 Grosart. Vol. I., p. 171. 
 
 12 Nashe denies this: "For the lowsie circumstance of his poverty 
 before his death, and sending that miserable writte to his wife, it 
 cannot be but thou lyest, learned Gabriell." Ed. McKerrow. Vol. 
 I., p. 287. 
 
 " Greene was buried in the New Churchyard, near Bedlam. 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 enough. His character had been too much of the surface, 
 rather than of the depth. He had lived for the day that 
 was passing, nor heeded that eternity would come. We 
 need not revile him as base, believing the words that he ut- 
 tered in his despair or remembering only his ill-starred an- 
 tagonism to a greater, but a fellow, dramatist; we need not 
 apologize for his shortcomings, in order to say that Greene 
 was not of the strong. He was weak; he was superficial. 
 But we can feel a genuine sympathy for him, and a regret 
 that his life should have ended so miserably. 
 
 There is a statement of his, made on his deathbed, which 
 represents pretty well the life of the man in its activities and 
 its remorse. It shall serve us here to introduce the purpose 
 of this volume. "Many things I have wrote to get money.'' ^^ 
 Greene was a man of letters, and as such I shall try to pre- 
 sent him. Whatever literary form he took up, it was for 
 exploitation; whatever he dropped, it was because the 
 material or the demand was exhausted. He did what no 
 man before him in England had done so extensively: he 
 wrote to sell. 
 
 "Povertie is the father of innumerable infirmities." That 
 was Greene's view of the task. We of today can scarcely 
 appreciate the difficulty. Literature is inseparably linked 
 with the material conditions which make it possible. In 
 the success of our modern professional writers, we forget 
 that this relation has always existed, that it was a new 
 thing in the reign of Elizabeth for a man to place his 
 ^'chiefest stay of living'' in an inkhorn and a pen. Greene, 
 however, did so for several years. We have thirteen 
 volumes of his work as the product of his industry. What 
 shall we say of them and of him? 
 
 In 1599 one Fastidious Brisk, coxcomb and gallant, was 
 boasting of the elegance of his mistress' language, 
 " Greenes Vision. Vol. XII., p. 195. 
 
6 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 "Oh, it flows from her like nectar, . . . she does observe 
 as pure a phrase, and use as choice figures in her ordinary 
 conferences, as any be in the Arcadia." 
 
 From Carlo, the jester. Fastidious got this rebuff, 
 
 ''Or rather from Greene's works, whence she may steal 
 with more security." ^^ 
 
 Whether or not Carlo's sly reflection upon the culture 
 of Fastidious' lady was meant as a disparagement 
 upon the works of Greene, it does suggest that character- 
 istic which impresses most of Greene's readers, namely, 
 his productivity as compared with his contemporaries. 
 For Greene was the most prolific of all the Elizabethan 
 writers. 
 
 He was the most versatile, too. No other man in the 
 Elizabethan period attempted so many different kinds of 
 work. Greene did all that the rest did, and more. Drama, 
 poetry, framework tales, romances, social pamphlets, trea- 
 tises, prodigal-son stories, repentances, — all these flowed 
 from his pen with a rapidity that is amazing. ''In a night 
 & a day would he have yarkt up a pamphlet as well as in 
 seaven yeare," his friend Nashe tells us, "and glad was that 
 Printer that might bee so blest to paye him deare for the 
 very dregs of his wit." Greene wrote only twelve years, 
 and he had but come into his prime when he died. Yet the 
 range of his activity was far greater than many another 
 man attains to in a lifetime. I am not saying that, although 
 Greene excelled his contemporaries in the matter of versa- 
 tility, he at the same time excelled them individually in any 
 one type of work. He wrote no romance worthy to rank 
 with the Arcadia; he composed nothing which in charm of 
 style is to be compared with Lodge's Rosalynde. But it is 
 not to be denied that Greene did have ease in writing, and 
 
 " Every Man Out of His Humour, Act III. Sc. I. 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 that he turned his hand to various tasks with about the same 
 degree of proficiency. 
 ^ Fertility and versatility are Greene's most obvious dis- 
 tinctions. He manifests, along with these, a third. In 
 spite of his artificiality of style, his shallowness of characteri- 
 zation, his inconsistencies of plot, his lack of seriousness, 
 which are real defects, Greene exhibited a freedom of liter- 
 ary art; and although he never, even to the end of his 
 career, ceased to shout morality from his title-pages, yet in 
 practice he came to have an almost complete enfranchise- 
 ment from the traditions of the earlier didactic writers. If 
 I may be permitted to restate the idea, I mean that notwith- 
 standing the conventions of Elizabethan literature in all its 
 forms, which influenced no author more than him, Greene 
 developed an understanding of the fact that art to be suc- 
 cessful must not be wholly for man's sake; that it must be 
 partly for art's sake as well. 
 
 Closely related to this achievement is growth toward con- 
 sciousness of method. Greene's work is full of crudities, and 
 some of it is not interesting. Emphasis is often misplaced, 
 being upon speech rather than upon action. The first half 
 of a novel is unduly elaborated at the expense of the latter, 
 and episodes in the course of the main action are frequently 
 too extended. But beneath the surface, the careful reader 
 can perceive in Greene a definiteness of plan. 
 
 The overemphasized story of Valericus' rejection of Cas- 
 tania^^ may be used as an illustration. Though it exempli- 
 fies all the faults just enumerated, it was meant, — however 
 incompetently done — to explain Valericus' later betrayal 
 of Castania. A lady of high degree is in love with a 
 stranger who has come to the court. For the progress of 
 the story it is necessary that the duke, her father, hear 
 of the love-affair. No friend will betray them; an enemy 
 16 Carde of Fancie, Vol. IV. 
 
8 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 must do it. But Castania and Gwydonius are both in 
 high esteem. A rejected lover is the only enemy possible. 
 He must be provided early in the narrative, for he cannot 
 be deus ex machina. That is Greene's plan. Valericus' 
 suit is too long drawn out. He might have been trans- 
 formed from a lover into an enemy with much more de- 
 spatch. We do not care to hsten to all his speeches or to 
 read all his letters. The device is not well handled, looked 
 at from our point of view. But that there is a device 
 at all is reason for commendation. 
 
 It is out of the above four characteristics that our interest 
 in Greene arises, and our problems too. His talent, revealing 
 itself in these various ways, representing multiform activi- 
 ties in one body of work, and summing up and expressing 
 the ideas and conventions of the age, gives him his place as 
 a man of letters and entitles him to a consideration in any 
 study of the literary activities of his time. Greene was not 
 great, — but a man does not have to be great to be worthy 
 of study. 
 
 To the student and critic, then, there comes the task of 
 evaluating the product of Greene's talent. He must de- 
 scribe, explain, and judge the work which Greene has left; 
 and he must show the influences which produced it, point 
 out the significance to be attached to it, and portray so far 
 as possible the personality back of it. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 
 
 The motto which I have given as the name of this chapter, 
 Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, occurs upon the 
 title-page of several of Greene's works. There are other 
 mottoes upon other works : Sero sed serio, and Nascimur pro 
 patria. These three mottoes taken together represent the 
 entire output of Greene's prose. They indicate, too, in this 
 order of enumeration, the course of Greene's development. 
 Yet different as are the purposes which they indicate, and 
 as are the contents of the pamphlets to which they are pre- 
 fixed, they are the product of the same writer, and they grew 
 out of the same literary past. 
 
 The outlines of Greene's activity coincide for the most 
 part with the three stages of development of which Professor 
 Atkins speaks in his chapter on Elizabethan prose fiction in 
 the Cambridge History of English Literature,^ a threefold 
 chronological division. Professor Atkins calls attention to 
 the fiction of which the fundamental nature is akin to that 
 of the moral treatise, and of which he chooses the work of 
 Lyly as the chief example. Then, without implying any 
 development in the evolutionary sense that one form arose 
 out of the other, he proceeds to speak of the new type that 
 appeared after 1584 and continued to exist side by side with 
 the first, an essentially romantic fiction represented by the 
 the Arcadia of Sidney. And finally he characterizes the 
 fiction of the last decade of the century as realistic, centering 
 in the life of the people rather than of the court, and 
 1 Vol. III., Chap. XVI. 
 9 
 
10 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 finding exponents in such men as Deloney and, a little later, 
 Rowlands and Dekker. In the ten or twelve years which 
 his career embraced, Greene saw English fiction in all three of 
 these stages. He saw it pass from under the sway of Lyly 
 and his courtly yet didactic Euphues, through the immediate 
 vogue of the romances (though romance was not by any 
 means dead), into the phase of realism, the interest in the 
 affairs of contemporary life. In all three movements Greene 
 had a share. 
 
 Like most other novelists then and since, Greene was an 
 imitator and a follower of convention. But his part was at 
 the same time active. Not only did he do what he saw others 
 doing before him and around him; he also contributed. He 
 was a student of the times. Where there was a demand he 
 tried to satisfy it. Where there was none he endeavored to 
 create it. He merged his own line of interest, as it were, 
 with the larger interest of the age; and he both derived his 
 inspiration from that interest, and added something from 
 himself to make it what it was and what it should become. 
 Just how he did these things, and how he was associated with 
 the three movements, it will be the purpose of this and suc- 
 ceeding chapters to make clear. 
 
 At the time when Greene began to write, Elizabethan fic- 
 tion was still in the first of these three stages of creative 
 endeavor. It had passed through the period of translation 
 that accompanied the first workings of the Renaissance in- 
 fluence in every form of English literature, poetry and 
 drama as well as fiction, and that always preceded the period 
 of original production in those various forms. It had, too, 
 only a short time before, been well started in the way to 
 original work by the Euphues of Lyly. 
 
 The history of this period of translation need not detain 
 us long. It is necessary to state only two facts: namely, 
 that the era of translation sufficed for the introduction of 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 11 
 
 certain new materials, and that it accomplished certain 
 results as to style and method. Both of these facts are, 
 however, of importance in a consideration of the subsequent 
 development of Elizabethan novels. 
 
 The introduction of new ideas manifested itself, in the first 
 place, in the influence that arose from the translation of 
 various continental works of which Guevara's El Relox de 
 Principes (by Berners, 1534; and by North, 1557) and Cas- 
 tiglione's II Cortegiano (by Thomas Hoby, 1561) ^ were the 
 most significant. The result of such translations as these 
 was the quickening of an already present, but older, interest 
 in the kind of literature represented by Elyot's Governor 
 (1531) and Ascham's Schoolmaster (published 1570), and nu- 
 merous other treatises intended for instruction in letters and 
 in forms of refinement, into a genuine and eager desire for 
 the more cultivated manners and thoughts of social life. In 
 the second place, along with the influence of these native and 
 infused ideas represented by these moral treatises must be 
 considered that which arose from the translations of novels. 
 Although the collections of Painter, Fenton, Pettie, and the 
 rest,^ may at first appear to be translations of continental 
 stories, both Renaissance and classical, the fundamental pur- 
 pose of them was not unlike that of the moral treatises them- 
 selves. For under the form of a story of love or fortune the 
 translator proclaimed his moral purpose.^ It may be that 
 
 2 The translation was frequently reprinted. There was also a Latin 
 translation in 1571 by Bartholomew Gierke which was almost as popu- 
 lar as the English one. 
 
 3 Painter, 1566; Fenton, 1567; Fortesque, 1571; Pettie, 1576; 
 Whetstone, 1576; Riche, 1581; etc. 
 
 * Painter, for example, prefixed a long discourse, sometimes running 
 to the length of a couple of dry, uninteresting pages, to each of the 
 novels he translated. Those discourses were meant to be somewhat in 
 the nature of an argument, but they were designed also to point out 
 the exceedingly great value, and the moral, of the story about to be 
 
12 EGBERT GREENE 
 
 these professions of a moral purpose are not to be taken too 
 seriously.^ At the same time, it cannot be denied that such 
 collections, of which the ostensible aim was edification, did, 
 under the guise of the narrative form, do much to set forth 
 new ideas on such subjects as love, friendship, and fortune; 
 to enlarge the sphere of emotion; and to combine with the 
 influence of the treatises to broaden the standard of culture 
 in accordance with the ideals of the more advanced peoples 
 on the continent. 
 
 The new ideas of culture which books like II Cortegiano 
 represented, and the new and passionate phases of life to be 
 found expressed in the Italian novelle, not only, as I have 
 suggested, broadened the intellectual and emotional experi- 
 ence of English writers, but gave to those writers valuable 
 lessons in style and method of composition. Beginning with 
 what were literally transcriptions, so far as invention was 
 concerned, the translators themselves came, by 1580, to have 
 a considerable independence.^ Along with the process of 
 translation there went the process of adaptation; and both 
 
 related. Fenton, not content with torturing his tales out of all resem- 
 blance to fiction by means of his discoursive sermonizing within the 
 tales themselves, added, to that, copious remarks along his margins. 
 
 ^ In the case of Pettie they are not to be taken seriously at all. 
 
 ^ In 1573 George Gascoigne, pretending to translate from an Ital- 
 ian author, Bartello by name, wrote The Adventures of Master F. J., the 
 first of the English novels. Certain of Pettie's tales {A Petite Pallace 
 of Pettie his Pleasure, 1576. Ed. Gollancz, The King's Classics Series, 
 Tereu^ and Progne, Vol. I. Scilla and Minos, Vol. II.) are not by any 
 means slavish folio wings of their originals. Barnabe Riche, in a collec- 
 tion of eight tales was himself the author of five of them. (Riche his 
 Farewell to Militarie Profession, 1581. Shak. Soc. Pub., Vol. XVI.) 
 "To the Readers in generall: . . . The histories ... are eight in 
 number, whereof the first, the seconde, the fift, the seventh and eight, 
 are tales that are but forged onely for delight, neither credible to be 
 beleved, not hurtfull to be perused. The third, the fourth, and the sixt, 
 are Italian histories." 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 13 
 
 of these resulted in original production. The significance of 
 all three is in the fact that, while the English writers were thus 
 following models, they were at the same time acquiring a 
 knowledge of prose style. Their independence was far from 
 complete, but the knowledge which they got was at least 
 valuable in the production of such stories as satisfied the 
 instinct for edification, both moral and cultural. 
 
 So much, then, had been accomplished when, following out 
 the tradition of narrative form for didactic purpose, Lyly 
 wrote his Euphues, the novel with which the first stage of the 
 development of Elizabethan prose fiction was inaugurated. 
 Euphues, it is well to recall for purposes of comparison a 
 little later, is the story of a young Athenian who comes to 
 Naples. There he is given some sound advice on the subject 
 of conduct. Presently he meets Philautus, with whom he is 
 soon on intimate terms of friendship. Philautus introduces 
 him to Lucilla, his betrothed. Euphues and Lucilla fall in 
 love and the friendship with Philautus is broken. It is not 
 long, however, before Lucilla deserts Euphues for one Curio, 
 just as she had deserted Philautus for Euphues. Then 
 Euphues, a wiser man, having renewed his friendship with 
 Philautus, betakes himself to Greece, becomes a hermit, and 
 sends forth letters upon various subjects to his various 
 friends. 
 
 Lyly intended to write a treatise. His real purpose, as Mr. 
 Bond says,^ ''was to string together moral reflections on 
 grave subjects, the gathered results of various reading." Lyly 
 was concerned with the inculcation of ideas. Matters of 
 education, friendship, religion, love-making, conduct, travel, 
 and so forth, he discussed with the seriousness that pertains 
 to questions of real moment. These things were vital to him, 
 and indispensable. From sources here and there, from 
 
 ' The Complete Works of John Lyly. Ed. by R. W. Bond. Clarendon 
 Press, 1902. Introductory Essay to Euphues. Vol. I, p. 159. 
 
14 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Cicero, Plutarch, Erasmus, Guevara, from his own thought, 
 too, he collected opinions and discourses on social affairs. 
 Some of these he translated just as he found them; some he 
 adapted to suit his purpose. The Anatomy of Wyt is, there- 
 fore, "rather an essay in philosophy than in fiction proper." 
 But it is not wholly so. The compilation thus made Lyly 
 cast into narrative form. As such it has serious defects, 
 want of action, poverty of imagination, lack of human interest. 
 In spite of its imperfections as narrative, however, — in spite, 
 one might say, of the very didacticism which called it forth — 
 Euphues is a novel, an excellent "prototype of the novel with 
 a purpose." 
 
 Of the style of the celebrated work we shall not speak, its 
 structural and ornamental devices — anthitheses, rhetorical 
 questions, alliterations, puns; historical and mythological 
 allusions, similes from natural and unnatural history, prov- 
 erbs, set discourses, soliloquies, "passions," asides to the 
 reader, letters, misogynist tirades. All this is too well known 
 on its own account to make necessary anything more than the 
 mention of it as the conscious effort to please men desiring to 
 "heare finer speach then the language would allow." There 
 can, indeed, be only one purpose in calling attention to Lyly's 
 work at all, the purpose, namely, of taking advantage of its 
 familiarity to the reader as a means of summing up more dis- 
 tinctly, perhaps, than would otherwise be possible, the state 
 of the novel when Greene put forth his first production. 
 
 (A) Mamillia 
 
 The First Part of Mamillia (lie. 1580), the earliest extant 
 work from Greene's pen, is the only one of his novels (together 
 with the Anatomie of Lovers Flatteries appended to the Second 
 Part, 1583; and a few elements in the Second Part itself) of 
 which the form was cast in the mold set by Lyly. But 
 though Greene only once chose Euphues as the model for his 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 15 
 
 own work, there is no doubt that he wrote Mamillia with 
 Lyly's novel, and Lyly's success, in mind. Mamillia has 
 come from the court of Venice to be at her father's house 
 in Padua. She receives a letter from a friend at court as to 
 matters of conduct. At her father's house, one Pharicles 
 sees her, falls in love with her, and wins her affection. Shortly 
 afterward Pharicles sees Publia, woos, and wins her. Thus 
 treacherously engaged to both ladies at once, and fearing the 
 outcome of such faithlessness, he decides to leave the country. 
 He does so, leaving behind two faithful women, both of whom, 
 in spite of his fickleness, remain constant in their affection. 
 Publia in the Second Part enters a convent; MamilUa — a 
 radical departure from Euphues — marries Pharicles. 
 
 The plot of Mamillia differs in many respects from that of 
 Euphues; still the general plan is much the same. Corre- 
 sponding to Euphues' departure from Athens, we have 
 Mamillia's departure from the court to her father's house. 
 The fundamental theme of infidelity is the same with sexes 
 reversed. This reversal is often carried out in details. 
 Euphues goes from home to gain worldly experience. 
 Mamillia is away from home in the midst of temptations, 
 and goes home in order to avoid them. When Euphues 
 arrives in Naples, he is offered advice, which he haughtily 
 rejects. Mamillia is offered advice, which she accepts and 
 earnestly tries to follow. The reversal is carried, also, to the 
 main characters. In Euphues there are two faithful male, 
 and one faithless female, characters; in Mamillia there are 
 two faithful female, and one faithless male, characters. 
 Corresponding to the fact that Euphues met Lucilla through 
 Philautus' introduction is the fact that it was Mamillia who 
 introduced Pharicles to Publia. Corresponding to the quarrel 
 between Euphues and Philautus when Euphues falls in love 
 with Lucilla, there is the falling out between Mamillia and 
 Publia when Pharicles and Publia fall in love. Corresponding 
 
16 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 to Euphues' secluding himself at Silexedra is Publia's entrance 
 into a convent. And corresponding to Euphues' letters, are 
 the letters of Mamillia to her friend, the Lady Modesta. 
 This definite parallelism is sufficient to show what I mean 
 in saying that Mamillia is planned upon Euphues.^ 
 
 Not in form only, but also in purpose, was Greene's first 
 novel written in very obvious emulation of Lyly. Although 
 he did not follow the exact type again, Greene began to 
 write in accordance with the prominent tradition of the 
 time; and this tradition involved not only the form of 
 Euphv£S, but its aim as well. Lyly's purpose was primarily 
 didactic. His method, ostensibly that of narrative, has some 
 of the interest which arises from pure narrative. The under- 
 lying principle, however, is of another kind. Lyly was too 
 close to the older school of Painter and Fenton, too thor- 
 oughly imbued with the newly acquired ideas of the 
 Renaissance, to be able to project a work of fiction which 
 should be free from the encumbering didacticism of the 
 treatise. I do not mean that he should have been wholly 
 free from it. The contrast is not between didacticism and 
 entertainment pure and simple, but between a crude didac- 
 ticism which comes from a failure to assimilate ideas suffi- 
 ciently to secure a true perspective, and an artistic criticism 
 of life. A notable work of fiction can never be mere enter- 
 tainment. But Lyly was so filled with the significance of 
 the new culture, and of the refinement and polish of expres- 
 sion, that he mistook these subordinate for the prominent 
 elements. His purpose was not first to create a novel in 
 our modern sense of the word, with its artistic proportion 
 
 8 Another very close following of Euphues is the opening part of 
 Lodge's Euphues Shadow, 1592. (The Complete Works of Thomas 
 Lodge. Ed. by Gosse, Vol. II.) The latter part of Lodge's story is 
 entirely different, but the opening situation is identical with that of 
 Euphues. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 17 
 
 both of pleasure and of criticism, but to open new matters 
 of polite thought, manners, conversation, to the minds of 
 the English court. 
 
 Greene, although he omits Lyly's element of satire, also 
 was aiming at edification. He was carrying on in Mamillia 
 the tradition of the treatise. As well as Lyly, he perceived 
 the value of refinement in thought, of elegance in expression, 
 and of a consciousness of endeavor to make culture a part 
 of the life and speech of the English people. That end he 
 saw accomplished by Lyly; and he tried, upon the model 
 of his predecessor, to bring about the same result. His 
 method was narration; his end, instruction. He has given 
 us therefore a novel which is not, on the whole, unlike 
 Euphues.^ 
 
 This is not saying that we are to attach to Mamillia the 
 same significance that we give to Lyly's work. Although, 
 as Mr. Bond^^ admirably points out, Lyly found at hand 
 practically all the elements, both of style and content, which 
 he combined to produce Euphues, he is nevertheless to be 
 given credit as a pioneer in that he first created what is 
 worthy to be regarded seriously as a work of fiction. In 
 this sense, Lyly's novel is more important than Greene's. 
 It is the more important, too, on its intrinsic merits. There 
 is in it a somewhat firmer handling of the materials, a deeper 
 
 ^ In view of such a purpose and such a production, we can hardly 
 agree with the statement of Mr. Gosse when he said, in speaking of 
 Mamillia, "It is to Greene to whom the credit is due of first writing 
 a book wholly devoted to fictitious adventure in prose." (Hunterian 
 Club. The Complete Works of Thomas Lodge. Ed. by Edmund 
 Gosse, 1883. Introduction, Vol. I., p. 11.) To characterize Mamillia 
 — the First Part at least — as "fictitious adventure" and thus to 
 distinguish it from Euphues, is, it seems to me, utterly to misinterpret 
 the nature of the work. 
 
 1" The Complete Works of John Lyly. Ed. by R. Warwick Bond, 
 Clarendon Press. 1902. 
 
18 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 understanding of motive, a more effective grasp upon the 
 meaning of character. Not only this, perhaps because of 
 this, it is more mature, more steady in its aim and in its 
 method. 
 
 We are not, however, to be bhnd to the importance of 
 Greene's work, nor to discount it too much from the fact 
 that it is directly a copy. Mamillia has most of the imper- 
 fections of the time, infinite niceties of Euphuistic phrasing, 
 tendency to clog the narrative with pedantic speeches and 
 conversations, shallowness of characterization. But super- 
 ficial as it is, it is not ineffective. Publia, Mamillia, and 
 Pharicles are more than just the inverse portraits of Phi- 
 lautus, Euphues, and Lucilla. For all that Pharicles' trouble 
 of mind over his inconstancy is not, upon examination, 
 very convincing, it will endure a cursory reading.^^ And 
 if the narrative element is slight (it must be remembered 
 that we are discussing the First Part only; the Second Part 
 belongs with the romances) , it has at the same time a certain 
 degree of rapidity. Pharicles meets Publia immediately 
 upon his acceptance by Mamillia. The whole situation 
 indeed is more cleverly conceived than in Lyly. Philautus 
 takes Euphues to Lucilla for the purpose of introducing 
 him to her. The introduction is, obviously, to make oppor- 
 tunity to reveal Lucilla's fickleness. In Greene, on the other 
 hand, the introduction is manifestly accidental. Pharicles 
 is walking with Mamillia for the sake of urging his suit. It 
 happens that she is going to Publia's house. Pharicles goes 
 along. Inasmuch as Mamillia has just granted her love by 
 the time they arrive, we are dumbfounded at Pharicles' sud- 
 den passion for Publia. The events that follow, too, occur 
 in quick succession; almost before we know it, Pharicles 
 is betrothed to both, and off and away to Sicily. 
 
 " Dr. Wolff (Eng. St., Vol. 37, p. 358) thinks that Mamillia contains 
 some of Greene's best characterization. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 19 
 
 The apparent fortuitousness of Pharicles' meeting with 
 Publia illustrates what I think is Greene's advance over 
 Lyly. It shows, on Greene's part, a realization of what 
 narrative, as distinct from treatise, demands. Euphues is 
 a treatise which came near being a story; Mamillia is a 
 story which retains much of the treatise. Although he 
 was striving to imitate Lyly, Greene's nature led him to a 
 slightly different result. He put into a minor relation the 
 very things for the sake of which, perhaps, he wrote the 
 book, and elevated those which his fundamental interest in 
 events inevitably made prominent. Even in his first pro- 
 duction, when his purpose was to teach, he developed the 
 ability, which he was later to develop more consciously, of 
 producing work with real narrative art. Omne tulit pundum 
 qui miscuit utile dulci. Lyly, it may be said, had stressed 
 the utile. Greene found the value of the dulci. Such a 
 discovery in those days was no small thing for a lad of 
 twenty. 
 
 (B) The Frame-work Tales 
 
 It was one of Greene's most deep-rooted characteristics 
 to write what he thought he would have a market for. All 
 through his life he was doing that. ''After I had by 
 degrees proceeded Maister of Arts," we are told, '' . . . 
 I became ... a penner of Love Pamphlets . . . who 
 for that trade growne so ordinary about London as Robin 
 Greene." ^2 xhe statement comes from the supersensi- 
 tive brain of a dying man, but the truth of it applies 
 elsewhere to Greene's work. Literature was a trade to him, 
 an activity to be followed shrewdly in order to be followed 
 successfully. 
 
 Fiction, in 1580, was didactic. Greene would therefore 
 be didactic. Euphues was very popular. Greene would 
 
 12 Repentance, Vol. XII., p. 17-23. 
 
20 BOBERT GREENE 
 
 write a novel like it. Such seems to have been the origin 
 of Mamillia. It was none of Greene's intention, when he 
 began, to do more than disguise the similarity between his 
 pamphlet and its model. Every one still felt the need of 
 being didactic, or at least of pretending to be so,^^ and 
 Greene meant to follow fashion and be as didactic as the 
 rest.^* Incidentally he discovered the power of ordering 
 events in a way to give real narrative interest. The story 
 did not exactly run away with him; but it broke loose. 
 
 There is in Greene's work a balancing between two pur- 
 poses. His desire always to be in fashion brought about 
 these results, — one coming from his conscious aim to instruct, 
 the other developing as a by-product into a freedom of art. 
 Mamillia marks the first stage. The romances mark the 
 last. Between the two, both in time and in relationship, 
 are the frame-work tales which form the subject of this di- 
 vision of the chapter. 
 
 To the composition of the frame-work tales the Italian 
 Renaissance contributed the two elements which character- 
 ize this branch of Greene's work. There was the influence 
 which came from the Dialogues, like Bembo's Gli Asolani 
 and Castiglione's II Cortegiano; and which, we saw earlier 
 in the chapter, was already felt in England even before the 
 
 ^3 See an example in the Adventures of Master F. J., which Gascoigne 
 concludes in these words: "Thus we see that where wicked lust 
 doeth beare the name of love, it doth not onely infecte the lyght- 
 minded, but it maye also become confusion to others which are vowed 
 to constancie. And to that end I have recyted this Fable, which may 
 serue as ensample to warne the youthfuU reader from attempting the 
 lyke worthless enterprise." (Gascoigne. Ed. W. C. Hazlitt. Rox- 
 burghe Library, 1869. Vol. I., p. 486.) 
 
 " "I will take in hand to discourse of, (Obedience) that both we 
 may beguyle the night with prattle, and profite our mynds by some 
 good and vertuous precepts." Penelopes Web, p. 162. A character- 
 istic statement of Greene. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 21 
 
 time of Greene. In the Dialogue of this type, the purpose 
 was cultural; the center of interest was on what was said 
 rather than upon what was done, — upon polite conversation, 
 discussions upon questions of morality, love, fortune, and so 
 forth ; and the emphasis was about equally divided between 
 the frame-work and the included matter. There was, too, 
 the influence of the frame-work tale proper, of the kind repre- 
 sented by Boccaccio's Decameron. Works of this sort tended 
 to minimize the importance of the frame-work and to throw 
 the emphasis upon the included stories. The purpose was 
 that of entertainment more than of culture. 
 
 We may begin with Morando, the Tritameron of Love. 
 Morando resembles the treatise in its purpose. Perhaps it 
 should not even be called a novel at all. The Lady Panthia, 
 accompanied by her three daughters and three young gentle- 
 men, is spending three days at the house of Morando. On 
 each day a discussion occurs :^^ first, Love doth much, but 
 money doth all; second; Whether or not it is good to love; 
 third. Whether women or men are more subject to love. 
 Hence the title — after the fashion of the Decameron and 
 the Heptameron — the ''Tritameron" of Love. Each ques- 
 tion is debated by one of the young couples. Considerable 
 opportunity is offered for a certain brilliancy of conversation 
 and repartee; and while there is no action, there is some inter- 
 est in the development of the characters. By the time the 
 three days' discussion is over, one of the young men has 
 fallen in love with one of the young ladies. Then all go to 
 Panthia's house in town, from where, if Greene hears what 
 
 ^5 Morando and several other novels of the group are thus examples 
 of the dubii, or discussions particularly of the more subtle questions 
 of love, which constituted for many decades a very popular amusement 
 in polite circles. They dealt with just such topics as are proposed in 
 Morando, and were very widespread in the literature of the Renais- 
 .sance, not only in Italy but elsewhere. 
 
22 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 success Silvestro had, he will let us have news. Greene 
 heard — as he always did in such cases — of Silvestro 's 
 success, and so had plenty of reason to publish the Second 
 Part. This second part carries on the love affair to its 
 happy conclusion. Thus the story forms a setting in which 
 are embedded some further discourses, this time not upon 
 love, but upon fortune and upon friendship. ^^ 
 
 Even so brief an analysis will serve to show the nature of 
 the work. It can be seen at once that the Tritameron 
 has more story than is to be found in the treatises proper, 
 but is yet distinctly akin to them. The purpose of it is not 
 narrative primarily, but didactic, — designed to give expres- 
 sion to, and to infuse into the English mind, certain thoughts 
 upon cultural subjects, however conventional those thoughts 
 and purposes might be or might become. 
 
 Of all the group, Morando takes the extreme place in the 
 direction of cultural intention. Next to it are the pam- 
 
 16 Mr. Hart (Notes and Queries. 10th Ser. No. 5, pp. 343, 443, 444.) 
 has pointed out that these discourses are not original with Greene. 
 They were extracted by him from Primaudaye's Academy. Primaudaye 
 was born about 1545 of a family of Anjou, and was a man of consider- 
 able renown in his own time. His works were chiefly of a religious 
 nature. The Academy was translated in 1586 by Thomas Bowes as 
 the "Platonical Academy & Schoole of Moral Philosophy." Greene 
 frequently made use of Bowes' translation. The discourse on Friend- 
 ship (Vol. III., pp. 146-60) is taken from Primaudaye, Chap. XIII, 
 "Of Friendship and a Friend." Ten lines of Primaudaye are lifted 
 bodily. "First we say with Socrates that ... (12 lines skipped) 
 . . . Friendship is a communion," etc. The discourse of Peratio 
 upon Fortune (pp. 128-39) is from Primaudaye, Chap. XLIV. Greene 
 omits Primaudaye's account of Tamburlaine. The discussion on 
 marriage (pp. 164-6) is, incidentally, from Primaudaye, Chap. XLV. 
 The sexes are changed, for whereas Primaudaye writes against women, 
 Greene is arguing for them. 
 
 After 1586 many of Greene's writings show large verbal borrowings 
 from Primaudaye. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 23 
 
 phlets which make up Greene's largest body of work. These 
 are the frame-work tales which have stories within them- 
 selves in illustration of the ideas brought out in the 
 discussion. Closest to Morando in didactic elements is 
 Farewell to Follie}^ Signior Farnese goes, with his wife and 
 three daughters and four young gentlemen, into the country. 
 There they discuss Follie in a series of discourses and illus- 
 trative tales. From the fact that the three forms of Follie 
 talked of are Pride, Lust, and Gluttony, and from the fact 
 that there are seven young people in the company, it is 
 surely not unreasonable to suppose with Professor Morley^^ 
 that Greene had in mind to make the Farewell to Follie a 
 treatise on the seven deadly sins.^^ 
 
 The title-page of the Censure to Philautus is undoubtedly 
 the best comment upon that work: 
 
 "Euphues his censure to Philautus. Wherein is presented a philo- 
 sophical! combat betweene Hector and Achylles, discovering in foure 
 discourses, interlaced with diverse delightfull Tragedies, The vertues 
 necessary to be incident in every gentleman: had in question at the 
 
 1^ This pamphlet is often spoken of in connection with the so-called 
 repentance novels. The only way in which it can be so connected 
 with them (the way in which it usually is connected with the repent- 
 ances) is by the prefaces. The prefaces, however, haveinothing to do 
 with the work itself, unless the anatomizing of folly be called ''re- 
 pentance." So far as the work itself is concerned, it does in reality 
 belong with the treatise-narrative group. 
 
 18 English Writers, Vol. X., pp. 94-5. 
 
 19 Mr. Hart (Notes and Queries, Ser. 10, No. 5) cites twenty or 
 more passages taken directly from Primaudaye. Among the most 
 important of these are the passages on marriage (Vol. IX., pp. 327-8) 
 which are taken from Primaudaye (Chap. XLV.) and the Tale of Cosimo 
 (Vol. IX., p. 298) which Greene develops into a story from the headings 
 of the tale of Menon in Primaudaye (Chap. XL VII.) In no other work 
 does Greene borrow so extensively from Primaudaye. In Farewell to 
 Follie he also made use of Laneham's Letter (1575). Passage (Vol. IX., 
 p. 265) is taken from Laneham (Burn's reprint, 1821, p. 29, corrected 
 by Furnivall in Ballad Society, p. 22. 1871). 
 
24 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 siege of Troy betwixt sondry Grecian and Trojan Lords: especially 
 debated to discour the perfection of a souldier. Containing mirth to 
 purge melancholy, holsome precepts to profit maners, neither unsauorie 
 to youth for delight, nor offensive to age for scurrilitie. Ea habentur 
 optima quae & lucunda, honesta, & utilia." 
 
 The purpose, as can be seen, is similar to that of Castig- 
 lione's work, in this case to set forth the qualities of the 
 perfect soldier. The emphasis is only apparently upon 
 the didactic; really the narrative elements were more im- 
 portant in Greene's own mind. For one-fifth of the 
 novel is given to the frame-work and the background — 
 the meetings of the Greeks and Trojans, both soldiers 
 and women, in a time of truce; and the consequent talking 
 back and forth,^^ with the final decision on the part of the 
 men to ''discover" an ideal member of their own profession. 
 One-fifth is devoted to the set speeches such as were found 
 in the Tritameron of Love, in this instance on Wisdom, 
 Fortitude, and Liberality, the three essentials of perfection 
 in arms. And three-fifths are consumed in the relating of the 
 ^'delightfull Tragedies." 21 
 
 20 Professor Herford (New Shak. Soc. Ser. 1, Pt. 2, p. 186) thinks 
 there is some relation between Greene's conception of Cressida, as she 
 is shown to us here, and Shakespeare's. Greene's, he says, more 
 nearly approaches Shakespeare's manner than any other version in its 
 conception of the heroine. Greene speaks of Cressida who was "tickled 
 a little with aselfe conceit of her owne wit" (Vol. VL, p. 166) — a sug- 
 gestion of the pert, impudent, ingenious Cressida of Shakespeare. 
 
 I think we can agree that there is this similarity between the two 
 Cressidas. But I do not believe we can go so far as to say with 
 Grosart (Englische Studien 22:403) that "Shakespeare's treatment of 
 'Troy's tale divine' in Troilus and Cressida is drawn from Euphues 
 his Censure." 
 
 21 How definitely Greene meant to convey the impression that he 
 was writing a treatise can be seen by his own remark in his preface 
 where, attributing the work to Euphues, he speaks of it as a work 
 "wherein under the shadow of a philosophicall combat betweene Hector 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 25 
 
 Belonging with the Censure to Philautus and yet going a 
 step farther toward an openly expressed delight in the story 
 elements are Penelopes Web, dating from the same year 
 (1587), expressly a ''Christall Myrror of faeminine per- 
 fection" intended to set forth the virtues of womankind 
 in the same way that the Censure sets forth the idea of the 
 perfect soldier ;22 Alcida,'^^ in which the principal character 
 is an old woman who tells the stories of her three daughters, 
 revealing three vanities, Pride, Inconstancy, and Proneness 
 to Gossip, the ''discourse" confirmed with 'diverse merry 
 and delightfull Histories"; ^^^ Planetomachia, a discussion with 
 
 and Achilles, imitating Tullies orator, Platoes common wealth, Bal- 
 desars courtier, he aymeth at the exquisite portraiture of a perfect 
 martialist." Vol. VI., p. 152. 
 
 *2 A part of the title-page reads: "In three several discourses also 
 are three especiall vertues, necessary to be incident in every vertuous 
 woman, pithely discussed: namely Obedience, Chastitie, and Sylence: 
 Interlaced with three severall and Comicall Histories. By Robert 
 Greene, Maister of Arts in Cambridge." 
 
 Penelopes Web has borrowings from Primaudaye's Academy. (Hart, 
 Notes and Queries. 10th Ser. No. 5.) 
 
 23 Brie (Englische Studien, 42: 217 ff.) attempts to determine the 
 date of Lyly's Lovers Metamorphosis on the ground of its connection with 
 Alcida. Without raising the question of the date of Lyly's play, I 
 fail to see any such intimate relationship between the novel and the 
 play as in any way to think the former the source of the latter. Both 
 involve metamorphoses, to be sure, but the similarity scarcely goes 
 beyond that point. 
 
 2* Storojenko (Grosart's Greene, Vol. I., p. 95) is puzzled as to what 
 should have caused Greene "to change his front so suddenly, and to 
 send the shafts of his wit against the very sex which he had always 
 so highly lauded." Storojenko is linking together Nashe's epithet, 
 "Homer of women," (Nashe's Works, Ed. McKerrow, Vol. I., p. 12) 
 and Greene's own words in Mamillia (Vol. II., pp. 106-7) where Greene 
 sets himself up against the slanderers of women. To be puzzled about 
 a seeming change of front is to take Greene too seriously. In the first 
 place, speeches against women are to be found in Mamillia itself 
 (Vol. II., pp. 54, 221-2), and in other works of Greene. In the second 
 
26 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 an elaborate preface on the influence of the planets,^^ con- 
 taining two tales by Saturn and Venus, each divinity to prove 
 that the influence of the other is the more malignant in the 
 actions of men, — a theme similar to that of Lyly's Woman 
 in the Moon. 
 
 There are two more novels in the group, Perymedes and 
 Orpharion. These are at the opposite extreme from Mo- 
 rando. For while there is a semblance of a purpose for having 
 a frame-work — in the case of Peryynedes to set forth a pic- 
 ture of contented lowly life; in Orpharion to show a cure for 
 love — the stories which make up the novels are told for 
 their own sake. This, in spite of the fact that Greene in 
 all solemnity declares that Perymedes illustrates ''a golden 
 methode how to use the minde in pleasant and profitable 
 exercise;" and that in Orpharion ''as in a Diateheron, the 
 branches of Vertue, ascending and descending by degrees: 
 are counited in the glorious praise of women-kind." 
 
 In form, Greeners Vision is a frame-work pamphlet. But 
 the tales are really incidental both in proportion and in inter- 
 est, although one of them, the Tale of Tompkins, is among the 
 most skilful of Greene's stories. The Vision, being an 
 account of a religious experience, may therefore be dis- 
 place, it is not known that Nashe is referring to Greene at all (Nashe, 
 Ed. McKerrow, Vol. IV., p. 14). And in the third place, Alcida is not 
 necessarily a misogynic pamphlet. It is not against women in general. 
 It is merely against certain faults in women's natures — simply a 
 didactic narrative. 
 
 ^ This preface is not original with Greene. He gets it from Pontano's 
 dialogue called Aegidius (Prose Works, Venice, 1519, Vol. II.). "At 
 the beginning of Planetomachia, Greene takes over nearly verbatim, 
 in the original Latin, seven pages of this dialogue (beginning at page 
 168), substituting his own name "Robertus Grenus" and that of his 
 friend ^^ Fransiscus Handus," for the names of Pardus and Fransiscus 
 Pudericus respectively, wherever these occur in the original." (S. L. 
 Wolff. Eng. St. Vol. 37, p. 333, note 1.) 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 27 
 
 cussed in the next chapter among the repentance pamphlets. 
 Strictly speaking, two others of Greene's novels, Never too 
 Late, with its sequel, Francescos Fortunes, and Arbasto, 
 belong with this group. But for the reason that these two 
 novels contain only one tale each, and that in both novels 
 the included tales so put the frame-work out of mind as to 
 make it entirely negligible, they are best considered in the 
 groups where they properly belong, the latter with the 
 romances, the former with the prodigal-son stories. 
 
 The interest of these pamphlets for the modern reader is, 
 in most cases, in the tales. It is the interest which arises 
 from the narrative rather than from the didactic elements. 
 This probably was less true to Greene's contemporaries. 
 Although the frame-work is not entirely without significance 
 even for us, to them it was, no doubt, the more vital part. 
 For Greene imbued it with considerable of the spirit of 
 Renaissance thought, and he conveyed through it to his 
 readers much that was essentially cultural in content and 
 in aim. He was, then, not merely the writer of didactic 
 frame-works embellished with incidental tales; he was an 
 apostle of the new learning and all that it represented. He 
 was journalistic, he made his living by putting out these 
 pamphlets. But such considerations do not alter the fact 
 that he did much, along with earning his bread, to familiarize 
 his readers with ideas of refinement in conversation and life, 
 with precepts of morality, with questions of sentiment and 
 passion, with discourses on the virtues and vices of mankind. ^^ 
 
 There are in all more than twenty of the included tales. 
 
 2^ For a full discussion of this subject of Greene as an introducer 
 of Italian culture see Dr. S. L. Wolff's article (published in Englische 
 Studien, 1906-7, Vol. 37) entitled, ''Robert Greene and the Italian 
 Renaissance." Dr. Wolff discusses the influence of the Renaissance 
 upon Greene as being of two kinds; that which Greene assimilated 
 in such a way as to treat imaginatively in his own work, such as plots 
 
28 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 The tabulation of them in chronological order will show in 
 the most concrete way possible the range of subject and 
 genre.2^ Such a tabulation, however, shows nothing of the 
 structure or of the excellence of Greene's work. It may be 
 well, then, to illustrate Greene's narrative art. 
 
 We may take the story of Tompkins the Wheelwright, for 
 example, — Chaucer's Tale in Greenes Vision (Vol. XII.). 
 This tale belongs to the old fabliau type, which is in itself 
 well freed from ethical purpose. It is not the aim of the 
 type to portray character, except incidentally, or to bear in- 
 struction. The good fabliau is primarily narrative, consist- 
 ing always of a well-knit story. It is clear even when it is 
 elaborate. Its method is straightforward, ever selecting the 
 significant detail necessary to forward the action. It is 
 compact, unadorned, effective. 
 
 Near Cambridge lived a wheelwright named Tompkins. 
 He fell in love with a dairymaid who sold cream in Cam- 
 bridge. Her name was Kate. She loved him too, and her 
 father consented to the marriage. Kate continued to sell 
 her cream. Tompkins became jealous of the scholars at 
 Cambridge and finally became jealous of everybody. Kate 
 perceived his jealousy and was grieved. She was friendly 
 with a scholar whom she asked to rid her husband of jealousy. 
 They devised a plan. 
 
 On Friday Tompkins took his wife to her father's while he 
 went to Cambridge. He met a scholar who asked him 
 where he lived. He said at Grandchester. Scholar asked 
 if he knew Tompkins, the wheelwright. Tompkins said 
 
 and motifs; and that which he used but did not so assimilate — ideas 
 about science, literature, education, politics, society, which became 
 a part of his mental content and changed his views of life, and adventi- 
 tious material which enlarged his stock of information and furnished 
 literary ornament. 
 " See Appendix I. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 29 
 
 he was his neighbor. Scholar said that Tompkins was the 
 most famous cuckold in the country, and offered to prove 
 the statement the next day when Kate was in town. Tomp- 
 kins was to meet the scholar at an inn. 
 
 The next day Tompkins bade his wife go to market, for 
 he was ill, he said. Then he went to Cambridge to the 
 inn. He met the scholar, and they went to a chamber 
 window. Tompkins saw his wife sitting on a scholar's 
 lap eating cherries. Then he and the scholar drank 
 together. Tompkins was given a sleeping potion, and they 
 ail made merry, while Tompkins slept. Late at night they 
 carried Tompkins home. 
 
 About midnight he awoke and began to rail at his wife. 
 Then he saw that he was at home in bed, and he could not 
 understand it. He said that he had seen his wife on a 
 scholar's lap, eating cherries. They persuaded him that he 
 had been very ill, and that it was all mere fancy. ^Thus 
 was Tompkins cured of his jealousy. 
 
 The Tale of the Farmer Bridegroom in Groatsworth of Wit 
 belongs in the class with that of Tompkins. Not all of 
 Greene's tales, however, rank with these two. Some of 
 them are poorly done and dull; indeed the fact cannot be 
 overlooked that, however popular in its day, much of 
 Greene's work is commonplace to us. But every man has 
 the right to be measured by his highest attainments. In the 
 final consideration there is this quality which demands 
 recognition. When he is at his best, Greene is able to tell a 
 story well. He has an understanding of what a plot is, and 
 he makes his narrative move. Most of Greene's work is of 
 course impeded by Euphuistic ornament and didactic talk, 
 but the story is usually well conceived and developed. 
 
 Entirely different is the tale of Valdracko, — Venus' Trage- 
 die in Planetomachia. Valdracko, Duke of Ferrara, was a 
 crabbed man. Though he was just and politic as a ruler, he 
 
30 EGBERT GREENE 
 
 was not liked privately. He trusted no one. Valdracko had 
 a daughter called Pasylla, who was loved by Rodento, son 
 of II Conte Coelio, Valdracko's bitter enemy. (The love 
 affair is long drawn out.) One day Valdracko went to his 
 daughter's room to speak to her. She was not there, but he 
 found one of Rodento's letters and Pasylla's answer to it. 
 He made up his mind to be avenged on the family of Coelio. 
 
 There was a great meeting of the nobles of Ferrara. Val- 
 dracko asked Coelio to stay after the meeting, and made 
 proffer of reconciliation. The proffer was accepted, to the 
 joy of the Senate, and Valdracko took CoeHo home with him 
 to dinner. He called his daughter to him and told her of 
 his plan for her to marry Rodento. Pasylla said she was 
 willing, Rodento was sent for, and the marriage was arranged 
 for the next spring. 
 
 Meantime Valdracko decided to hire a ruffian to murder 
 Coelio. Within a few days the ruffian had killed Coelio with 
 a pistol. But he was captured, and brought before the 
 Senate. Valdracko, pretending great sorrow at his friend's 
 death, ordered the man's tongue cut out. Pasylla and Ro- 
 dento were greatly grieved at Coelio's death. Valdracko 
 had the murderer put to death in torment. Soon after, 
 Rodento and Pasylla were married with much ceremony, and 
 Valdracko spent great sums of money upon the marriage 
 feast. 
 
 After five months Valdracko began thinking how he might 
 be rid of Rodento. He went to a house of his three miles 
 from Ferrara, from where he sent a letter to his cup-bearer 
 to poison Rodento, promising great reward. The cup- 
 bearer carried out the orders the next morning. Within 
 four hours Rodento died. Pasylla was greatly grieved. The 
 cup-bearer had pangs of conscience. He gave her her father's 
 letter, and died. When Valdracko came home he pretended 
 sorrow for Rodento's death, but Pasylla had vowed revenge. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 31 
 
 When he had gone to sleep, she went to his chamber and 
 bound him to his bed. She awakened him and killed him 
 with a sword. She took pen and ink and wrote out the story; 
 then she killed herself with the same sword. 
 
 This tale is distinctly a product of the Italian Renaissance. 
 It might well be — and may be, for all anybody knows — a 
 translation of one of the novelle. The story is full of Italian 
 incidents and motifs :^^ murders, revenge, treachery. It has 
 in it passion of love and hate, intensity of movement. That 
 the action is somewhat slow in starting must be admitted, 
 being delayed by the conventionality of the process of young 
 people's falling in love. But once set going the trend of 
 events is sure, the movement steady toward the tragic end. 
 
 The principal characters are of course Valdracko and Pa- 
 sylla, the father and his beautiful daughter. About Pasylla 
 there is nothing of particular import. She is passionate and 
 faithful in her love; and she is unflinching in her revenge. 
 But Greene does not present her differentiated from the 
 type of beautiful heroines who can, on occasion, show a 
 ferocious fortitude — the gentle lady murderers so common 
 in the literature of the Renaissance. Nor does he imbue her 
 with a personality so distinct as to arouse in us genuine 
 sympathy for her revenge or for her death. 
 
 Valdracko, too, is only a type. But he is a type which 
 comes very near to being a character. He is a man impla- 
 
 28 "The story of Valdracko, in Planetomachia, is full of Italian 
 motifs. That of the old woman go-between who transmits to the lover 
 what is ostensibly his own love letter disdainfully returned, but what is 
 really an encouraging reply, may well have come from Boccaccio's story 
 of the confessor as go-between — Decam. III., 3 (not noticed by Koep- 
 pel). There is, too, a typical Italian poisoning, and a general family 
 slaughter — father killing son-in-law, daughter killing father and her- 
 self — which recalls Cinthio's tragedy of Orbecche, or his narrative 
 version of the same story in Hecatomm. II., 2." (Wolff, Eng. Stud., 
 Vol. 37, p. 346, note 1.) 
 
32 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 cable in his hatred. There is no sacrifice too great, be it his 
 own daughter. There is no treachery too violent. Greene 
 has presented us with a unified conception. Valdracko is 
 consistently portrayed — with one exception. We cannot 
 understand the depth of his motive as co-ordinate with the 
 terribleness of his actions. We cannot feel that Valdracko 
 moves wholly from within. To the extent that he is moved 
 by his creator he falls short of real personality. 
 
 We are here making one of our most serious criticisms 
 upon Greene's art in fiction. Greene gets hold, to a remark- 
 able degree, of the nature of narrative so far as the choice 
 and arrangement of events is concerned. His sense for action 
 is strong. His ability in characterization, on the other hand, 
 is not so well developed. He seldom presents more than 
 types. Although his presentation is often a refinement upon 
 that of his predecessors, and although he succeeds in ideahz- 
 ing certain kinds of personality, his characterization is always, 
 in his novels, inadequate. Greene has not enough insight 
 into the depths of human nature to gain a full conception 
 of the sources of action. He does not relate sufficiently a 
 motive for conduct, and the conduct itself. 
 
 This is a serious criticism. But to say so, is not also to 
 say that it is a severe one. We must remember that in 1585 
 Shakespeare had not begun to write, that Marlowe had pro- 
 duced nothing, that Kyd had not even written the Spanish 
 Tragedy. Greene had few models in English Literature,^^ 
 for no one had yet opened the eyes of English men of 
 letters to a realization of what it was possible to do in the 
 creation of character when creative power was at its highest. 
 Greene's supreme achievement is Valdracko, which, we have 
 said, falls short. Greene had not intensity enough of imagi- 
 
 ^ Sidney's Arcadia with its minute and keen analysis of character 
 was written before 1585, but there is no way of knowing whether Greene 
 had read it. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 33 
 
 nation to raise him above the sphere of tjqpe into the sphere 
 of personaHty; so the story of Valdracko remains a tale, — 
 not a tragedy. But the wonder is not that Greene failed. 
 
 In conclusion, my discussion of the frame-work tales may 
 require a word of explanation. Greene's career in fiction, 
 chronologically, was from the treatise to the romance, — 
 from the utile to the dulci, through the frame-work tales, 
 which were both. In view of that general development I 
 have taken up the frame-work tale as a progression from the 
 one extreme to the other. It must be remembered that I 
 have done so only for the sake of classification and clearness. 
 The order here is not at all that in which they were written. 
 
 We can easily be led astray by the evolutionary idea in the 
 case of a man like Greene whose work in fiction as a whole 
 does, at first sight, seem to have been the result of a con- 
 scious development. For we have first Mamillia, the didac- 
 tic treatise; then about 1586 and '87 a series of frame-work 
 tales; and finally in 1588 and '89 a group of romances, narra- 
 tives pure and simple. The division, however, is by no means 
 exact. Greene's second work, for instance, was a romance. 
 And so was his third, and his fourth — this last in a prodigal- 
 son frame-work. Moreover, after he had left romances, and 
 had turned to another form of writing, Greene appeared with 
 one of the most didactic of his frame-work tales. Such con- 
 siderations prevent any belief that Green's novels represent 
 a real progression in his mind. 
 
 The development, if there had been one, would have been 
 in accordance with Greene's natural ability. His real power, 
 if he had only known it, was in narrative. But as I shall 
 have occasion to state later, Greene did not fully realize 
 wherein his talent lay. He developed technique, methods 
 of meeting definite problems of literary presentation and ex- 
 pression. In this sense there is distinct progress in his work. 
 Of the difference, however, between the two elements of the 
 
34 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 frame-work tale he seems to have been unaware. The cul- 
 tural element of the frame-work was quite as significant as 
 the included tale. He felt no need — there isn't much, for 
 that matter, — for drawing a distinction between didacti- 
 cism, which was his crude but only criticism of life, and the 
 capability of giving pleasure which a work of art must have. 
 We cannot, therefore, regard this division of Greene's work 
 as more than a miscellaneous collection of pamphlets, most 
 of them fortuitously centered around the year 1587. To him 
 they were not in any way a link between the treatise and the 
 artistic narrative. 
 
 (C) The Romances 
 
 From these frame-work tales, we pass to the next group of 
 Greene's novels. This is the group which belongs to the ro- 
 mantic fiction that was prominent for several years during 
 Greene's career. It is true that we most often associate the 
 idea of this romantic fiction with that of Sidney's Arcadia. 
 But the Arcadia is only one of the class of Elizabethan ro- 
 mances, which, influenced by various models, such as Italian 
 and Spanish pastorals, were inspired chiefly by the translation 
 of the Greek Romances.^^ 
 
 The nature of the Greek Romances we need not take up at 
 length, with their emphasis upon the picturesque, the rhe- 
 torical, the fanciful, the diversified, rather than the unified, 
 expression of life. For the Greek Romancer we know that 
 life moves not as a whole, governed by physical and moral 
 law, and that, for him, events follow events not in relation 
 of causation but of chance. The activities of life are unmoti- 
 vated. There is no interaction between environment and 
 
 ^° In the discussion of Greene's relation to Greek Romance, I am 
 much indebted to Dr. S. L. Wolff who has treated this subject with 
 thoroughness in his The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Fiction. Colum- 
 bia University Press, 1912. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 35 
 
 human destiny, nor indeed between human character and 
 human conduct. Sentiment is mere sentimentahty; nature 
 is mere spectacle. The dissociation of the ideas of cause 
 and result leaves to Fortune the direction of human activity. 
 To their incalculableness, the interest in events is due; and 
 so the ''paradoxical, the bizarre, the inconsistent, the self- 
 contradictory — these were the stock in trade with the writers 
 of Greek Romance." Such interests manifest themselves 
 in style — antithesis, aUiteration, parallehsm, tendency to 
 psychologize, elaborate pictures, trial-scenes, and debates; 
 and they lead at once to a superabundance of episodic ma- 
 terial. The subordination of plot and character, both often 
 lost in digressions, elevates the significance of Fortune and of 
 sentiment, against the first of which many a tirade is directed, 
 and upon the second of which much energy of analysis is 
 expanded. 
 
 Concerning the accessibility, too, of these romances to 
 Greene, only a word is needed. The Ethiopian History of 
 Heliodorus was current in Underdowne's translation even be- 
 fore Lyly wrote his Euphues. Angel Day published a ver- 
 sion of the Daphnis and Chloe of Longus in 1587 which at once 
 had its effect upon Greene. The first translation in English 
 of Achilles Tatius' Clitophon and Leucippe was not made until 
 1597. That translation was too late to have any effect upon 
 Elizabethan fiction, but there were versions of the romance 
 in Latin, Italian,^^ and French, which were well known in 
 England before the time of Greene. 
 
 In speaking of the influence of the Greek Romances upon 
 any one man in the Elizabethan period, however, it does not 
 
 31 Joseph de Perott (Mod. Lang. Notes, Vol. XXIX., No. 2, p. 63, 
 Feb. 1914) believes that Greene used an Italian version of Achilles 
 Tatius, as follows: Di Achilli Tatic Allessandrino delVamor di Leucippe 
 et di Clitophonte lihri otto Tradotti in volgare da Francesco Angelo Coccio. 
 In Venetia, Appresso da Domenico, & Gio BattistaGuerra, fratelli, 1563. 
 
36 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 seem to me that we must necessarily assume that all 
 this influence came directly from the original romances. 
 A particular author, Greene for instance, may not have 
 taken, and probably did not take, every incident which 
 is common to his works and to the Greek Romances 
 straight from the Romances themselves. This influence 
 was widespread throughout the literature of the continent; 
 and by the time that Greene began to write, many of 
 the most typical of the structural elements of Greek 
 Romance had become a part of the flesh and bone of 
 Elizabethan fiction. In many instances, moreover, the in- 
 fluence of mediaeval romance must be taken into account in 
 discussing the directness with which any particular element 
 came into Elizabethan fiction. 
 
 These novels of Greene which show predominantly the 
 influence of the Greek Romances have in them nothing which 
 savors of the treatise. They may, as does Pandosto, 'Mis- 
 cour the triumph of time;" or, as Menaphon, ''decipher the 
 variable effects of Fortune, the wonders of Loue, the triumphs 
 of inconstant time. " But, although they were, according to 
 their title-pages, printed for purposes of morality, they are 
 fiction pure and simple, fiction of love, adventure, jealousy, 
 separation, reunion of kindred, motivated largely by the 
 caprice of Fortune and the wilfulness of man. 
 
 The tendency of Greek Romance to minimize character and 
 motive, and to make Fortune become the basis of plot, was 
 one which fitted in well with Greene's nature, for Greene had 
 an eye to the narrative effect. In following out their influ- 
 ence he was free to give sway to his native interest in 
 events, and he was at the same time relieved from any 
 considerable problems of characterization. Fortune took all 
 the responsibility to keep the story moving; she became the 
 center around which were grouped various people and actions. 
 
 In this class of romantic fiction, we should include first of 
 
OMNE TUUT PUNCTUM 37 
 
 all the Second Part of Mamillia. The First Party as we 
 have seen, belongs to the didactic type of Euphues. The 
 Second Part is essentially romantic. After Pharicles has left 
 Padua, the two faithful women constant still, he goes to 
 Sicily. He grows into favor at the court, has various experi- 
 ences, is denounced as a traitor by a courtezan of the place 
 whom he has spurned, is cast into prison, condemned to die, 
 and finally is rescued by Mamillia, the only character of the 
 action of the First Part, besides Pharicles, who has any defi- 
 nite place in the action of the Second Part. Throughout the 
 Second Part, there are many elements, to be sure, which 
 come from Euphues, but the principal narrative is that of 
 the romantic kind. 
 
 The Second Part of Mamillia was published in 1583. The 
 following year Greene published two novels which are of this 
 same type. One of them is Arhasto, the story which an old 
 man living alone in a cell tells to a stranger. He had been 
 a prince, he said. When he was on an expedition of war, he 
 had fallen in love with his enemy's daughter. The princess 
 did not return his affection; but her sister, whom the prince 
 disregarded, fell in love with him. Because this sister re- 
 leased him from her father's prison, he dissembled love and 
 took her with him to his own country. Later discovering 
 that his love was only dissimulation, she died of grief. The 
 haughty princess then took it into her head to love, but the 
 prince spurned her as violently as he had formerly loved her. 
 The nobles revolted to avenge his wife's death, and drove 
 him from his throne. So he lives in his cell, throwing the 
 blame for the whole affair upon Fortune, whom he spites by 
 his contentment with a lowly lot. The Carde of Fancie be- 
 longs with this romantic group, but it is discussed elsewhere 
 on account of its relation to the prodigal-son stories. ^^ 
 
 We come then to Pandosto, 1588. The germ of this ro- 
 32 Chap. III., p. 66. 
 
38 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 mance probably goes back to an incident in the history of 
 Poland and Bohemia.^^ A fourteenth century king, Siemo- 
 witsch, or Ziemowit, becoming suspicious of his Bohemian 
 wife, put her into prison, where she bore a son. The queen 
 was then strangled, and the son was sent away. The child 
 was brought up by a peasant woman, and was finally restored 
 to his father, who died deeply repentant in 1381. The story, 
 it is thought, was carried to England at the time when Ann 
 of Bohemia was married to Richard II. 
 
 Pandosto, in the general outline, follows the historical inci- 
 dent, except that it is a daughter, not a son, who is born in 
 the prison. We do not know in what form the story came 
 to Greene. It may have been in something of the shape 
 that we have it from his pen, in which case the work 
 may be only a retelling. Greene's romance, however, is 
 distinctly of the Greek type. The historical elements easily 
 fitted in with such a method of treatment. The nucleus 
 was there. All that was needed was to gather about it an 
 abundance of Greek structural elements. 
 
 That is what Greene did. He worked out, for example, 
 quite in the method of Heliodorus, an elaborate trial-scene 
 and the use of the oracle for the vindication of chastity. He 
 borrowed from Longus the description of Fawnia's life among 
 the shepherds after she was committed to the destiny of the 
 sea, — the details of the Shepherd's finding her, her rural life, 
 and her later disclosure to her father. There was added, too, 
 the romantic story of the love of Fawnia and Dorastus,^^ son 
 
 33 See Eng. Stud, for 1878, 1888, where the source of Pandosto is 
 discussed by Caro. Also Herford, Eversley Shakespeare, Vol. IV., p. 265. 
 
 34 De Perott (Englische Studien, 1908, p. 308) in an article, Robert 
 Greenes Entlehnung aus dem Ritterspiegel, directs attention to what he 
 calls a borrowing (Pandosto — Shak. Library. Vol. IV., p. 45, line 13 — 
 p. 49, line 14) from Le Chevalier du Soliel, Vol. III., ff. 308-9). I fail 
 to see any resemblance worthy to be called a "borrowing." The situa- 
 tion is one which might be found in any pastoral romance. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 39 
 
 to the Egistus who had been the object of Pandosto's sus- 
 picions, and to the shores of whose kingdom Fortune brought 
 the Uttle outcast and her boat. He made this love the means 
 of Fawnia's return, for he employed the structural device 
 whereby the shipwreck of the eloping lovers brought Fawnia 
 again home.^^ 
 
 It is highly characteristic of Greene that Pandosto is his 
 first pastoral. While pastoralism had already made, and was 
 making, itself felt in England, Greene had not introduced it 
 into his works. There was no particular, no immediate, de- 
 mand for it. Arbasto and the Carde of Fancie, written earlier, 
 are both free from the elements of shepherd's life. But in 
 1587 Angel Day's version of Daphnis and Chloe appeared, a 
 work so distinctly pastoral as to direct Greene's energies to 
 an attempt at something of the same kind. There is no 
 doubt, therefore, that Angel Day is responsible for Pandosto 
 and Menaphon, its successor of the following year.^^ 
 
 In Menaphon, pastoralism is of much more importance 
 than in Pandosto. The romance does not open with pastoral 
 elements, to be sure, for the first part of it is devoted to telling 
 of the pestilence in Arcadia, and of the ambiguous oracle. 
 The purpose is of course to hurl us in medias res, but it is not 
 reahzed. Without making his plan entirely clear, Greene 
 leaves the opening situation and goes to another, the situation 
 with which the line of action he is to develop really begins. 
 
 Menaphon, a shepherd, walking by the sea-shore, saw 
 pieces of a wreck floating near, and on the shore an old man, 
 and a woman with a child. He asked them who they were, 
 
 3^ For a more complete account of Greene's borrowings from Greek 
 Romance see Wolff, p. 446 seq. In the same work see also a comparison 
 of Pandosto and the Winter's Tale, pp. 451-2. 
 
 2^ "Greene's borrowings indicate clearly that he used a translation 
 by Angel Day, for he takes from it several details not to be found in 
 either the Greek or French version." Wolff, Greek Romances, p. 447. 
 
40 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 and offered to help them. Sephestia called herself Samela of 
 Cyprus, wife of a poor gentleman now dead ; the old man was 
 her servant. Menaphon took them home, and immediately 
 fell in love with the beautiful stranger. Then the story goes 
 on with Sephestia's life among the shepherds and shepherd- 
 esses, their courtships and petty fallings out, their songs 
 and jigs. 
 
 One Mdicertiis hears of Samela and confesses his love. 
 Both are troubled; for to each the other resembles the sup- 
 posedly dead husband or wife. Meantime the child Pleusi- 
 dippus is carried away by pirates to Thessaly, where he grows 
 up as heir to the throne. Hearing of the Arcadian Samela, 
 he comes to present himself as a suitor. Democles, the king, 
 also comes to woo. Now, Democles is Samela's (Sephestia^s) 
 father. And Melicertus is Maximus, her husband, with 
 whom she was forced to flee from the court to escape her 
 father's wrath, but from whom she was separated by ship- 
 wreck. The plot is, then, that of a husband wooing his wife, 
 a son wooing his mother, a father wooing his daughter, all of 
 them royalty in disguise. Complications arise; blood is 
 about to be shed. Then an old woman steps forth and ex- 
 plains the fulfilment of the ambiguous prophecy. 
 
 The story as it stands is considerable of a mixture from 
 several sources. The central idea, we may suppose, Greene 
 got from Warner's tale of Argentile and Curan in Albion's 
 England}'' At least he probably got from that tale the idea 
 of royal persons meeting in the disguise of the shepherd life, 
 and failing to recognize each other. Even in this point the 
 similarity is not particularly close, except that in Warner's 
 tale and in Menaphon, the lover (Curan in Warner; Melicer- 
 
 " 1586, Bk. IV., ch. 20. In Chalmer's English Poets, 1810, Vol. IV., 
 pp. 498-658. See J. Q. Adams, Greene's ''Menaphon" and ''The Thra- 
 dan Wonder;' Mod. Phil. III., pp. 317-8; also Wolff's Greek Romances, 
 p. 442. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 41 
 
 tus in Greene) confesses to a former love affair and describes 
 his former mistress (who is of course identical with the new) . 
 From Sidney's Arcadia Greene imitated various elements, 
 particularly the wooing of Sephestia by both father and son. 
 From the Greek Romances he incorporated certain structural 
 and verbal parallels.^^ 
 
 With all these borrowings, and with all the inconsistencies 
 of plot and character, the story of Menaphon is still Greene's. 
 For there is something more to it than plot and character 
 and borrowings. In structure it is far from being the best 
 of Greene's works. Its companion-piece, Pandosto, surpasses 
 it in this regard. But I beheve that when most of the few 
 present-day readers of Greene's romances agree in pro- 
 nouncing it his most charming novel they are right in their 
 judgment. It is as near the essence of the dulci as Greene 
 ever got. 
 
 Menaphon is not equal to Lodge's Rosalynde; and it had 
 not, moreover, the good fortune to be turned into a Shake- 
 spearian play. But it is, nevertheless, a sweet story. There 
 is about it an atmosphere quite its own, — the idyllic pastoral 
 setting, and the songs, the country loves, the dances, the 
 tending of flocks, the piping in the shade of the hawthorn. 
 There is the sunshine of the anywhere-nowhere Arcadia, 
 the ideaUzation of existence, the freedom of movement that 
 comes from life not lived within the bounds of the troubled 
 world. 
 
 *' Whiles thus Arcadia rested in a silent quiet, Menaphon 
 the Kings Shepheard, a man of high account among the 
 swaines of Arcadia, loued of the Nymphes, as the paragon of 
 all their countrey youngsters, walking solitarie downe to the 
 shore, to see if anie of his ewes and lambes were straggled 
 downe to the strond to brouse on sea iuie, wherfore they take 
 
 ® See Wolff, Greek Romances, for a discussion of these parallels of 
 structure and phrase. 
 
42 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 speciall delight to feede; he found his flockes grazing upon 
 the Promontorie Mountaines hardhe: wheron resting him- 
 selfe on a hill that ouer-peered the great Mediterraneum, 
 noting how Phoebus fetched his Laualtos on the purple Plaines 
 of Neptunus, as if he had meant to haue courted Thetis in 
 the royaltie of his roabes. . . . Menaphon looking ouer the 
 champion of Arcadie to see if the Continent were as full of 
 smiles, as the seas were of fauours, sawe the shrubbes as in 
 a dreame with delightfuU harmonie, and the birdes that 
 chaunted on their braunches not disturbed with the least 
 breath of a fauourable Zephirus. Seeing thus the accord of 
 the Land and Sea, casting a fresh gaze on the water Nimphs, 
 he began to consider how Venus was feigned by the poets to 
 spring of the froathe of the Seas; which draue him straight 
 into a deepe coniecture of the inconstancie of Loue : 
 
 Some say Loue 
 Foolish Loue 
 
 Doth rule and gouerne all the Gods, 
 I say Loue, 
 Inconstant Loue, 
 
 Sets mens senses farre at ods." 
 
 There are cares in this land of Arcadia, hearts sore with 
 unrequited love. And there are wars and rumors of wars, 
 languishing in prisons, shipwreck, separation of kindred. 
 But all these will pass away, we know; the lost will be found, 
 hard hearts will melt, and happiness will come to her own. 
 The story is romantic and unreal; it could never have hap- 
 pened. But that doesn't make any difference. There is a 
 charm to it for one who can disentangle himself for a moment 
 from the crowding business of the day to go back to the golden 
 times, — even don a Watteau coat and hat to sport with jolly 
 shepherds, make love to the beautiful shepherdesses, and, 
 more than all, enjoy 
 
 "The sweet content that country life affords." 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 43 
 
 Philomela need not be summarized in full. The romance 
 is the story of a jealous husband who falsely accuses his wife 
 of inconstancy, and has her banished. She goes to a distant 
 land and lives humbly. Then the slaves who have borne 
 false witness confess their wrong-doing. The jealous hus- 
 band is himself banished. He sets out to find his wife, and 
 comes at length to the place in which she lives. Tired of 
 his vain search, he assumes the responsibility for the murder 
 of the Duke's son, who is thought to have been killed. The 
 wife hears of the self-accusation, and to save her husband 
 declares herself to be the murderer. Then the Duke's son 
 appears and the man and his wife are happy in their reunion 
 — so happy that the man dies of joy.^^ 
 
 There is one romance left, Ciceronis Amor, or Tullies Love. 
 Next to Pandosto, this was Greene's most popular novel. 
 It is a story of love, with pastoral elements intermingled 
 (rather, we should say, dragged in). Greene speaks of it 
 as his attempt "to counterfeit Tullies phrase," and as his 
 ''indeauor to pen doune the loves of Cicero, which Plutarch, 
 and Cornelius Nepos, forgot in their writings." 
 
 In all these romances, it is ever necessary to bear in 
 mind Greene's attitude toward Fortune. His inability to 
 ground a plot in motives which have their sources within 
 the springs of personality made him perceive the value, 
 and the necessity, of Fortune as a narrative element. 
 Greene's attitude never developed into a cult. Fortune, 
 mysterious and incalculable, was to some people rather more 
 real then than now. She was a personality whose whims 
 determined much of the lot of man. She was one of the forces 
 of the universe, sharing with man himself the responsibility 
 for the management of the world. Such a view, I say, Greene 
 did not acquire. He had not enough imagination to acquire 
 
 39 Greene's novel furnished one of the plots in Davenport's City 
 Nightcap. 1624. 
 
44 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 it. A conception like that would have necessitated the ability 
 to grasp character which was the very thing that Greene 
 lacked. But although he did not rise high in his conception 
 of Fortune, he was able to get from her that which he needed 
 for the success of his narrative. What he wanted was some- 
 thing which would help him get his characters about, move 
 them from one situation into another, without having to 
 justify those activities. Fortune could do that. One turn 
 of her wheel would be enough to change the face of things 
 completely. We should have a new and interesting com- 
 plication, and no explanation would be necessary as to how 
 it came about. Fortune became, therefore, a word ever on 
 Greene's lips. It represented an idea to be played with, 
 talked about, bandied here and there, given all manner of 
 attributes; most important of all. Fortune became an 
 actual motive power in a line of action.'*^ But wherever 
 used, she was primarily a narrative element, a servant to 
 Greene's story-telling instinct. 
 
 In this capacity Fortune is the source at once of Greene's 
 strength and of his weakness: of strength, in that his use of 
 Fortune enables him to present interesting and (forgetting 
 for the moment the long speeches — which are for the most 
 part the fault of the age, not of Greene) rapid narrative; 
 of weakness, in that Fortune relieved him of what would by 
 nature have been to him a difficult task, the creation of 
 genuine characters. 
 
 Recognizing the place which Fortune holds, we can under- 
 stand the work that Greene has constructed on that basis. 
 His incompetence to seize hold upon the fundamental 
 nature of a character and to define the principles upon which 
 
 *o Dr. Wolff {Greek Romances, p. 392) summarizes Greene's concep- 
 tion of Fortune as having three phases: that in which she is purely 
 an abstraction, that in which she is a quasi-personality, that in which she 
 Ss a mistress of plot. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 45 
 
 that character acts, his leaving the conduct of affairs pretty 
 much in Fortune's hands results, as we should well expect, 
 in many inconsistencies of plot and character. Consistency 
 is no virtue if there is no relation between what a man is 
 and what a man does. We are not aware of defects unless 
 we have an ideal of perfection. So far as consistency was 
 concerned, Greene had no such ideal. 
 
 The result of this disregard for making a story plausible 
 is easily made apparent. The situation in Menaphon, for 
 example, of father, husband, and son, all in love with Samela 
 is in itself ridiculous. The total ignoring of the elapsed 
 twenty years is unpardonable if we stop to think of it. 
 When we stop to think of it, too, Arbasto is nothing but the 
 tale of a whining old man. And we become almost impatient 
 with Greene that he should permit the quondam king the 
 outrageous privilege of heaping the blame for his misfortune 
 anywhere but on his own wilful head. The point about the 
 whole matter, however, is that we do not stop to think. 
 Realizing that Pandosto or Menaphon or whatever romance 
 it is we take up, is so largely the result merely of what 
 ''happened," we move along with the action, never pausing 
 to analyze or to question. Inconsistencies do not seem to 
 have bothered Greene; and so long as he makes no attempt 
 to smooth them over we are hardly aware that they exist. 
 
 Now that the account of the various kinds of Greene's 
 fiction is completed, it remains to speak of some general topics 
 which pertain to his fiction as a whole. In this connection 
 there are qualities of style which we may take up first. 
 
 When we speak of Greene's style, both as to its own 
 characteristics and as to the influences which produced it, 
 we naturally think first of John Lyly and his Euphues. 
 Rightly so, for Lyly's novel was predominant when Greene's 
 first one was published, and continued to be so for a number 
 of years. As a matter of fact, however, Lyly's manner of 
 
46 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 writing was not originated by him, nor was it peculiar to 
 him. Various scholars, notably Mr. Bond, have set forth 
 Lyly's relations with his predecessors, and have shown that 
 there were at hand practically all the elements which Lyly 
 employed. Greene, therefore, in following Lyly was in 
 reality carrying on the tradition of the English novel as 
 established by Gascoigne and as used by Pettie, Whetstone, 
 Riche, and the rest of the earlier writers of fiction. 
 
 Greene was not far from the beginning of this line of 
 development. But even by this time, although fiction was 
 still tentative in its forms (it is always tentative, so far as 
 that is concerned), it had taken on certain fixed modes of 
 expression. The conventionality of Elizabethan poetry 
 both in form and in content has long been recognized. 
 Elizabethan fiction underwent the same sort of process, so 
 that not only form, but thought as well, and the manner of 
 expressing it, became to a large degree stereotyped and 
 impersonal. So advanced a state of conventionality was 
 fortunate from Greene's point of view. It made unnecessary 
 any large amount of originality with regard to the treatment 
 of any particular situation. The method of handling a 
 courtship, for example, was to be found ready at hand. 
 But the result of the taking over by Greene of these 
 elements ;of novel construction, was, from the manner 
 in which he used these elements, that of carrying the 
 process still further. That is, Greene seldom rises above 
 the convention itself to make of it a genuine means of 
 character protrayal or an integral part in the motivation of 
 a plot. We have, therefore, in his novels an almost endless 
 succession of similar situations treated in a similar fashion, 
 a great many of which might be transferred from one novel 
 to another, with no harm done, — or benefit either. 
 
 It was to Greene's detriment that he did to so great an 
 extent become a follower of convention. He was impeded 
 
 v.. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 47 
 
 rather than helped by his conformity to fashion. The quality 
 of his work, which, we have before had occasion to state, is 
 his characteristic and most complete attainment, is the 
 straightforwardness and swiftness of his narrative. If he 
 had left himself free to the guidance of his own natural 
 talent, his results would have in them more of permanent 
 value. Had he broken away from tradition more fully and 
 worked in the vein represented by the tale of Tompkins the 
 Wheelwright or by some of his short stories in the conny- 
 catching pamphlets,"*^ he would, however much he was 
 catering to the taste of his time in conforming to fashion, 
 have done a more effectual service in the development of a 
 simple narrative style. 
 
 It is apparent that Greene did not himself understand 
 wherein his ability lay. He has cluttered his stories up with 
 all sorts of decorative tinsel: letters, "passions," speeches 
 for every kind of situation, formal discourses, misogynist 
 tirades, declarations of love and their answers, digressions 
 and asides to the reader, proverbial philosophy, quotations 
 from all the tongues, stock illustrations, classical and natural 
 history allusions, — commonplaces in Elizabethan fiction too 
 familiar to need illustration. Indeed it requires on the part 
 of the modern reader as full a recognition as he is able to 
 give of the fact that after all Greene is not wholly responsible 
 for the presence of these features in his work to prevent a 
 failure to perceive its real merit, and a condemnation of it 
 wholesale to the literary bone-yard. But the worst is, 
 granting that such things were fashionable and so to be 
 indulged in, that Greene seems to have delighted in this 
 elegance of phrase and encumbering ornament. 
 
 Greene seems not to have understood that he was thus 
 ever striving, as it were, to get away from what his nature 
 would have him do. At the same time he did make progress 
 " See Chapter IV. 
 
48 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 in his style. Pandosto is more direct than the Carde of Fancie. 
 Throughout Greene's career there is perceptible a slow but 
 steady turning away from the ornate and artificial to the 
 more natural kind of fiction. This turning is due partly, 
 of course, to the turning of the age in that direction. But 
 it is also due to Greene's own development, a development 
 of which he was to some extent conscious. In Menaphon 
 there is a passage ^^ which shows that ''literary style" w^as 
 to Greene something which could be put on and taken off 
 at will. This consciousness is further evidenced by the 
 admirable simplicity of the social pamphlets, and by 
 the abrupt change in the tone of the last few pages of 
 the Groatsworth of Wit. 
 
 Greene possessed, when he forgot himself and was really 
 concerned with what he said rather than with how he said 
 it, a straightforwardness wholly unexpected in a writer 
 living before Bacon. This directness is especially notice- 
 able, as I said, in the social pamphlets. But it is discernible 
 in the fiction, too. Illustrations can be found near the end 
 of many of the novels. Like most of his predecessors, Greene 
 was more interested in getting a story under way than he 
 was in its conclusion. Perhaps it would be more nearly 
 correct to say that he expended more energy of elaboration 
 upon the first half than upon the latter. The result of such 
 a process is that the opening of a story is often stilted in 
 its method. Too much emphasis is placed upon speech, 
 talking back and forth and writing letters; the movement 
 
 *2 "Samela made this replie, because she heard him so superfine 
 as if Ephoebus had learned him to refine his mother tongue, wherefore 
 thought he had done it of an inkhorne desire to be eloquent; and 
 Melicertus thinking that Samela had learned with Lucilla in Athens 
 to anatomize wit, and speake none but Similes, imagined she smoothed 
 her talke to be thought like Sapho, Phaos Paramour. 
 
 Thus deceived either in others suppositions, Samela followed her 
 sute thus." Vol. IV., p. 82. 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 49 
 
 is slow and tedious, exasperating at times. Then suddenly, 
 as if all at once realizing that he has enough written to make 
 a salable pamphlet, Greene takes himself in hand, dis- 
 penses with his artificiality, winds up his action, dismisses 
 his characters and lo! the story is done. There is a certain 
 precipitousness about such a performance, one must admit. 
 You don't always keep up with it, and you don't always 
 understand just what has happened. Perhaps the haste is 
 just as bad technique as the slowness. My point here is 
 that Greene can be direct; that he has, underneath the as- 
 sumed literary form of expression, another more simple form. 
 
 Throughout the whole of my discussion of Greene's novels 
 I have repeatedly dwelt upon what seems to me to be Greene's 
 real ability, that of narration with an aim at artistic narrative 
 effect. I have, too, told what seems to me to be his defects 
 in characterization, his inability to infuse life into his men 
 and women. In view of what has been observed above in 
 regard to Greene's over-emphasis upon the first half of a 
 story, this element of characterization deserves just a word 
 more. 
 
 Greene constantly threw stones in the way of his own 
 narrations. There is no doubt that he did so deliberately, — 
 subservient to custom, and pleased with his results. I 
 think there is another reason, though, which helps to 
 account for these obstructions. Inheritances they were, — 
 *' passions," speeches, letters, and so on, — coming from 
 various literary sources. There was no other phase of 
 Elizabethan fiction which became more stereotyped in its 
 form of expression. But these elements, found most excess- 
 ively in the first part of the story, are indicative of some- 
 thing else than just convention. They manifest an interest 
 in characterization. 
 
 The ''passions," for example, which are scattered broad- 
 cast throughout Elizabethan novels are attempts at char- 
 
50 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 acter analysis. They aim to set forth the mental states 
 in which people find themselves under definite conditions. 
 The psychology upon which they are based is generally 
 unsound and artificial. The emotions that these people 
 undergo, the thoughts that they utter, are not true to life. 
 But the faults do not alter the necessity of our under- 
 standing the aim of this psychologizing. With all its 
 imperfection it shows an inclination toward character 
 study. There was, clearly, on the part of the Elizabethan 
 novelists a growing interest not only in the art of telling a 
 story effective for the events in it, but also in making the 
 people whom those events concern appear as genuinely 
 human as possible. Greene was a participant in this move- 
 ment toward fuller characterization. The fact that he 
 did not succeed must not lessen our recognition of the fact 
 that he tried. 
 
 Looked at from this point of view, there is perhaps a little 
 more sympathy to be felt with the feeble efforts which 
 Greene and the rest of them made. These men were con- 
 forming to fashion, they were over-elaborate and affected; 
 but they were at the same time using the only methods 
 they knew of presenting character. They had not yet 
 learned the art of letting characters reveal their own person- 
 alities in natural conversation, nor had they learned that 
 we may come to know people not only by what they do 
 and say but also by their reactions toward other people, and 
 by the reactions of other people toward them. 
 
 With the various people whom Greene endeavored to 
 present we need not deal at length. It may be well to take 
 up two of them in order to bring out the two prominent 
 facts about Greene's characterization. 
 
 Of all of Greene's characters Sephestia is probably the 
 best known. She is the victim of distressing and cruel 
 circumstances, but she embodies all the qualities of an 
 
OMNE TULIT PUNCTUM 51 
 
 ideal heroine. She is beautiful, kind, faithful, resourceful, 
 patient, charming. When she sings her lullaby to her 
 sleeping ^abe, when she mourns her fate, when she moves 
 among the scenes of pastoral life, or when in prison she 
 spurns the love of a king, — always she has our interest 
 and our sympathy. Our feeling for her is not, however, 
 that which comes from depth or clearness in her por- 
 trayal. It is derived rather from a certain refinement of 
 atmosphere which surrounds her, from the dehcacy of the 
 Hues with which she is depicted. I introduce Sephestia 
 here because this refinement and delicacy which I mention 
 in connection with her compose one of Greene's salient 
 characteristics, one of the things we often think of in 
 relation to him. Indeed, the significant fact about Greene's 
 women lies not so much in an added depth of portraiture 
 over what his predecessors had accomplished, as in giving 
 to them a new interest by a process of idealization. Greene's 
 women are not, that is, so much more genuinely human, 
 nor do they necessarily act from so much more definitely 
 conceived motives than those of his predecessors. But 
 they do possess the charm which arises from a delicacy of 
 presentation and from a refinement of attitude toward 
 them as heroines. 
 
 The other character I wish to speak of is Arbasto, who 
 illustrates in an extraordinary degree another phase of 
 Greene's characters. Arbasto is an old man who lives in 
 a cell and mourns. The experience of life has been un- 
 happy for him, for he has been banished from his kingdom. 
 Fortune is to blame. The association of Fortune with the 
 affairs of men which Arbasto makes, and which Greene lets 
 pass unchallenged, leads to an understanding of what the 
 trouble is. Greene got many ideas from the Italian Renais- 
 sance, plots and motives, and types of characters. But 
 there was one conception which he did not get hold of 
 
52 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 in a way to make it effective. That was the conception 
 of the force of personality. I spoke of this failure in 
 connection with the discussion of Valdracko, but it is 
 apparent in all of Greeners works. Greene's interest in 
 characterization was not enough to counterbalance the 
 lack of a sweeping imagination such as Marlowe had, 
 and such as is necessary to transform puppets into living 
 heroes. And so, whether the ruling passion be revenge, 
 jealousy, ambition, what not, there is always a littleness 
 about Greene's portrayal, a dissatisfaction with the result 
 obtained. No one of these characters has strength to 
 dominate the situation in which he is placed. Fortune, 
 not personality, is the moving power. 
 
 One is inclined to come away from a close study of 
 Greene's novels with too grave an impression of him. We 
 may inquire what he was like as an author, what his methods 
 were, what influences affected him. But we must remember 
 that Greene wrote rapidly, that he was primarily a jour- 
 nalist. He copied, adapted, created. . He may have been 
 conscious in his art. There is no way of knowing, for 
 consciousness of effort and utilitarianism of purpose are 
 not mutually exclusive ideals. We must be careful, 
 however, not to regard as necessarily deliberate art what 
 may be only shrewdness. I am convinced that there is 
 no more fundamental element in a true conception of 
 Greene than a realization of the fact that he is best appre- 
 ciated when studied with an attitude that does not take 
 him too seriously. We must not, in other words, over- 
 look the journalist in our study of the artist. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 SERO SED SERIO 
 
 For Greene, the useful continued to mingle with the 
 sweet up until 1590. England's conflict with "Anti-Christ" 
 and her triumph over the Spanish Armada had, to be sure, 
 swerved him aside to discover his conscience in religion, as 
 he put it, in the Spanish Masquerado (lie. Feb. 1, 1589), a 
 thoroughly dull ''devise" wherein "is discovered effectuallie, 
 in certaine breefe Sentences and Mottos, the pride and 
 insolencie of the Spanish estate . . . whereunto by the 
 Author, for the better understanding of his device, is 
 added a breefe glosse," the which written, we are informed, 
 "least I might be thought to tie myself e wholly to amorous 
 conceites."^ The work is as uninspired as can be, — 
 Greene had probably picked up an anti-Catholic tract 
 somewhere and had translated it (as he did the Royal 
 Exchange the next year) when the occasion was so ripe that 
 any pamphlet with "Spanish" on its title-page would find 
 a ready market. There is nothing of real religion about it. 
 The work had not been prompted by any such motive as 
 repentance for the triviality of earlier writings; so Greene 
 went on with Menaphon and Ciceronis Amor in the way he 
 had been going. But Orpharion, licensed January 9, 1590, 
 marks the end of this division of Greene's work.^ Hence- 
 forth — for a year — his attitude is represented by the 
 Sero sed serio of this chapter. 
 
 1 Vol. v., p. 242. 
 
 2 Philomela and. Farewell to Follie were published after this date; 
 but see Chap. VI. 
 
 ^3 
 
54 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Greene has told us how the new motto came to be 
 adopted.^ ''After I was burdened with the penning of the 
 Cobler of Canterbury, I waxed passing melancholy, as grieving 
 that either I should be wrong with envy, or wronged with 
 suspition ... so in a discontented humour I sat me 
 down upon my bed-side, and began to cal to remembrance 
 what fond and wanton lines had past my pen, and how I had 
 bent my course to a wrong shore." These thoughts troubled 
 him greatly and he prayed to God to be shadowed with the 
 wings of His grace, to be kept an undefiled member of His 
 church, and to show himself regenerate and a reformed man 
 from all his former follies. Being in this meditation, he 
 fell asleep. 
 
 Then a vision came to him which he describes. Chaucer 
 and Gower held conversation with each other and with him, 
 the former encouraging him in his literary art and the 
 latter condemning him. He inclined to Gower' s ideas and 
 promised to write no more wanton pamphlets. Then 
 Solomon appeared and discoursed of Wisdom and Religion. 
 ''Be a Devine, my Sonne," he said. Greene awoke and '' a 
 sodaine feare tainted every limme and I felt a horror in 
 my conscience, for the follyes of my Penne: whereupon, 
 ... I resolved peremptorilie to leave all thoughts of 
 love, . . . howsoever the direction of my studies shall 
 be limited me, as you had the blossomes of my wanton 
 fancies, so shall you have the fruits of my better labours." 
 
 Thus did Greene set the machinery going which was to 
 carry out his next venture, the series of novels on the story 
 of the prodigal son. 
 
 That which was destined to become the most influential 
 factor in spreading the theme and form of the prodigal story 
 was the Acolastus of Gnaepheus, a Latin play which was 
 published at Antwerp in 1529. The reason for the popu- 
 
 3 Vol. XII. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 55 
 
 larity of this work was that of its double appeal. In the 
 first place, it suited the reaction of the Reformation period 
 against the non-Christian literature of the classical writers; 
 and in the second place, it took easily the form of the 
 Terentian Comedy. This double capacity for supplying the 
 need for Christian teaching and for being substituted as a 
 textbook in the schools was the source of its power. The 
 Acolastus was widely read and widely translated.'^ It sup- 
 planted classical comedies as a text in the schools, and equally 
 important it gave rise to another type of drama represented 
 by the Studentes of Stymmelius.^ But it was not upon the 
 drama alone that the prodigal story exerted its influence. 
 It came to have considerable importance in Elizabethan 
 fiction. 
 
 Mr. John Dover Wilson,^ whose article first directed my 
 attention to the occurrence of the prodigal-son story in 
 Greene's writing, has studied Euphues in the light of the 
 Acolastus and the Studentes,'^ and on the basis of that 
 study has reached the conclusion that in reality Lyly's 
 novel is an example of the prodigal-son story. It was 
 he who suggested that the so-called repentant pamphlets 
 of Greene also belonged to this class. This latter sugges- 
 tion I have followed out. In the following pages I shall 
 endeavor to set forth the extent of Greene's use of the 
 theme. Before I discuss the influence of the prodigal-son 
 
 * See The School Drama, including Palgrave's Introduction to 
 Acolastus, in Teachers College Publications, Columbia University. 
 By James L. McConaughy. See also Herford, The Literary Relations of 
 England and Germany in the Sixteenth Century, Chap. III. 
 
 5 Of this student drama, the Glasse of Government of Gascoigne is 
 the notable example in England. 
 
 8 Euphues and the Prodigal Son. The Library, October, 1909, p. 337. 
 
 7 Of course Acolastus is only one of the numerous prodigal-son plays. 
 Cf. also Asotv^ and various English imitations and adaptations. A 
 discussion of these may be found in Herford's Literary Relations. 
 
56 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 story at length, however, it may be well to examine the 
 Acolastus itself. 
 
 The play has five acts, but the story really falls into four 
 parts. At the opening of the play Pelargus, the king, is much 
 troubled by the determination of Acolastus, his son, to set 
 out to see the world. Eubulus, symbolizing foresight, 
 advises him to allow the young man to go. Finally matters 
 are arranged. Acolastus is given his share of the inherit- 
 ance, an abundance of good advice, and a Bible. The 
 Bible is soon discarded at the suggestion of Philautus, the 
 friend of Acolastus who aroused, in the first place, his desire 
 to travel and his haughtiness toward his elders. The father's 
 advice is not followed. And as for the ''decem talenta," — 
 dissipavit suhstantiam suam vivendo luxuriose. Acolastus 
 travels into a far country, familiar to us and to the sixteenth 
 century as the land of classical comedy. There are para- 
 sites in the land, waiting for such as he. When Acolastus 
 comes through the market place, they insinuate themselves 
 into his acquaintance and lead him off. He is in a courtezan's 
 house. Lais, the beautiful courtezan, ensnares him. He 
 orders a great feast, and there is merry-making, and wine. 
 The next day Acolastus is cozened of what money he has left, 
 and turned naked and penniless out of doors. Lais, with 
 whom he had so fallen in love, is the first to rob him of his 
 clothes. A famine comes upon the land. Acolastus is in 
 great distress. He enters the service of a farmer, who sets 
 him to feeding pigs. After a time, he recalls all his father's 
 precepts, and goes home. There he is received with great 
 rejoicing. Of the five acts two and a half are devoted to the 
 second of these four parts, — to the events that transpire 
 in the prodigal's scenes of riotous living. 
 
 With such a summary in mind let us turn to Greene's 
 prodigal-son stories. By far the most distinctive one from 
 the point of view of reflecting this influence is the Mourning 
 
SERO SED SERIO 57 
 
 Garment. In this novel a rich old man, Rabbi Bilessi, of 
 Callipolis, had two sons.^ The elder was Sophonos, hand- 
 some and wise, yet something of a coward. He became a 
 merchant with his father. (One wonders what business a 
 rabbi was in!) The younger was Philador, also handsome 
 and of good wit. He loved company; and he felt his father's 
 curb upon his liberty. Philador desired to travel, and 
 asked his father's consent (long speech on the advantages 
 of travel). The father (long speech) tried to dissuade him, 
 but the youth persisted in his request. At last the old man 
 gave his consent and the son's portion of the inheritance. 
 After the father's farewell (long speech), Philador set out. 
 This so far corresponds to the first part of the play, occupying, 
 in the novel, thirteen pages.^ 
 
 Philador visited many lands, always bearing in mind 
 his father's precepts; and came at last to Thessaly. He 
 could see no town, but a shepherd offered to direct him. 
 (Greene digresses to paint a metrical portrait of the shep- 
 herd and his wife.) The shepherd led him through a vale. 
 (Greene's pastoralism leads him astray to have the shep- 
 herd tell a tale of a shepherd's faithless loving. Possibly a 
 part of the prodigal theme, conveyed indirectly as a lesson.) 
 They arrived at Saragunta, a beautiful city. The shepherd 
 warned him to beware of the Unicorn, at which the three 
 beautiful courtezans lived. ^° Philador disregarded the advice 
 and went to the Unicorn, where he was courteously enter- 
 tained, and where he fell in love with the youngest of the 
 three sisters. Philador ordered a supper. There was much 
 talk on the subject of love. (Corresponding to the Lais 
 
 ^ Gnaepheus leaves out the elder son. 
 
 ^ There will be noticed the absence of the characters to correspond 
 to those of Eubulus and Philautus in the play. 
 
 " Compare with the old man's advice to Euphues upon his arrival 
 in Naples. Philador, like Euphues, does not follow the advice. 
 
58 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 scene of the banquet in Acolastus.) The courtezans began 
 to get hold of Philador's money. He dismissed all of his 
 servants but one. One of those dismissed tried to give 
 Philador some advice, but in vain. Philador lived on in 
 his sin. This is the second part of the story, occupying 
 about forty pages (of which fifteen are devoted to the 
 shepherd's tale). 
 
 After a while, there came a famine. Many people died, 
 but Philador gave no aid. At last his money gave out, and 
 he was obliged to sell his clothes to pay his debts. The three 
 sisters seized his trunk and took the doublet from his back. 
 (Corresponds to Lais' taking the clothes of Acolastus.) He 
 reviled them and asked the youngest to aid him. She scorned 
 him, and had the servants put him of the house and beat him. 
 Philador then left the city. He wandered long, — tired, 
 hungry, and thirsty. Finally he went to sleep. When he 
 awoke he began to think of his father's precepts. (Long so- 
 liloquy.) A farmer came along. He gave Philador the task 
 of feeding his hogs. Philador ate husks with the swine, in 
 true prodigal fashion. Finally he decided to go home to his 
 father. Here ends the third part of the story, — eighteen 
 pages. 
 
 One day on the way home he saw a despairing lover about 
 to kill himself. Philador persuaded him from his rashness; 
 and left him a scroll containing some aphorisms and an Ode. 
 Philador went on. At last, with remorse in his heart, he 
 came in sight of his father's house. He saw his father and 
 went to him. The old man wept. Philador confessed his 
 folly, and asked to be made a hired servant. His father an- 
 swered, and forgave him, and gave him a new robe (of black) . 
 Sophonos would not come in to the banquet which was pre- 
 pared. The father urged. Sophonos upbraided his father, 
 but finally went in to the feast. The shepherds came. 
 (Why should shepherds be coming to a rabbi merchant's 
 
SERO SED SERIO 59 
 
 house?) One of them sang a song, and all were merry. So 
 ends the fourth and last part, twenty-seven pages. 
 
 Without comment, it can be seen clearly how Greene is 
 making use of the prodigal story as it comes down from the 
 prodigal plays such as that of Gnaepheus. The proportions 
 of his novel are not quite those of the play, but the main 
 incidents are the same. 
 
 The Mourning Garment is the only novel which follows the 
 prodigal story throughout its length in all details. But other 
 novels of Greene follow it in certain parts, and certainly are 
 to be classed as belonging to the prodigal-son literature of 
 the time. One of Greene's variations is that to be found in 
 Never too Late and its sequel Francescos Fortunes, the two 
 novels together making a form of the prodigal story. The 
 story opens with a frame-work not unlike that of Arbasto, 
 except that the man who does the talking tells, not his own 
 story as Arbasto does,^^ but that of one Francesco. The 
 palmer's story does not begin in accordance with the prodigal- 
 son story at all. Indeed the whole first part of the prodigal 
 story is omitted. There is substituted instead the love story 
 of Francesco and Isabel, which is quite in the manner of the 
 Italian novelle, and which has certain elements in the last 
 part decidedly reminiscent of Greek Romance. The con- 
 clusion of it all is that Francesco and Isabel were married and 
 lived happily.^2 
 
 After Francesco and Isabel had been married for seven 
 years, business took Francesco to Troynovant. He intended 
 to stay nine weeks, and so, having sold his horse and rented 
 
 ^^ Unless Francesco and the palmer are one. 
 
 ^2 Francesco for a time kept a school. Euphues was a scholar. In 
 Riche's tale, "Of two Brethren and their Wives" (Shak. Soc. Vol. XVI., 
 p. 127), an old man had two sons. The elder held the lands, the younger 
 was trained up in learning. Roberto, in Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 
 was a student. These may all be remnants from the prodigal-student 
 drama. 
 
60 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 a room, he worked hard in order to get back to Isabel as 
 soon as possible. This, in a regular prodigal-son story, 
 would be the end of the first part; but, as we see, there is 
 nothing of the prodigal story about it. 
 
 From here on the prodigal story is carried out more or less 
 closely. Having settled down in Tro3rDovant, Francesco one 
 day sees a gentlewoman at a window (Digression on Courte- 
 zans). This courtezan desires to entrap him. She succeeds 
 in doing so. When Francesco gets back to his room he thinks 
 of Isabel. He meditates, but decides to enjoy the company of 
 Infida while he is in Troynovant. So many days pass. Once 
 he thinks of Isabel, but the virtuous impression is soon gone. 
 Meantime Isabel is wondering why Francesco does not re- 
 turn to her. She hears rumors of the affair with Infida, but 
 she construes everything for the best. She writes a letter 
 telling of her longing for him. She speaks of their child, 
 and hopes it is business and not anger that keeps him away. 
 Upon receipt of his wife's letter, Francesco decides to go 
 home. But when he sees Infida, he changes his mind, 
 scoffs at the letter, and lives on in sin. Thus three years 
 pass. 
 
 So much for the second part of the story. This part cor- 
 responds very well to that of the prodigal's sojourn in a far 
 land. There is no doubt that Greene got this part of his 
 story from another prodigal-son story of the period. The 
 whole situation, as M. Jusserand pointed out,^^ came from 
 Warner's story of Opheltes. Opheltes married to Alcippe 
 (Francesco married to Isabel) goes to Sardis (Francesco goes 
 to Troynovant) where he is entrapped by Phoemonoe, a cour- 
 tezan (Francesco is entrapped by Infida). Alcippe goes to 
 the courtezan's house where she becomes a servant. Opheltes 
 is ruined and turned out of doors. Then when Alcippe reveals 
 her identity, the couple are happy. Isabel merely sent a 
 " English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare, p. 150. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 61 
 
 letter to Francesco. Greene, as we shall presently see, had 
 other adventures in store for her than to enter the courtezan's 
 service. 
 
 Now begins the third part of the story, that of the prodi- 
 gal's degeneration. At last, after three years of riotous 
 living, Francesco's money is gone. He asks Infida for a loan. 
 She refuses and casts him off. Francesco is very disconsolate 
 (long speech), and bitter against courtezans. He makes up 
 his mind to go home, and then lies down to sleep. When he 
 awakes (we are now in Francescos Fortunes, the Second Part 
 of Never too Late), he begins to revile women. He has no 
 money. His hostess (not the courtezan this time) sells his 
 clothes. He is too proud to work. At last he falls in with — 
 not a farmer who gives him a job feeding swine, but a com- 
 pany of players, for whom he begins to write plays. In this 
 capacity he becomes prosperous. Infida, hearing of his 
 prosperity, tries to recapture him. But Francesco had learned 
 his lesson. 
 
 In the meantime, Isabel had experiences at home. She 
 became noted for her virtues. One Signor Bernardo fell in 
 love with her, and laid plans to win her. The story is that 
 of the modest Susanna made to fit the circumstances.^^ 
 Greene early in his career had written the Mirrour of Modes- 
 tie, a version of the Apocryphal story of Susanna and the 
 elders. The theme seems to have appealed to him again, 
 for it is the same story that he uses for Isabel's experiences. 
 In many passages, especially in the latter half, the two 
 stories are identical, even to the minutest phraseology. 
 
 News of this event comes to the ears of Francesco in 
 Troynovant as he sits in a tavern. His conscience hurts 
 him, and he goes to his chamber. He sees his folly, and 
 
 ^* See Herford, Literary Relations of England and Germany in the 
 Sixteenth Century, (Chap. III.) for an account of the influence of the 
 modest Susanna theme in the Drama. 
 
62 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 writes a poem about it. He prepares to go home. One of 
 his friends gives him twelve precepts. 
 
 Thus ends the third part, with the curious combination of 
 the prodigal's repentance and — departing from the tradi- 
 tion — its included account of what happened to his wife at 
 home.^^ 
 
 After five days Francesco arrives at home. There is no 
 aged father to fall upon his neck and weep, but there is his 
 faithful wife. Francesco is overcome with remorse (long 
 speech). He repents and weeps bitterly. Isabel forgives 
 him. They have supper. After supper the host offers to 
 tell them a tale. He does so (a light tale) in no less than 
 fifty pages! 
 
 So ends the fourth part, after which Francesco and Isabel 
 spend the rest of their lives in quiet. 
 
 Having finished the prodigal story, Greene returns to his 
 frame-work — about which we have forgotten by this time 
 — and has the palmer tell his reasons for traveling about the 
 country. He says that he has been in all the cities of Europe, 
 and is on his way to Venice. It is his business to draw men 
 from Venus. He writes some verses upon the wall and then 
 departs. What he did, and how he lived, Greene will, if he 
 hears, let us know. 
 
 There is one prodigal-son story left, the Groatsworth of Wit. 
 There once lived a wealthy old man who had two sons. The 
 old man esteemed the elder as the heir apparent, but ne- 
 glected the other, who like Francesco was a scholar and 
 married to a gentlewoman. At last the old Gorinius became 
 very ill. He called his sons in to him and bade them fare- 
 well. All his goods he left to Lucanio, the elder. To the 
 younger, Roberto, he left an old groat wherewith to buy wit, 
 
 ^5 The Susanna story is substituted for the coming of Alcippe to 
 the courtezan's house. Of course both Warner's and Greene's stories 
 emphasize the wife's virtue and the husband's prodigahty. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 63 
 
 the reason for this unequal allotment being that one day at 
 table Roberto had censured his father and some guests for 
 being usurers. ^^ Then after some further advice to Lucanio, 
 Gorinius died. The scene of which I have just given a 
 synopsis corresponds to the first part of the prodigal story.^^ 
 
 The second part of the story proceeds as follows. Roberto 
 was greatly angered by his father's bequest and decided to 
 get revenge. He went to Lucanio. He flattered him and 
 told him he ought to marry. He said he would help him to 
 find a wife. Then Roberto took Lucanio to the house of 
 Lamilia, a courtezan. Lucanio was ensnared. There was 
 music, dancing, supper, and talk. Roberto encouraged Lu- 
 canio, so that Lamilia's power was complete. Presently 
 Lamiha, Roberto, and Lucanio began to play at dice. La- 
 miha was winning. Lucanio went to his rooms for more 
 money. While he was gone Roberto asked for his share of 
 the winnings. Lamilia refused and reviled him for betraying 
 his brother. When Lucanio came back Lamilia told him 
 how Roberto had set about to betray him. Lucanio became 
 very angry, and Roberto was turned out of doors. 
 
 Roberto was in trouble. He had no money. He fell in 
 with a man (as in Francescos Fortunes) who proposed that he 
 write plays. Roberto went with the player. Lamilia con- 
 tinued to hold Lucanio in her power. By the end of two 
 years, she had possessed herself of all of Lucanio's money, 
 
 ^® Cassander, in Callimachus' tale (Euphues and his England, Vol. 
 II. Ed. Bond, p. 14) was also a usurer. 
 
 ^^ Instead of the scene of a young man's struggle to gain his father's 
 consent to travel and of the young man's departure, scenes similar to 
 that in Groatsworth of Wit came to be substituted. In Euphues and his 
 England (Ed. Bond, Vol. II., p. 14) the tale of Callimachus opens in 
 the same way. The father dies after giving much advice, and leaves 
 the son disappointed in his inheritance. In the prodigal-son story of 
 Cassander in the same work (p. 23) the youth starts out to travel after 
 he has received his inheritance from the hand of a dying father. 
 
64 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 and she dismissed him. Soon Lucanio became a pander, 
 and continued so until his death. 
 
 In the meantime Roberto had become famous as a play- 
 wright. He kept low company, and did not pay his debts. 
 He knew all the low people and ''learned the legerdemaines 
 of nips, foysters, conni-catchers, crosbiters, lifts, high Law- 
 yers, and all the rabble of that uncleane generation of vipers; 
 and pithily could he point out their whole courses of craft." ^^ 
 His wife implored him to return. But he would not. He 
 had a sister of a villain named Ball for his mistress. 
 
 Finally God's judgment came, and with it the end of the 
 middle part of the story. This middle is something of a 
 departure from the tradition. The motive of revenge on 
 the part of Roberto is different. Yet it is not altogether 
 unlike the attitude of Callimachus (Lyly, Ed. Bond, Vol. 
 II., p. 17) who upon finding that his inheritance consisted of 
 some words of wisdom sealed up in a chest, fell into "an 
 extreame rage, renting his clothes and tearing his haire," and 
 cursed his father's will. Seeing that curses aided nothing 
 he set out to travel. Callimachus, like Acolastus, was an 
 only son, Roberto, on the other hand, had a brother against 
 whom he could vent his anger. From rage, such as Calli- 
 machus displayed, to revenge (when revenge is possible) is, 
 then, not too great a departure from tradition to have been 
 easily made. Having given the younger son the impulse 
 for revenge, the traditional scenes of the enticement by the 
 courtezan, the supper, music, and talk, the winning away of 
 the inheritance then fall to the lot of the elder brother who is 
 thus made a prodigal. The dismissal of Roberto by Lamilia 
 is of course natural. Lamilia had Lucanio in her power. 
 There was no necessity for sharing the profits with Roberto. 
 The meeting with the player is taken over from Francescos 
 
 ^8 Vol. XII., p. 134. References no doubt to Greene's own conny- 
 catching pamphlets. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 65 
 
 Fortunes. The imploring of the wife for Roberto's return is 
 also similar to that in Francescos Fortunes, but we hear noth- 
 ing in this case of what has been happening to her. Nor do 
 we know where she is. The idea of having the prodigal 
 married and of having his wife anxious for him, we have seen, 
 was taken from, or at least is similar to, Warner's Opheltes. 
 
 Now for the last part. Roberto became very poor — no 
 reason is given except that of God's judgment, although one 
 thinks of Rhenish wine and pickled herrings — and he had no 
 money to pay his debts. His friends were all gone. He had 
 nothing left except the groat his father had given him, 
 and he began to think of his father's legacy. 
 
 Here Greene breaks off his story of Roberto. The rest of 
 it is written in his own person. The discussion of this por- 
 tion of the work is not proper at this time. It belongs later 
 in the chapter with the repentances. 
 
 In addition to this group of prodigal-son stories there is one 
 other novel which manifests the influence of the story. This 
 is the Carde of Fancie, which is interesting not only for the 
 unique way in which the story is used but also as showing 
 how early (1584) Greene felt the influence of the story. The 
 Carde of Fancie is three-fourths romance.^^ A young man, 
 a stranger at the court, falls in love with, and is loved by, 
 the Duke's daughter. War breaks out with a neighboring 
 Duke (the young man's father). A rival for the hand of the 
 daughter denounces the young man as a spy. Consequent 
 difficulties arise. But in the end everything ends well, and 
 the couple are happily married. This, as I say, is all ro- 
 
 ^3 The situation in the Carde of Fancie is similar to that in Riche's 
 Sappho Duke of Mantua {Farewell to Militarie Profession, 1581). An 
 unknown youth risen to great honor at the court of a Duke falls in love 
 with, and is loved by, the Duke's daughter. The Duke is very angry, 
 but is reconciled upon hearing that the youth is of noble birth. 
 
 There is a double wedding at the end of both stories. 
 
66 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 mance. But the first part of the story is that of a prodigal 
 son. This same young man had been unruly in his father's 
 court. Finally he had decided to travel. Having won his 
 father's consent, and having been carefully advised in his 
 father's farewell speech, he had set out. He had spent some 
 months in riotous living, had become penniless, had remem- 
 bered his father's precepts, had left the scene of his rioting, 
 and had gone — not home to his father, but to the court of 
 Alexandria, where the romantic adventures already spoken 
 of took place. 
 
 MamilUa is the only other novel (aside from Pandosto, in 
 which a father gives his son some worldly advice) which 
 manifests the prodigal-son influence. In MamilUa we have 
 the speech on worldly wisdom repeated three times. Flo- 
 rion writes to Mamillia upon her departure from court. 
 Gonzaga upon his death-bed makes a long speech to his 
 daughter. And a most curious form is that of Pharicles, 
 who, as he is nearing Saragossa, names over to himself his 
 reasons for wearing his pilgrim's garb. It is because in 
 Saragossa he will find flatterers, courtezans, parasites; he 
 will have difficulty in choosing real friends; and so on through 
 the catalogue. 
 
 In a discussion of these prodigal-son stories, the question 
 of their autobiographical interpretation naturally comes up. 
 They have been termed the "repentant" pamphlets, and 
 upon them no small amount of our conception of Greene has 
 been based. Indeed they have so far entered into our atti- 
 tude that we can scarcely think of Greene except in terms of 
 them, — of them, that is, and of the Repentance. It seems 
 to me that we have, for the most part, gone too far in our 
 acceptance of the prodigal stories as autobiographical; that 
 we have been inclined to read into them too much of auto- 
 biographical detail from our preconceived notions of Greene 
 as a repentant sinner. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 67 
 
 In fact I think that the whole idea of repentance in con- 
 nection with Greene has been a little over-emphasized. The 
 theme of repentance was a common one in the prose and 
 poetry of the time. It was used over and over again, es- 
 pecially by the poets, and like many other literary themes of 
 the day became to a certain extent conventionalized.^^ I 
 am not saying that sinning and repenting were not genuine 
 experiences to Greene; perhaps more to him than to some 
 others. But to speak of repentance as a ''characteristic 
 note" belonging essentially to him is to neglect one of 
 the popular Elizabethan themes. 
 
 There is one other consideration which has no doubt aided 
 in this over-emphasis. The Mourning Garment has for some 
 years been recognized as being merely a version of the bibli- 
 cal story in conformance with the Renaissance tradition of 
 Acolastus and the rest of the prodigal plays. But the group 
 as a whole has not been so recognized, — a tribute to Greene 
 as an imaginative writer that it has not, — and so we have 
 centered our attention upon the repentance element of the 
 stories rather than upon the fact that they belong to a 
 specific t3rpe of fiction, and upon the more fundamental fact 
 that repentance is an inherent and inevitable element in that 
 kind of writing. 
 
 If we examine closely, we shall find that the only radical 
 departure in these prodigal stories of Greene to which no 
 parallel exists elsewhere in contemporary fiction is that of the 
 substitution of the writing of plays for the feeding of swine 
 as the prodigal's lot while he is in the far country. This 
 element may be, probably is, autobiographical; at least it 
 may have been suggested by Greene's experience. But that 
 it is not possible on this one detail to base the conclusion 
 that the novels in which it is found are also autobiographical 
 
 20 See p. 139 where I have dealt with the subject of repentant poetry 
 in connection with the repentant poetry of Greene. 
 
68 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 is at once obvious. The particular element, if Greene meant 
 it to be such, is merely a biographical detail in the midst of 
 a version of the prodigal-son story. 
 
 The question is not, then, that of endeavoring to discover 
 what details in certain of Greene's works represent actual 
 details in his own life history; it is rather that of determining 
 to what extent the general tone of the so-called repentance 
 pamphlets is applicable to their author. In this connection, 
 we must remember to ask whether, dissociated from Greene's 
 name, they would suggest anything else than stories on 
 the familiar theme of the prodigal son. As a group, I 
 see in them nothing more. I can only believe that in pro- 
 ducing them Greene was writing not autobiography but 
 commercial fiction. Not that the two are necessarily 
 incompatible, but that the point of view is different. 
 
 If the mood of the prodigal story happened to fit in with 
 his own nature, — that is another matter. There is no rea- 
 son for thinking, because he used pastoral elements in certain 
 of his romances, and because he used them artistically and 
 effectively, that the current interest in pastoralism did not 
 correspond to certain definite tendencies in his own make-up. 
 Just so with the prodigal stories. While autobiographical 
 inferences must be derived with caution, there is no need of 
 going to the other extreme and denying any reflection of 
 Greene's own career in his work. Greene was a sentimental- 
 ist. It is impossible to believe that when he shut himself 
 up alone with pen, paper, Longus, or Acolastus, he forgot 
 absolutely about himself. At the same time, "repentant 
 pamphlets" were for him primarily fiction. 
 
 The conclusion which I have stated, that the prodigal 
 stories are to be regarded as fiction rather than as autobiog- 
 raphy, is confirmed, it seems to me, in the statements of 
 Greene himself, and in his attitude toward them. At the 
 end of Never too Late, he bids us look for its sequel, Francescos 
 
SERO SED SERIO 69 
 
 Fortunes, "and after that my Farewell to Follie, and then 
 adieu to all amorous Pamphlets." ^i The Never too Late is 
 thus apparently one of the amorous pamphlets. At the be- 
 ginning of the promised sequel, we are told that if the work 
 had not been promised it would never have been written. 
 But here it is. Henceforth we are to look for Greene's pen 
 in "more deeper matters." 22 By the end of the book (p. 229) 
 Greene has evidently forgotten his reluctance, for we find 
 there that if he has further news he will send us tidings in 
 another book. Such a statement seems to invalidate that of 
 the preface. But of course the first statement is meaning- 
 less. Lyly had said the same thing, "I hope you will rather 
 pardon for the rudeness in that it is the first, & protect it 
 the more willingly if it offend in that it shalbe the laste,"^^ 
 while he was definitely promising a second part.-'* 
 
 While we are waiting for the Farewell to Follie, out comes 
 the Mourning Garment, as "the first fruites of my new la- 
 bours, and the last farewell to my fond desires," ^^ which 
 was licensed Nov. 2, 1590. Now if the Mourning Garment 
 is the first-fruits of a new life, one wants to know what the 
 Never too Late and Francescos Fortunes were, — for they were 
 just like it. Yet Greene has deplored these as wanton. The 
 impression we get is that Greene had not made up his mind 
 in regard to this matter. Perhaps the statements are not 
 unlike those we are accustomed to hear in our day of the 
 farewell tours of prima donnas and once famous actresses. 
 
 Finally in 1591, as the "ultimum vale" to youthful vani- 
 ties, appeared the long-heralded Farewell to Follie, Greene's 
 "many yeeres (he was then thirty-three) having bitten me 
 
 " Vol. VIII., p. 109. 22 Vol. VIII., p. 118. 
 
 23 Lyly. Ed. Bond. Vol. I., p. 180. 
 
 2* "You shall in the seconde part heare what newes he bringeth." 
 p. 323. 
 
 2^ Vol. VIII., p. 22. 
 
70 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 with experience, and age growing on bidding mee Peter e 
 graviora.^'^^ But even here Greene cannot look upon his 
 past work as wholly bad, — including the three '^repent- 
 ance" pamphlets. His works were ''mixed with such morall 
 principles," he consoles himself, "that the precepts of vertue 
 seemed to crave pardon." ^7 Of course they could not be so 
 bad as to hinder their sale! 
 
 Greene prefixes to the Farewell to Follie the repentant 
 motto. It is quite as solemnly pronounced Sero sed serio as 
 the rest. But this pamphlet has nothing of repentance in it. 
 It is nothing but a frame-work tale of the Omne tulit punctum 
 sort.28 
 
 All of this disbelief that Greene meant anything serious 
 by his professions of repentance — at least that his purpose 
 in talking about repentance was largely mercenary — in- 
 cludes skepticism in regard to the experiences related in the 
 Vision. All we know about the religious disturbance which 
 is supposed to have occurred in 1590 is to be found in this 
 one pamphlet. Whether or not Greene had such a disturb- 
 ance of mind, no one, I suppose, can ever actually know. I 
 am inclined to believe that he had not, and to say with Pro- 
 fessor Greg 2^ that there is "a strong suspicion that Greene 
 . . . adopted the machinery of repentance by way of ex- 
 plaining and advertising a change of style." The Cobbler of 
 Canterbury, which was the cause of all the trouble, was pub- 
 lished sometime in 1590; we cannot tell just when. Now 
 Greene's Orpharion was licensed January 9. There would 
 hardly have been time before that for Greene to have been 
 burdened with the authorship of the Cobbler of Canterbury 
 and to have had the repentance. But the Orpharion — 
 written before the Cobbler — concludes thus: "Yet could I 
 not hie so fast, but ere I got home I was overtaken with re- 
 
 26 Vol. VIII., p. 228. 28 See Chap. II. 
 
 27 Vol. VIII., p. 227. 29 Mod. Lang. Rev. Vol. I., p. 241. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 71 
 
 pentance."^^ I do not know how to understand this last 
 sentence if it is not an announcement of the forthcoming 
 series of pamphlets, and if it does not mean that Greene was 
 planning the series even before the events supposed to have 
 happened in the Vision had occurred. ^^ Especially since 
 Never too Late, the first of the series, written before the events 
 described in the Vision, bears Omne tulit punctum on its 
 title-page. Francescos Fortunes, the sequel, is designated as 
 Sero sed serio. There is danger, one must admit, of going 
 too far to the other extreme: but in view of the evidence at 
 hand I see nothing sincere about the whole affair. 
 
 Misplacing of attention away from the real nature of what 
 Greene was doing and the consequent searching for autobio- 
 graphical materials have obscured the significance of Greene's 
 work. That significance, I take it, is the fact that Greene 
 was able to treat the prodigal story in an imaginative way. 
 
 The three novels which I have grouped together, from 
 their common theme, manifest the same general quahties as 
 are shown in Greene's earlier works. The story was al- 
 ready formed. In itself it was good; and it had, besides, 
 definiteness of treatment from its use in the Latin plays. 
 But it did not suffer in Greene's hands. The ability for 
 telling a story which Greene had already acquired was enough 
 to sustain interest even in so familiar a theme as that of the 
 prodigal son. In characterization these novels are thoroughly 
 in accord with Greene's failure to create living people. The 
 prodigals who set off on the journey are all just alike. Phila- 
 dor, Roberto, Francesco, Gwydonius, — their places might 
 be changed, and no one would be the wiser. Infida and 
 Lamilia are different only in their names.^^ 
 
 3° Vol. XII., p. 94. 
 
 31 See Chapter on Chronology of Greene's Non-Dramatic Work. 
 
 32 On the subject of the courtezans in these prodigal stories a word 
 is needed. Storojenko and others since his time have alluded to the 
 
72 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Like the romantic pastoral the story of the prodigal son 
 offered no clearly recognized outlines to the novelist. It had 
 been worked out in the drama into more or less definite form 
 as represented by the Acolastus and the Studentes. But 
 quite as much as other types of fiction this one was yet in the 
 formative stage. There was a general scheme; there were 
 suggestions, incentives; yet there was no fixed tradition as 
 to the method of narrative treatment. 
 
 Greene took freely of what he found at hand; he was imi- 
 tative, rather than original, in that respect. But when all is 
 said and done, he was an early, not a late, borrower. 
 The writing of three or four novels on the prodigal 
 motives, even though there was no great difference between 
 them, was therefore a noteworthy achievement. How im- 
 aginative an achievement is well attested by our lack of per- 
 ception hitherto that Greene was in reality presenting us 
 with a type of fiction, and by our failure not only to 
 discover unity within the group but to understand the type 
 as well. 
 
 The three prodigal-son pamphlets, the Farewell to Folliey 
 and the Vision are, then, intrinsically products of Greene's 
 literary imagination. But the Repentance and the concluding 
 pages of the Groatsworth of Wit give an impression of greater 
 sincerity. Both of them come from the month of the fatal ill- 
 ness. Both were published after Greene's death, Groatsworth 
 of Wit on September 20, and the Repentance on October 6. 
 
 The last pages of Groatsworth of Wit are undoubtedly the 
 
 bitterness of Greene's later attitude toward women as compared to the 
 earlier attitude shown in Mariana, Sephestia, and the other heroines of 
 the romances. I had occasion to speak of this alleged change of front 
 in connection with Alcida (Chap. II., p. 25); and I repeat what I said 
 there. I see nothing which indicates an added bitterness in Greene's 
 mind. Just as repentance is a part of the material in a prodigal-son 
 story, so is a courtezan an indispensable accessory. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 73 
 
 most famous of Greene's writings. They contain, indeed, 
 some lines to be numbered among the most famous hues in 
 the English language: 
 
 "Yes trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with 
 our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide, supposes 
 he is as well able to bumbast out a blanke verse as the best of you: and 
 being an absolute Johannes fac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely 
 Shak-scene in a countrie." 
 
 In addition to the celebrated allusion, the rest of Greene's 
 words are of value. 
 
 Roberto, the hero of what has up to this point been a prodi- 
 gal-son story, has reached the bottom of his despair. He 
 recalls his father's precepts and knows that it is too late to 
 buy the wit he so negligently forgot to buy. His emotions 
 overcome him. ^'Heere (Gentlmen) breake I off Rohertos 
 speech; whose life in most parts agreeing with mine, found 
 one selfe punishment as I have done." It would help us to 
 understand the Groatsworth of Wit if we could know just 
 when it was written. But we do not know. It seems reason- 
 able, however, to suppose that it was begun before Greene 
 had realized the seriousness of his disease. "Greene though 
 able inough to write, yet deeplyer searched with sicknesse 
 than ever heretofore, sends you his Swanne-like song, for he 
 feares that he shall never againe carroll to you woonted 
 love layes [we thought he had given that up two years ago], 
 never discover to you youths pleasures. . . . This is . . . 
 I feare me the last I shall write." He apologizes for 
 the condition of the story as an ''Enbrion without shape." 
 Then he proceeds with his tale only thirty-four pages, when 
 he breaks down. His illness has probably become much 
 worse. He is sure that death is upon him. ''Though no man 
 be by me to doe me good, yet ere I die, I will by my repent- 
 ance indevor to doe all men good." His tendency toward 
 sentimentalism grows into morbidness. He condemns him- 
 
74 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 self, his past life — which had no doubt been wild enough — 
 and his works without distinction. ''Ah Gentlemen, that 
 live to reade my broken and confused lines, looke not I 
 should (as I was woont) delight you with vain fantasies, 
 but gather my follies altogether, and . . . cast them into 
 the fire. . . . O that the teares of a miserable man . . . 
 might wash their memorie out with me death. . . . But 
 sith they cannot let this my last worke witness against 
 them with me, how I detest them. Blacke is the remem- 
 brance of my blacke works, blacker then night, blacker 
 then death, blacker then hell." 
 
 We cannot take such words at their face value, as they 
 pertain either to Greene's works or to his deeds. Gabriel 
 Harvey did indeed give Greene a pretty black reputation: 
 
 "I was altogether unacquainted with the man, never once saluted 
 him by name : but who in London hath not heard of his dissolute, and 
 licentious living; his fonde disguisinge of a Master of Arte with 
 ruffianly haire, unseemly apparell, and more unseemelye Company: 
 ... his apeish counterfeiting of every ridiculous and absurd toy: 
 . . . his monstrous swearinge and horrible f orswearinge : . . . his 
 continuall shifting of lodgings: ... his keping of the foresaid Balls 
 sister, a sorry ragged queane, of whome hee had his base sonne, In- 
 fortunaius Greene: his forsaking of his owne wife, too honest for such 
 a husband: particulars are infinite. ... He never envyed me so 
 much, as I pittied him from my heart: especially when his hostisse 
 Isam with teares in her eies, & sighes from a deeper fountaine, (for 
 she loved him derely) tould me of his lamentable begging of a penny 
 pott of Malmsey; and, sir reverence how lowsy he, and the mother of 
 Infortunatus were . . . and how he was faine poore soule, to borrow 
 her husbandes shirte, whiles his owne was a washing: and how his 
 dublet, and hose, and sword were sold for three shillings: and beside 
 the charges of his winding sheete, which was foure shilHnges: and the 
 charges of hys buriall yesterday, in the New-churchyard neere Bedlam, 
 was six shillinges, and four pence; how deeply hee was indebted to her 
 poore husbande: as appeared by hys own bonde of tenne poundes: 
 which the good woman kindly shewed me."'^ 
 
 33 Harvey's Works. Ed. Grosart, Vol. I., pp. 168-71. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 75 
 
 But Harvey was an enemy. Perhaps Nashe was more nearly 
 right. 
 
 "Debt and deadly sinne, who is not subject to? With any notori- 
 ous crime I never knew him tainted." 
 
 Greene had lived hard. There is unquestionably much truth 
 in the picture that Harvey paints of Greene's last days and 
 of his ignoble death. But so were they all wild. Greene 
 was probably no better, no worse, than the rest. These 
 young University Wits were somewhat beyond the pale of 
 substantial citizenship, anyway. 
 
 Whatever his life had been, Greene's dying words are not 
 literally true. They represent him as a man depraved; 
 and Greene was not that. But they reveal clearly the state 
 of mind in which he was, — a sensitive being, friendless and 
 in poverty, sick unto death, with conscience torturing him 
 into anguish through memories of a wasted life. As for his 
 works, Greene need not have been so troubled about 
 them. 3^ 
 
 After this self -vituperation Greene writes a letter "to 
 those Gentlemen his Quondam acquaintance, that spend their 
 wits in making plaies," with the address to Marlowe, Nashe,^^ 
 
 2^ "Justice demands the acknowledgment that Greene's imagina- 
 tion is entire and undefiled: in all these tales I cannot recall a single 
 sneaking allusion or prurient image or lascivious detail." S. L. Wolff, 
 Eng. St., Vol. 37, p. 350. 
 
 Such statements are common among Greene's critics. Without 
 depreciating the purity of Greene's writings, I think we have been 
 inclined to underestimate that of some other writers of fiction. I 
 fail to see that Greene stands out in striking distinction to Lyly, Lodge, 
 Sidney, or several others that might be mentioned. 
 
 35 Upon the identification of "young Juvenall" much energy has 
 been expended — "that by ting Satyrist, that lasthe with mee together 
 writ a Comedie." For summary of various contentions see McKerrow's 
 edition of Nashe, Vol. V., p. 143. Also Gayley's Representative English 
 Comedies, p. 424, seq., where "A Knack-tgJ Know a Knave" is offered 
 as a solution for the unknown 'x)omedie." 
 
76 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 and Peele, and the attack on Shakespeare; a fable of the 
 grasshopper and the ant; and finally a letter to his wife, 
 committing to her the charge of their son. All three 
 reiterate the repentance for sin. 
 
 ''Well, my hand is tired, and I am forst to leave where I 
 would begin; for a whole booke could not containe these 
 wrongs, which I am forst to knit up in some few lines of 
 words." 
 
 The Repentance was published after the Groatsworth of 
 WiL This pamphlet, like the former, ''dooth lay open the 
 graceles endevours of my self e. " It is divided into two parts : 
 the first being the Repentance; the second, the Life and 
 Death. We have the same upbraidings and self-accusa- 
 tions. ''I was the mirrour of mischiefe, and the very pat- 
 terne of all prejudiciall actions." Greene was, too, he says, 
 ''a meere Atheist," and a despiser of death. "Tush, what 
 better is he that dies in his bed than he that endes his life 
 at Tyburne, all 03^5 God ^ death : if I may have my desire 
 while I live, I am satisfied, let me shift after death as I may." 
 And again, ''Hell (quoth I) what talke you of hell to me? 
 I know if I once come there, I shall have the company of 
 better men than my selfe, I shal also meete with some madde 
 knaves in that place, & so long as I shall not sit there 
 alone, my care is the lesse." So the young blasphemer goes 
 on.^** 
 
 All this was to change: the day of judgment came. With 
 it came much grief. 
 
 The second part deals very briefly with a few events of 
 Greene's life, his parents "in the Cittie of Norwitch," his 
 
 * "There was no cryme so barbarous, no murther so bloudy, no 
 oath so blasphemous, no vice so execrable, but that I could readely 
 recite where I learned it, and by roate repeate the peculiar crime of 
 everye particular Country, Citie, Towne, Village, House, or Chamber." 
 Lyly, Euphues and His England. Ed. Bond. Vol. II., p. 24. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 77 
 
 early schooling, his dissipation at Cambridge, his travel 
 abroad," his going to London, his marriage to ''a gentle- 
 
 " There has never been any doubt expressed as to the actuality of 
 this trip, and I do not know that there is necessity for expressing any 
 such doubt here. It is interesting to note, however, that there is in 
 Greene's writings not a single reference (with perhaps one possible 
 exception) which can be cited as indicating that Greene had any direct, 
 first-hand knowledge of the Continent. Even in a case like that in 
 his Never too Late (1590) in which an opportunity seems to have been 
 created expressly for descriptions of continental scenes, Greene gives 
 only the vaguest of generalities. 
 
 The passage referred to (Vol. VIII., p. 20-32) is rather interesting 
 in this connection. The palmer, ''My native home is England, the 
 ende of my journey is Venice, where I meane to visit an olde friend of 
 mine, an Englishman." Then follows, ''Sir (quoth I) if I might with 
 many questions be not offensive, I would faine be inquisitive to knowe, 
 as you have passed along France, Germanie, the Rine, and part of 
 Italie, what you have noticed worthie of memorie." To this the 
 palmer answers, "After I had cut from Dover to Calice, I remembred 
 what olde Homer writte of Ulysses, that he coveted, not onely to see 
 strange Countries but with a deepe insight to have a view into the 
 manners of men: so I thought as I passed through Paris, not onely to 
 please mine eie, with the curious Architecture of the building, but 
 with the diverse disposition of the inhabitantes." The palmer proceeds 
 to speak of the court and the subserviency of the French courtiers, 
 and of the amorousness of the French gentlemen. He then turns to 
 the Germans. But "Nay stay sir (quoth I) before you passe the 
 Alpes, give me leave to holde you an houre still in Lions." This leads 
 to the palmer's discourse on the French gentlewomen. After this is 
 finished, he speaks briefly of a few characteristics of the Germans. 
 But he did not become interested in the German customs, and so 
 "sicco pede past them over, so that I travelled up as farre as Vienna, 
 where I saw a thing worthie of memorie": not the description of any 
 definite scene or observation of national customs, as we might expect, 
 but — a hermit in a cell! a hermit who spoke most edifyingly in "rough 
 hie Dutch verses"! From the hermit's cell, says the palmer, he went 
 "to Vienna, and from thence coasted up into the borders of Italy." 
 
 This passage from Never too Late is the only instance of its kind in 
 Greene's works. It seems to have been written especially to reveal 
 
78 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 mans daughter of good account, with whom I lived for a while : 
 but for as much as she would persuade me from my wilful 
 wickedness, after I had a child by her, I cast her off, having 
 spent up the marriage money which I obtained by her. 
 Then I left her at six or seven, who went into Lincolnshire, 
 and I to London." There is, too, an account of a religious 
 experience (not the one told of in the Vision; this one was 
 sometime before 1585 or '86. See Vol. XII., p. 177) which 
 occurred in Norwich, when Greene heard the words of a 
 minister in Saint Andrew's Church. 
 
 As to the authenticity of this pamphlet there can be no 
 doubt.^^ The problem involved is quite a different one. It 
 is the problem of interpretation. Can we, or can we not, 
 accept the repentance set forth here (and in the Groatsworth 
 of Wit) as sincere? I believe that we can. Greene foisted 
 
 an intimate knowledge of the Continent. Instead it contains only- 
 indefinite statements, and those the most commonplace or insignificant, 
 such as might easily have been gleaned from books. 
 
 Judging from the works alone, one might well doubt the reality of 
 the Italian journey. We must remember, however, that Greene did not 
 in any of his novels make use of the element of background. The ab- 
 sence of specific continental allusions in those stories of which the 
 scenes are laid on the Continent is therefore no more noticeable than the 
 absence of similar allusions in the few stories whose scene is England. 
 In none of his novels did he develop the element of background to 
 the extent that he did, for example, in Friar Bacon. 
 
 The Repentance speaks of Greene's having been in Italy and Spain 
 (p. 172). The Notable Discovery has this passage: "I have smyled 
 with the Italian ... I have eaten Spanishe mirabolanes .... 
 Fraunce, Germanic, Poland, Denmarke, I knowe them all, yet not 
 affected to any in the fourme of my life." Vol. X., p. 6. This pas- 
 sage resembles one in Euphues and his England. Ed. Bond. Vol. II., 
 p. 24. "If I met with one of Creete, I was ready to lye with him. 
 ... If with a Grecian, I could dissemble. ... I could court it 
 with the Italian, carous it with the Dutch-man," etc., to Egypt and 
 Turkey. 
 
 ^ See Collins' edition of Greene. Vol. I., Introduction, pp. 50-53. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 79 
 
 upon us a series of prodigal stories under pretext of *' reformed 
 passions." In spite of that, I think the final repentance is 
 genuine. When a man comes to die, it is a different matter. 
 Greene was stricken with remorse. That, to be sure, was 
 mostly because he was also stricken with fear. He was 
 terrified to his inmost soul. But the cause of remorse does 
 not alter its reality. 
 
 "After he had pend the former discourse (then lying sore sicke of a 
 surfeit which hee had taken with drinking) hee continued most patient 
 and penitent; yea he did with teares forsake the world, renounced swear- 
 ing, and desired f oregiveness of God and the worlde for all his offences : 
 so that during all the time of his sicknesse (which was about a moneths 
 space) hee was never heard to sweare, rave, or blaspheme the name of 
 God as he was accustomed to do before that time." ^9 
 
 When he wrote the paragraph quoted above, Cuthbert 
 Burbie, the enterprising young publisher, no doubt had an 
 eye to the edifying effect of such a complete repentance. 
 At least his details do not agree with Gabriel Harvey's, 
 whose account of Greene's death is most sordid. The truth, 
 it may be, lies between the two. It is, after all, only a human 
 picture as we think of Greene, conscience-smitten for his sins, 
 renouncing his blasphemy and swearing, asking forgiveness 
 of God and the world; at the same time, begging piteously 
 for "ob penny pot of Malmesy" at the hand of Mistress 
 Isam. 
 
 Numquam sera est ad bonos mores via. It may be. But 
 for Greene the day never came. Greene had the two ele- 
 ments in him of the flesh and the spirit, and he could never 
 reconcile them. ''This good motion lasted not long in mee," 
 is his own comment of the experience at Norwich. A frank 
 confession, — and very true, the confession of a weak will 
 in terms of the excuse for the return to wrong-doing. The 
 impression was vivid while it lasted. So was the final 
 39 Vol. XII., p. 184. 
 
80 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 repentance. Only then, there was no chance for Greene to 
 lose it. 
 
 In concluding this chapter, perhaps we can relieve the 
 darkness a little by a characteristic, and almost humorous, 
 statement of Greene's. Here he is on his death-bed, poor 
 fellow, trying to pray and condemning himself more severely 
 than any other man who would be charitable could con- 
 demn him. ''I was the child of perdition," is his judgment 
 upon himself, and the punishment which will come is just 
 and deserved. For his life has been bad and his pamphlets 
 wanton. *'But I thanke God," he says, — the old journalism 
 instinct reviving, the pride in work accomplished, the desire 
 to advertise his wares — ''that he put it in my head to lay 
 open the most horrible coosenages of the common Conny- 
 catchers, Cooseners, and Crosbiters, which I have indif- 
 ferently handled in those my several discourses already 
 imprinted."*^ 
 
 We may summarize this chapter briefly. Its subject 
 Sero sed serio is applicable to all the works herein discussed. 
 But those works are of two kinds. Never too Late and 
 Francescos Fortunes, Mourning Garment, Groatsworth of Wit, 
 are prodigal-son stories; Farewell to Follie is a didactic 
 narrative of the frame-w^ork kind. Greene's Vision is an 
 account of the repentance which inaugurated the series. All 
 of these works I have not considered as different in any 
 respect from the writings prepared before 1590. In the 
 second class are the last few pages of Groatsworth of Wit 
 and the Repentance. 
 
 It is not unlike calling an actor before the final curtain 
 
 just after we have seen him die in the tragedy, to continue a 
 
 discussion of Greene's works after we have witnessed the 
 
 death-scene. But the actor, even if we are a little startled 
 
 " Vol. XII., p. 178. 
 
SERO SED SERIO 81 
 
 to realize it, is just as much alive as ever. So for our pur- 
 poses, Greene is still alive and writing. In the latter half 
 of 1590 he began that division of his works which deals in 
 one way or another with repentance. By the end of the 
 next year he had adopted a new motto — ''We are born for 
 the good of our country." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 
 
 In 1591 Greene began a series of social pamphlets which, 
 at very short intervals, continued to appear for several 
 months. The first of these, A Notable Discovery of Coosnage, 
 was licensed December 13. In that year also, and licensed 
 the same day, appeared another, The Second Part of Conny- 
 catching, with still a Thirde and last Part, entered on the 
 Stationers' Register, February 7, 1592. Later were published 
 the Disputation Betweene a Hee and a Shee Conny-Catcher, 
 the Quippe for an Upstart Courtier, July 21, and the Blacke 
 Bookes Messenger, August 21. This list should include, too. 
 The Defence of Conny Catching, April 21, concerning the 
 authorship of which there has been some discussion. 
 
 These pamphlets may, on account of their differences in 
 social significance and depth, be divided into two groups; 
 one group containing the Disputation and the Quippe, the 
 other containing the rest of the works enumerated above. 
 
 Of the pamphlets which constitute the second, and larger, 
 group, the three parts of conny-catching belong together. 
 Rather, it should be said that the Notable Discovery and the 
 Second Part belong together, and that the Thirde Part is 
 really only a sort of appendix. 
 
 The Notable Discovery of Coosnage, the first of the series, 
 opens with an epistle of eight pages ''To the Reader," in 
 the course of which Greene tells of his plan to expose the 
 deceits practised upon ''yong gentlemen, Marchants, Appren- 
 tises, Farmers, and plain Countreymen" by the conny- 
 catchers, the sly confidence men of the Capital. There are 
 
 82 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 83 
 
 two chief abuses in London: the art of conny-catching, 
 deceit at cards; and the art of cross-biting, or the extortion 
 of money from victims by the pretended (or real) husbands of 
 the courtezans. Greene gives a brief account of the origin 
 of card-playing, speaks of the evils done to innocent persons 
 by the cheaters at cards, and develops his Epistle with an 
 explanation of the old Barnard's Law,^ or the process of 
 cheating at cards. The body of the pamphlet consists of 
 setting forth the art of conny-catching (a retelling in different 
 terms of the Barnard's Law) illustrated by two tales; and 
 of the manner in which the city harlots aid in ''cros-bitiiig" 
 the silly connies, together with the story of a victim who 
 turned the tables. The exposure of these two vices was not 
 quite enough to fill up the pamphlet. In conclusion, then, 
 there is the exposure of a deceit in no way related to the 
 other two, the evil practices of the sellers of coals, illustrated 
 by two tales. 
 
 The Second Part contains the "discovery of certaine 
 wondrous coosenages, either superficiallie past over or 
 utterlie untoucht in the first." ^ It reveals the Prigging 
 Law (horse-stealing), the Vincents Law (deceit at bowling), 
 a discussion of the Nip (who cuts purses) and the Foist (who 
 steals with his hand), the Lifting Law (larceny), the Courbing 
 Law (hooking linen out of windows), and the Blacke Arte 
 (picking of locks). The pamphlet contains nine tales. 
 The Thirde Part consists entirely of tales of deceit, the tales 
 being ten in number. 
 
 Greene sets forth the purpose of these works with con- 
 siderable ostentation. His title-pages are no longer bespread 
 with the Omne tulit punctum of the romances, or the Sero 
 sed serio which announced the repentance of the prodigal 
 
 1 "There was before this many yeeres agoe a practise put in use 
 by such shifting companions, which was called the Barnard's Law." 
 Vol. X., p. 9. 2 Title-page to the Second Part, Vol. X. 
 
84 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 son. There is instead the patriotic — but not for that 
 reason, the less shrewd — Nasdmur pro patria. Not con- 
 tent with printing the motto on the title-page, twice within 
 the Notable Discovery itself Greene wishes a most unhappy 
 end to these ''base and dishonest caterpillars." He bids us 
 farewell, shouting as he goes, vauntingly, loudly that all may 
 hear, his new found battle-cry.^ 
 
 The statement of the patriotism which inspired the social 
 pamphlets is repeated in the preface to the reader, 
 
 "those mad fellowes I learned at last to loath, by their owne graceless 
 villinies, and what I saw in them to their confusion, I can forewarne 
 in others to my countries commodity." * 
 
 It may be very true as Dr. Wolffs says of such statements as 
 these that Greene "believed that he was rendering a public 
 service," and that he was carrying on the ideal of the human- 
 ists that it is the business of a writer to serve the State. 
 But I do not think that we do well to say much about the 
 humanitarian purpose of these, or any other of Greene's 
 works. In the case of his fiction, Greene was quite as much 
 — even more — interested in the production of what would 
 sell as of what would edify. The two aims may have hap- 
 pened sometimes to coincide. But the fact that Greene tells 
 us, and insists, that he means to edify cannot hinder our 
 notion that at heart he was first of all a pamphleteer for 
 profit. So with these social tracts. Greene may have been 
 patriotic. There is no incompatibility, necessarily, between 
 patriotism and journalistic instinct. What I am saying, 
 and here I agree most fully with Mr. W. W. Greg,® is that the 
 
 3 Vol. X., pp. 36, 50. 
 
 * Vol. X., p. 6. Also p. 69, "no pains nor danger too great that 
 groweth to the benefit of my countrie;" p. 97, "so I may profit my 
 countrimen." Also Preface to the Third Part 
 
 '' Eng. Stud., p. 337, Vol. 37. 
 
 ° Modern Lang. Rev., April, 1906, Vol. I., p. 241. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 85 
 
 avowed intention for writing the conny-catching pamphlets 
 is not to be regarded too seriously.'^ 
 
 The relation between the Notable Discovery and the Second 
 Part will illustrate my statement. In the first, as we have 
 seen, Greene tells us of his plan to expose the wicked arts of 
 conny-catching and of cross-biting. In the second, he carries 
 on the exposure of other cheating practices, most of which 
 are announced in the Notable Discovery (p. 51). But there 
 are too, in this Second Part, references which have nothing to 
 do with the exposures. These are the references to Greene 
 himself and to the first pamphlet. The trade, Greene says, 
 is "greatlie impoverished by the late editions of their secret 
 villanies" (p. 88). A prospective conny avoids the snare 
 with ''Maisters, I bought a booke of late for a groate that 
 warnes me of Card-playing. ... I have forsworne cards 
 ever since I read it" (p. 89). Not long afterward, a man 
 who had been cozened chanced to come to Greene's chamber, 
 "where he found a book of Cony-catching new come out 
 of the presse. . . . Sir, said he, If I had seene this booke 
 but two dayes since, it had saved me nine pound in my 
 purse'' (p. 96). 
 
 Greene answers the objection "that some inferred against 
 me, which was, that I shewed no eloquent phrases, nor fine 
 figurative conveiance in my first booke as I have done in 
 other of my workes" (p. 71). ^ And finally he refers to the 
 
 "> Harman tells us on the title-page of his Caveat or Warning, for 
 Commen Cursetors (1566? 1567) that he is writing ''for the utilitie and 
 proffyt of his natural! Countrey." And again he says in his epistle 
 ''To the Reader'' that "faithfullye for the proffyt and benyfyt of my 
 countrey I have don it." {The Rogues and Vagabonds of Shakespeare's 
 Youth, Ed. by Viles and Furnivall. Shakespeare Library 1907.) 
 Greene has several similarities to Harman. 
 
 8 In the failure to use "elo^iuent phrases" Greene resembles Harman 
 when he wrote the Caveat. "'Although, good Reader, I wright in plain 
 termes — and not so playnly as truely — concerning the matter, 
 
86 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 threats that have come to him from the conny-catchers that 
 they will ''cut off my right hand, for penning doune their 
 abhominable practises: but alas for them, poore snakes, 
 words are wind, & looks but glances: every thunderclap 
 hath not a bolt, nor every Conny-catchers oath an execution. 
 I live still, & I live to display their villanies" (p. 70).® 
 
 All these references to the first pamphlet sound perfectly 
 natural, appearing as they do in the second; and we are 
 really led to believe that Greene's works were making con- 
 siderable of a stir and that he himself was manifesting much 
 bravery to continue in such dangerous revelations of the 
 underworld. But our belief in the genuineness of the whole 
 performance is considerably shattered when we remember 
 that in all probability the Notable Discovery and the Second 
 Part were published at the same time,^^ and that the refer- 
 
 meaning honestly to all men, and wyshe them as much good as to myne 
 owne harte; yet, as there hathe been, so there is nowe, and hereafter 
 wylbe, curyous heds to finde fauttes: — well, this delycat age shall 
 have his tyrne on the other syde. Eloquence have I none; I never 
 was acquainted with the muses; I never tasted of Helycon. But 
 accordinge to my plaine order, I have set forth this worke, simplye 
 and truelye, with such usual words and termes as is amongst us wel 
 known and frequented." (Ed. Viles and Furnivall, 1907, pp. 27-8.) 
 
 Greene's reason for the simple style is different from Harman's. 
 Whereas Harman declared himself unable to use any other, Greene had 
 already manifested repeatedly his ability to do so. His reply to the 
 objection made against him is that he thinks a "certaine decorum is 
 to bee kept in everie thing, and not to applie a high stile in a base 
 subject: . . . Therefore humbly I crave pardon and desire I may 
 write basely of such base wretches." (Vol. X., p. 71.) 
 
 9 Of. Harman, p. 22. "Now, me thinketh, I se how these pevysh, 
 perverse, and pestilent people begyn to freat, fume, sweare, and stare 
 at this my booke, their lyfe being laid open and apparantly poynted 
 out, that their confusion and end draweth one a pase." 
 
 10 Both works were licensed 13 Dec, 1591. Both bear the date 
 1591 on their title-pages. And they were put out by different pubhshers. 
 It is only reasonable, then, to suppose that both were written about 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 87 
 
 ences to the former are, therefore, most hkely pure fictions. 
 This theory is borne out by the mention near the end of the 
 Notable Discovery ^^ of several of the ^'laws" exposed in the 
 Second Part, — as if the Second Part were already planned but 
 there was found to be room for ''legering" (cheating with 
 coal) in the Notable Discovery — and further by Greene's 
 manner of speaking of the threats and the conny-catchers. 
 In the epistle ''To the Reader" of the Notable Discovery 
 Greene ''foresees" the danger that will come to him from 
 his exposures. "Yet Gentlemen am I sore threatened 
 by the hacksters of that filthie facultie, that if I set 
 their practises in print, they will cut off that hande 
 that writes the Pamphlet," ^^ ^ statement in no wise 
 different from that in the Second Part as follows: "I know 
 I shall have many braves uttered against me for this 
 invective." ^^ 
 
 Greene, viewed in this light, is not, then, a patriotic 
 champion ready to die for a cause. He is a self -advertising 
 
 the same time, inasmuch as by 7 Feb., 1592, Greene had the Thirdeand 
 last Part on the market. 
 
 ^^ Vol. X., p. 51. "I omitted divers other divelish vices; as the 
 nature of the lift, the black art &." 
 
 12 Vol. X., p. 12. 
 
 13 Vol. X., p. 97. Again like Harman. See above, note 9. See 
 also Audeley, The Fraternitye of Vacabondes. Ed. Viles and Furnivall, 
 p. 2. 
 
 "But if my fellowes do know (sayd he) 
 That thus I dyd, they would kyll me." 
 
 The Printer to the Reader. 
 
 Greene has another point of similarity to Harman. Harman unites, 
 he says, for the benefit of the thieves as well as of the country. He 
 hopes that "in the world to com they may save their Soules" so that 
 his writing "shall do them more good than they could have devised for 
 them selves." (p. 22). Greene puts it thus: "Were it not that I hope 
 for their amendment, I would in a schedule set doune the names of 
 such coosening cunny-catchers." Vol. X., p. 12. 
 
88 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 journalist. ^^ This is not at all to be severe on him, or even 
 disparaging. What it means is that our conception of 
 Greene must be less serious. Although the conny-catching 
 pamphlets do lose some of their sociological value, their inter- 
 est is not lessened. Instead of regarding their author as an 
 ardent defender of the common weal, we are to enjoy him as 
 a literary artificer. Two smaller pamphlets — a First and 
 a Second Part — sold to two publishers would bring more 
 than a larger pamphlet put out by one man. 
 
 There is no doubt that the seriousness with which 
 Greene's conny-catching pamphlets have been regarded has 
 come partly at least from certain statements of his in the 
 earlier works, statements which have been interpreted as 
 meaning that Greene had long contemplated the writing of 
 these disclosures.^^ The whole question of the understand- 
 ing of these passages is, of course, bound up with the ques- 
 tion of the 1590 religious experience spoken of in the Vision. 
 That question cannot be taken up here.^^ But so far as these 
 passages and the conny-catching pamphlets are concerned, 
 I can see no reason for thinking that there is any definite 
 relation between them. 
 
 In the first place, the promise of '^ deeper matters "does not, 
 perhaps, mean anything more than a conventional phrase. ^^ 
 
 " The putting out of the conny-catching pamphlets with their dis- 
 play of patriotism is not the first time in Greene's life that he adapted 
 himself to the occasion. In 1585 when he put out the Planetomachia 
 he was ''Student in Phisicke." In 1589, when any pamphlet with 
 "Spanish" in its title would sell, Greene was on hand with his Spanish 
 Masquerado under the pretext of adventuring "to discover my con- 
 science in Religion." 
 
 ^^ See Greene, ed. Dickinson, Mermaid Series, 1909, Introduction, 
 p. xxvii. i« See pp. 70-71. 
 
 1^ See above, pp. 69-72. Also A Petite Pallace of Pettie His Pleasure, 
 Ed. by GoUancz, p. 7. "Thus have I sent you in that book some 
 fruits of my former folly, and in this letter the profession of my present 
 faith. ... I mean . . . the next Spring to go on pilgrimage." 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 89 
 
 In the second place, it does not seem reasonable to think 
 that if Greene had had definitely in mind the task 
 of writing exposures he would have continued .putting out 
 pamphlets for which he had to, or at least did, apologize. 
 It is possible, to be sure, that the prodigal stories sold 
 better than he anticipated, and that he was keeping the 
 conny-catching pamphlets in reserve. But it does not seem 
 likely, from what we know of Greene, that he would have 
 waited for a year and a half (from the middle of 1590 when 
 he first promised to do serious writing until the end of 1591) 
 to put into effect an idea which had suggested to him a new 
 line of work. 
 
 Another consideration which causes me to think that the 
 conny-catching pamphlets were written as a journalistic 
 venture purely, and not that they were written because 
 Greene had definite information to convey in regard to the 
 dangerous practices of the metropolis is the fact that the 
 inspiration of conny-catching, apparently, (and the material, 
 certainly) came from a little pamphlet published in England 
 a good many years before. This pamphlet was the Manifest 
 Detection of Dyce Play (1552), from which, to be brief, 
 Greene got all he knew about cheating at cards. In his 
 Epistle to the Reader, Greene copies verbatim two pages from 
 the earlier pamphlet, the very important passage, that is, in 
 which the modus operandi of the Barnard's Law is ex- 
 plained.^^ This old Barnard's Law of the Manifest Detec- 
 
 ^^ Barnard's Law: — Four persons are required, the Taker-up, the 
 Verser, the Barnard, and the Rutter. The Taker-up makes the 
 acquaintance of the victim and draws him to a tavern. With him goes 
 the Verser, who hath "the countenaunce of a landed man." They all 
 sit down. In comes the Barnard, like an old farmer. The Barnard 
 teaches the Verser a "new" card game he has just learned. They 
 begin to play for money. If the victim "smoake them" and starts 
 away, the Rutter creates a disturbance. A crowd gathers, and the 
 Barnard steals away with all the money. 
 
90 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 lion constitutes without change, except in very minor 
 details,^^ Greene's art of conny-catching in the Notable Dis- 
 covery, and forms the basis of the long and ''pleasant tale of 
 the connie-catchers " 2° in the Second Part. Mum-chance, 
 the only game mentioned in Greene, is, in other words, copied 
 from a pamphlet forty years old. 
 
 From the Manifest Detection, Greene copies also the 
 passage ^^ regarding the use of the word ''law" among the 
 members of the underworld and the passage ^^ in which a 
 conny-catcher refuses conversion on the ground that no 
 man can live honestly. Such borrowings as these, in addi- 
 tion to that spoken of above, show very definitely where 
 the impulse to write conny-catching pamphlets came from, 
 
 ^^ The principal change is in the names of the persons taking part. 
 The following extract from Rowlands is of considerable interest in 
 this connection as showing that the names for these parties either 
 were numerous at any one time or changed from year to year: "There 
 hath beene of late daies published two merrie and pithie Pamphlets 
 of the arte of Conicatching: wherin the Author hath suflficiently 
 expressed his experience, as also his loue to his Countrie. Neuerthe- 
 lesse with the Authors leaue, I will ouerlooke some lawe tearmes ex- 
 pressed in the first part of Conicatching: whereunto, as the Author 
 saith, is necessarilie required three parties: The setter, the Verser and 
 the Barnacle. Indeed I haue heard some retainers to this ancient 
 trade dispute of his proceedings in this case and by them in a full Synode 
 of quart pots it was thorowlie examined and concluded, that there 
 were no such names as he hath set downe, nor anie cheating Arte so 
 christened as Conicatching. . . . But all this breakes no square, so 
 long as we concurre in eodem subiecto." Greenes Ghost haunting Coni- 
 catchers, 1602. Rowlands' Works, Vol. I,, p. 7. Hunterian Club. 
 
 2° Vol. X., p. 91. I do not accept Mr. Aydelotte's discussion of 
 Greene's borrowing. ''In so far as Greene has a literary original for 
 his conny-catching books, it is this pamphlet." (p. 120). . . . "These 
 plagiarisms are all in comparatively unimportant passages" (p. 125). 
 Oxford Historical and Literary Studies, Vol. I., Elizabethan Rogues 
 and Vagabonds. By Frank Aydelotte. 
 
 21 Vol. X., p. 33. 
 
 22 Vol. X., pp. 34-5. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO P ATRIA 91 
 
 and make me disinclined to believe that they were the 
 outcome of any long premeditation. ^^ 
 
 In connection with the question of the attitude which 
 we are to take toward these pamphlets of Greene's there 
 is still another point to be borne in mind. That is his boast 
 of the accuracy, and directness of the sources, of his informa- 
 tion. We may hear Greene's own words: 
 
 "Though I haue not practised their deceits, yet conuersing by 
 fortune, and talking uppon purpose with such copes-mates, hath 
 geuen mee light into their conceipts, and I can decipher their qualities, 
 though 1 utterly mislike of their practises." 2* 
 
 For such insistence upon the truth of his writing Greene 
 may very well have gotten the hint from a work like Bar- 
 man's Caveat or from Lodge's Alarum against Usurers, of 
 which the authors say that what they write is direct, the 
 information of the former obtained from the beggars with 
 whom he talked at his gate,^^ that of the latter from personal 
 observation or the testimony of victims.^® Whether these 
 
 23 The haphazard manner in which the Second Part is put together 
 is another indication of haste. 24 Yq] x., p. 6. 
 
 25 "I . . . have kepte a house these twenty yeares, where unto 
 poverty dayley hath and doth repayre, not without some reliefe, as 
 my poore callinge and habylytie maye and doth extende: I have of 
 late yeares gathered a great suspition that all should not be well. 
 ... I, havinge more occation, through sicknes, to tary and remayne 
 at home then I have bene accustomed, do, by my there abydinge, 
 talke and confere dayly with many of these wyly wanderers ... by 
 whom I have gathered and understand their depe dissimulation." Ed. 
 Viles and Furnivall, p. 20. 
 
 26 "What is sette downe heere, eyther as an eye witnesse I will 
 avowe, or informed even by those Gentlemen, who have swallowed 
 the Gudgen." Lodge. Hunterian Club. Vol. I. 
 
 There are many points of similarity between Lodge's Alarum against 
 Usurers and such works as the Manifest Detection and Greene's conny- 
 catching pamphlets, particularly in the manner in which a victim is 
 first approached. 
 
92 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 two men are truthful it is not for us to inquire. My belief 
 in regard to Greene is that he, taking his attitude from them 
 and pretending to be a personal observer, is not necessarily 
 so, — from anything that Greene's pamphlets indicate. 
 
 When one examines closely, one finds that there is really 
 very little in Greene's first three social pamphlets which is 
 in the nature of information, and that there is a gradual 
 progression in the amount of the narrative portion through- 
 out the series. The Notable Discovery has a comparatively 
 small number of tales, the Second Part increases the number, 
 and the Thirde Part consists entirely of stories, — with no 
 new ''laws" added whatever. 
 
 The increase in the number of included tales is an indication 
 that in his conny-catching pamphlets Greene has done the 
 same thing that he did in many of his earlier works. Just 
 as in Perymedes, for example, where he starts out, avowedly, 
 to show us how to spend our time in quiet, but where he 
 becomes more interested in his illustrative stories than in 
 his frame-work and develops them for their own fiction's 
 sake, so here in these pamphlets he grows to be interested 
 in telling snappy tales which are justified by their own 
 vivacity and narrative excellence. Harman, for all his 
 sociological insight, enjoyed telling the few tales he has 
 included,^^ and he told them well. It was characteristic 
 of the whole type of pamphleting to include tales.^^ But 
 Greene carries the idea farther than it had been carried before 
 and farther than it was carried after. That is, in a sense, 
 the conny-catching pamphlets come in his hands to be a 
 series of frame-work tales. 
 
 To say this is putting it too strongly, of course. Greene 
 
 " Especially those on pp. 37, 42, 61, 68, of his Caveat, Ed. Viles 
 and Furnivall. 
 
 28 See Lodgers Alarum against Usurers and the works of Rowlands 
 and Dekker. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 93 
 
 did have a certain body of information to convey. But 
 that information does not seem, of necessity, to have been 
 obtained from direct knowledge. Indeed, it does not seem 
 to have been obtained so at all. If Greene were as well 
 acquainted with the vices of London as he would have us 
 believe, we are at a loss to understand why it is that he 
 knows only one ^'cheating law," and why he should have 
 copied that one law verbatim in one portion of his pamphlet 
 and have merely varied it slightly in others. And again, 
 one is at a loss to understand such passages as those in the 
 foot-note 2^ if they do not mean that Greene had no definite 
 information upon that particular matter. That is, a man who 
 
 29 ''Were it not I hope of their amendment I would in a schedule 
 set downe the names of such coosening cunny-catchers." Vol. X,, p. 12. 
 This setting forth of names was something which Greene was ever 
 threatening but which he never performed, even when he knew that 
 his recovery was hopeless. The nearest he comes to it is the mention 
 by name of Lawrence Pickering of Kent street, brother-in-law to Bull 
 the hangman, in whose house the crew is accustomed to meet weekly. 
 (Harman describes the weekly meeting.) But as a matter of fact, there 
 is no guarantee that Lawrence Pickering (the pickpocket) is not a 
 fictitious being 
 
 "by chance fel among cony-catchers, whose names I omit, because 
 I hope of their amendment." p. 31. 
 
 "Pardon me Gentlemen for although no man could better than 
 myself discover this lawe and his tearmes, and the name of their 
 cheats, Barddice, Flats, Forgers, Langrets, Gourds, Demies, and many 
 other, with their nature, and the crosses and contraries to them upon 
 advantage, yet for some speciall reasons, herein I will be silent." 
 These "tearmes" are mentioned, but not explained, in the Manifest 
 Detection, pp. 27-8 
 
 "they will straight spotte him (the horse) by sundry poUicies, . . . 
 which secretes I omit, least I shoulde give too great a light to other to 
 practise such lewd villanies." p. 77. 
 
 "for every sundry fashion thay have a sundry term, but I 
 am ignorant of their woords of art, and therefore I omit them." 
 p. 128. See other similar statements, Vol. X., pp. 91, 145, 164, 
 172. 
 
94 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 can explain nine laws from his own observation surely cannot 
 be expected to fail on the tenth. 
 
 Greene's statement of accuracy, ^'I have seen, but I did 
 not participate," implies that, though he may never have 
 actually helped in conny-catching, Greene knew the lowest 
 classes of society and led a wicked life with those companions 
 who, he says, ''came still to my lodging, and then would 
 continue quaffing, carousing, and surfeting with me all the 
 day long."^° But the statement seems to imply also that 
 this acquaintance is the basis for the disclosures about to 
 be made. I am not going to deny, in any way, that 
 Greene's life was not praiseworthy and that he did not asso- 
 ciate with such persons as those of whom he speaks. I am 
 making no attempt to build up Greene's shattered reputation. 
 I am only asking whether, after all, we should not deprive 
 him, in connection with these conny-catching pamphlets, 
 of the title he lays claim to as ''comrade of the disreputable," 
 and confer upon him another, — that of being a "literary 
 liar." In short, may the "accuracy" have been manufac- 
 tured for the sake of the verisimilitude it then, and has since, 
 afforded? "I have shotte," Greene confesses in one of his 
 latest writings, "at many abuses, over shotte myself e in 
 describing of some: where truth failed my invention hath 
 stood my friend. "^^ 
 
 What I have said about Greene thus far in the present 
 chapter has been mostly negative, in the way of discarding 
 certain views which have been held with regard to him. 
 Greene claims, and has been considered, to be original, to 
 be serious, to be patriotic. I fail to see wherein we can 
 justifiably concede any one of these epithets. 
 
 This portion of his work which we have been discussing, 
 I am aware, is usually thought of — however little we may 
 
 30 Vol. XII., p. 178. 
 
 31 Greenes Vision, To the Gentlemen Readers. Vol. XII., pp. 195-6. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 95 
 
 agree to Greene's own description of the rest of it as the 
 offspring of FoUie — as his most genuine, most earnest prod- 
 uct. I formerly held this opinion. "Once into the thing," 
 I wrote, "Greene goes to work with zest. For the first time, 
 perhaps, in his life, he is really in earnest. All his faculties 
 are awakened, and he enjoys the conflict he has on his 
 hands." 
 
 But there is this fact about a continued study of Greene. 
 The more one knows of him, the less one finds that is sincere, 
 that comes from depth of character, from bigness of attitude 
 toward life, from definiteness of personality at all, — the less 
 one finds that is in reality Greene's; the more one finds that 
 is only a new expression (and often not very new either) of 
 some one else's thought and plan and purpose. 
 
 The becoming aware of the state of things cannot, how- 
 ever, be called exactly a disillusionment. For it is not 
 disillusionment, even when one by one the attributions to 
 Greene's own originality grow smaller and smaller, as 
 scholars investigate the sources of his work and as we cease 
 to be surprised when we learn that a pamphlet or a plot we 
 thought to be his is only a copy or an imitation of another's. 
 It is very necessary, though, if such a process as that I 
 speak of is not to result in utter disregard for Greene, to 
 formulate our conception of him in a way such as will enable 
 us to look beyond the mere borrowing and imitating and to 
 unify these various activities of his and make them, for all 
 their superficiality, have some significance. If we cannot 
 judge him on the basis of a sober litterateur, for the reason 
 that he is, on that basis, unstable, intangible, we can at 
 least estimate him as a man of letters who sometimes rose 
 almost to the plane of artistic writing, who sometimes fell 
 to the plane of cheap journalism. In this second class I 
 should place the pamphlets we have been discussing. In 
 fact, I should say that in none of his other work is Greene 
 
96 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 SO much the charlatan as in these social pamphlets of the 
 first group. 
 
 We have seen Greene's methods and his attitude as they 
 are revealed in the three parts of conny-catching. It is time 
 now to turn to the later works. 
 
 On April 21, 1592, there was entered on the Stationers' 
 Register ''The Defense of Conny Catching, or A Confuta- 
 tion of Those two injurious Pamphlets published by R. G. 
 against the practitioners of many nimble-witted and mys- 
 ticall Sciences. By Cuthbert Cunny-catcher." The author 
 pretends to be a ''Licentiate in Whittington Colledge,"^^ 
 and promises to tell what he has learned in that place and in 
 his subsequent travels about England. He is very angry, he 
 says, that Greene should have omitted entirely the many 
 grosser evils which abound in London, and he is going to 
 undertake the task with which he thinks Greene should 
 have been occupied. 
 
 Of real exposition, however, there is very little in the 
 book. Cuthbert Cunny-catcher seems to have been unin- 
 terested in his subject itself, or else to have had little direct 
 information to convey. What knowledge he had, he gives 
 indirectly. The bulk of the material is comprised in six 
 stories, clever in themselves, and not different from those 
 
 32 The author of the Defence took the idea from Greene's mention 
 of Whittington College in the Preface to the Last Part. "In the time 
 of king Henrie the fourth, . . . lived a worthie Gentleman . . . 
 called sir Richard Whittington, the founder of Whittington Colledge 
 in London." Vol. X., pp. 139-40. 
 
 From a gloss in the margin, "Newgate builded by one Whittington," 
 it is clear that he means the Newgate prison rebuilt by Whittington's 
 executors, and not the Whittington College proper also estabhshed 
 by his directions, which Greene had in mind in the Last Part. (Founded 
 1424; suppressed 1548) For article on Whittington see the Dictionary 
 of Nat. Biog. Whittington was the subject of popular tradition, 
 which may account for the mention of him here. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 97 
 
 of the three parts of conny-catching. Indeed, taken out of 
 the frame-work in which they occur, or found in any of the 
 other pamphlets known to be Greene's, these six tales would 
 pass readily for Greene's own. 
 
 One of them, the tale of Will Sommers, is an adaptation of 
 the old story of the division of a nut among the disputants 
 for it, telling how the fool as arbitrator divides the nut-shell 
 between two lawyers, and bestows the kernel upon a friend 
 of his, the '' Yoeman of the Pantry." Another is a tale of a 
 usurer and of how the wife of his victim secured her revenge; 
 one of a miller and a boy who discovers his trickery; a fourth, 
 of a false tailor whose deceit is revealed by pretended 
 necromancy. The remaining two deal with marriage, one 
 showing how a pauper's son under disguise manages to 
 marry a rich man's daughter; the other being the story of a 
 man in England who has sixteen wives, and of the means 
 by which he meets his punishment at the hands of two of 
 them. 
 
 The story of Will Sommers, the fool, is insignificant. 
 That of the pauper's son is good until near the end. There 
 the story is stopped rather than finished, so that the conclu- 
 sion is far from satisfactory .^^ The other four tales are of 
 some merit. They are told with the firmness and directness 
 which characterize the good examples of the novelle, and 
 they carry the reader with them whether in the spirit of 
 comedy, as in the stories of the miller and of the tailor; or 
 of revenge, as in the stories of the usurer and of the man 
 with the many wives. All four are genuinely interesting; 
 all four are told with skill. 
 
 For all that the pamphlet is made up principally of these 
 
 33 At the discovery of her new husband's estate, the "wife began 
 to weepe, all was dasht, and what she thought God knowes." . . . But 
 they could not change matters; so "for al that he had the wench." 
 Vol. XI., p. 84. 
 
98 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 six stories, the Defence of Conny-catching is, however, osten- 
 sibly an attack upon Greene. The author brings a severe 
 charge, that Greene might have been better employed with 
 exposing these great and far-reaching vices than with 
 writing against the ''poore conny-catchers " who are, when 
 the worst is said, only as gnats compared to elephants. 
 Cuthbert is, therefore, to champion his fraternity against 
 the common enemy. 
 
 He is not a particularly valiant defender. His attack is 
 by no means venomous. The method which he uses is that 
 of shouting abusive language ^^ and of hurling taunts at 
 Greene because he did not include these very important 
 exposures in his books.^^ The ardor he displays is assumed, 
 not genuine. In fact, this very quality of non-abusiveness 
 (clearly perceivable, even beneath the show of invincible 
 hatred), has linked Greene's own name with the pamphlet 
 under the view that Greene and Cuthbert Cunny-catcher 
 are one and the same person. 
 
 Dr. Grosart has included this pamphlet in his collection of 
 Greene's works,^® but he does not believe that Greene is the 
 author of it. He is positive in his behef. "The most super- 
 ficial reading of the clever 'Defence'" he says, "would 
 have shown that it is against not by Greene."" If the 
 reading were superficial enough, we may grant that the 
 
 ^ As for example: "I meane to have a bout with this R. G. and to 
 give him such a veny, that he shalbe afrayd heereafter to disparage 
 that mysticall science of conny-catching." p. 47. 
 
 "I cannot but wonder maister R. G. what Poeticall fury made you 
 so fantasticke, to write against conny-catchers? Was your brain so 
 barren that you had no other subject?" p. 49. 
 
 35 "Why write you not of these Conny-catchers maister R. G.?" 
 p. 52. "Was not this Miller a Conny-catcher maister R. G.?" p. 68. 
 "I pray you call you not these fine witted fellowes Conny-catchers 
 Maister R. G.?" p. 75. 
 
 3« Vol. XI., pp. 39-104. 37 Vol. XI., p. 40. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 99 
 
 Defence might be so understood. But as I have intimated, 
 the combativeness is very shght indeed. To the support of 
 Grosart comes Prof. H. C. Hart in his notes on "Robert 
 Greene's Prose Works." ^^ Professor Hart does not beheve 
 the attack upon Greene to be in any way more than sheer 
 pretence. But he maintains that Greene is not the author 
 of the Defence on grounds which he beheves to be sufficient 
 evidence for a decision. With the exception of Professor 
 Hart's notes the question of authorship has received no 
 discussion. It may be worth while, therefore, to deal with 
 the problem here, for I do not agree with Professor Hart 
 that the case has been definitely settled against Greene. 
 
 Professor Hart notices in the first place that the Defence 
 is written against ''those two injurious Pamphlets," when 
 there are in reality "the three parts of Connie Catching and 
 the Disputation." He believes that the writer of the Defence 
 lumps the first three as one, counting the Disputation as the 
 second. Without saying so, he lets us infer that he considers 
 this discrepancy as an objection to Greene's authorship. I 
 do not see how the reference to the "two" pamphlets 
 rather than to three or four has anything to do with the 
 question of authorship. But even if it has, I cannot agree 
 to this disposition of the pamphlets. The Disputation is 
 not entered on the Stationers' Register, but there is no 
 reason for believing that it was necessarily written before 
 April 21, the date of the Defence, and not between that date 
 and July 21, the date of the Quippe. This makes the 
 Disputation and the Quippe contiguous in date as they are, 
 indeed, in significance, and leaves then only three pamphlets 
 appearing before the Defence. But even with these three, 
 there is no difficulty in explaining the two on the title-page 
 of the Defence. Only the first two parts contain exposures 
 of deceits. The Last Part is made up wholly of stories. 
 39 Notes and Queries. 10th Ser. V., p. 84, Feb. 3, 1906. 
 
100 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 There was thus no reason for including the Last Part among 
 the ''injurious pamphlets published by R. G." Professor 
 Hart's objection is, therefore, without value until the date 
 of the Disputation is established.^^ 
 
 If the Defence is really by Greene, Professor Hart expects 
 to find some mention of it in Greene's later works. He does 
 not give the basis for his expectation. Again I find no per- 
 ceivable relation between Greene's failure to mention the 
 Defence in his subsequent works and Professor Hart's state- 
 ment that he did not write it. The Quippe contains no men- 
 tion of the Disputation, which certainly preceded it.'*^ Nor 
 does The Blacke Bookes Messenger, the last of them all, 
 mention either the Disputation or the Quippe. Why should 
 Greene's later work, then, be expected to mention the 
 Defence? And what justification have we for saying that 
 the failure to do so is an adequate basis of decision? 
 
 So far as Professor Hart's next point is concerned, that 
 of the celebrated reference to Greene's having sold the play 
 of Orlando Furioso to the Lord Admiral's men while the 
 Queen's players, to whom he had sold it earlier, were in the 
 country, — the failure on Greene's part to refute the charge 
 cannot, it seems to me, be taken to prove that Greene did 
 not write the Defence, *'No doubt," says Professor Hart, 
 "every one knew it, and it was useless to attempt to do so." 
 
 33 In the Disputation Greene mentions only the first of the series. 
 "R. G. hath so amply pend them doune in the first part of Conny- 
 catching " (Vol. X., p. 206). Also, "since the setting out of my booke" 
 (p. 236). 
 
 Samuel Rowlands mentions only two: "There hath beene of late 
 daies published two merrie and pithie Pamphlets of the arte of Coni- 
 catching." Greenes Ghost Haunting Conicatchers. 1602. Hunterian 
 Club, p. 7. 
 
 ^° The Quippe was licensed July 21. Greene's activities and his 
 illness during the month of August make it impossible that the 
 Disputation followed the Quippe. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 101 
 
 It is quite as reasonable to believe that the play was not re- 
 sold at all. We have only Cuthbert Conny-catcher's word 
 for it. May not the reference be merely another of the 
 kind used in the Second Part to give an air of verisimili- 
 tude to the attack? 
 
 The final objection to Greene's authorship is a list of 
 words and phrases to be found nowhere else but in the 
 Quippe. The presence of the words in the Quippe cannot, 
 of course, be taken as a final argument either for or against 
 Greene's authorship of the Defence. If Greene had wanted 
 the words in the Quippe, he would have taken them whether 
 the Defence were his own or belonged to some one else. But 
 as for the Defence, Professor Hart concludes on the basis 
 of this word list that Greene did not write it, saying that 
 *'it was written by some confederate or friend jointly 
 perhaps." 
 
 This word list is of considerable importance. The presence 
 of many of the words in the Quippe, however, detracts from 
 its decisiveness. Greene's habit of miscellaneous appro- 
 priations makes his vocabulary variable. How are we to 
 tell whether this pamphlet of the Defence was written "by 
 some confederate or friend" whose identity is unknown, or 
 by Greene himself, who interspersed it with words picked 
 up from some unknown source? It is not necessary to 
 look for these strange words in Greene's works before 
 April 21, 1592. And when we come to examine the later 
 ones, we actually do find many of the words repeated in 
 the Quippe. 
 
 Professor Hart admits that the Defence is not in reality, as 
 Dr. Grosart said it was, against Greene, and that the attack 
 is only a pretence. He thinks that perhaps Greene had a 
 hand in the production of it. Having gone so far in the 
 acknowledgment of Greene's authorship, I do not see why 
 we cannot go the rest of the way, at least tentatively. 
 
102 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 There are no objections which can be held with certainty. 
 And there are considerations which I beUeve make it more 
 reasonable than not to regard Greene as the author. 
 
 There is a statement in the Second Part which favors the 
 idea of Greene's authorship. 
 
 "... they in their huffes report that they have got one ( ) I 
 
 will not bewray his name, but a scholler they say he is, to make an 
 invective against me." 
 
 Now the Second Part was published in 1591, at the same time 
 as the Notable Discovery. ^^ It looks a little strange, there- 
 fore, if Greene was not himself contemplating the writing 
 of the Defence, that he should have known, in the week or 
 two before his pamphlets had had time to create any appre- 
 ciable effect, that the conny-catchers had employed a 
 scholar ^2 ^q come to their defence. Nor does it seem at 
 all far-fetched to presume that Greene is taking the oppor- 
 tunity to advertise the Defence just as he advertised a great 
 many of his works before and after, and just as we shall 
 presently find the author of the Defence doing.^^ 
 
 *^ See p. 85 seq. 
 
 ^ In the Defence Cuthbert speaks of Greene as a scholar. " I began 
 to enquire what this R. G. should bee. At last I learned that hee was 
 a scholler, and a Maister of Artes." p. 47. Greene was proud of being 
 a "scholler" and of his "Utriusq. Academiae in Artibus Magister." 
 One can easily infer that if Greene is announcing an anonymous work 
 by himself, he would very naturally proclaim it to be by a "scholler." 
 
 *^ This idea of advertisements and continuations appealed to Greene's 
 journalistic instinct. After Pharicles departed from Padua at the end 
 of the First Part of Mamillia, "as soone as I shal either hear, or learn 
 of his aboad," says Greene, "looke for newes by a speedy Post." The 
 "newes" came, and with it came the Second Part of Mamillia. It is 
 one of the interesting things to note in connection with this idea of 
 continuations that, at the end of the Second Part, Greene promises 
 still a Third, a promise not fulfilled, so far as we know. (" Whether 
 Pharicles proved as inconstant a husband as a faithless wooer, I knowe 
 
NASCIMUR PRO P ATRIA 103 
 
 A second consideration that connects Greene and the au- 
 thorship is that of certain similarities between the Defence 
 and Greene's acknowledged works. One of these is the identity 
 in tone between the reference to the Notable Discovery and 
 the Second Part in the Defence, and the references to the 
 Notable Discovery in the Second PartA^ A second similarity 
 is that existing between a passage in the Defence and one 
 in the Disputation;^^ still a third is that between the Defence 
 
 not: but if it be my hap to heare, looke for newes as speedilie as may 
 be.") Other 'novels by Greene have this same promise of continuation, 
 sometimes fulfilled, sometimes not: Morando, Vol. III., p. 109; Pen- 
 elopes Web, Vol. v., p. 233 (but it is not known what Greene means 
 by his reference to the "Paraphrase"); Perymedes, Vol. VII., p. 85; 
 Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 109; Francescos Fortunes, Vol. VIII., p. 229, 
 promises further news of the palmer; Farewell to Follie, Vol. IX., p. 348, 
 is sometimes understood to imply a continuation. 
 
 The instinct for journalism which prompted these continuations 
 was also manifested in the promise of other works soon to appear. 
 Thus in the Preface to Perymedes, Greene speaks of Orpharion to make 
 us merry with at the next term (Vol. VII., p. 9). At the end of Never 
 too Late (Vol. VIII., p. 109) he promises not only a continuation in 
 Francescos Fortunes, but also alludes to his Farewell to Follie. The 
 Disputation definitely promises the Blacke Booke, Vol. X., pp. 225, 236. 
 
 *^ For example these passages: 
 
 1. "Yet I have for 3. pence bought a little Pamphlet, that 
 hath taught me to smoke such a couple of knaves as you be." 
 Defence, p. 45. 
 
 2. "Maisters, I boughte a booke for a groate that warnes me 
 of Card-play." Second Part, p. 89. 
 
 See also Defence, p. 47. 
 ^^ 1. "I got one of those bookes . . . wherein I found our art 
 so perfectly anatomized, as if he had bene practitioner in our 
 facultie forty winters before." Defence, pp. 45-6. 
 
 2. "I need not describe the lawes of villanie, because R. G. 
 hath so amply pend them downe in the first part of Conny- 
 catching, that though I be one of the facultie, yet I cannot 
 discover more than hee hath layde open." Disputation^ 
 p. 206. 
 
104 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 and The Blacke Bookes Messenger^^ And lastly there is 
 the resemblance between one of the stories in the Defence 
 and the story of Valdracko in Planetomachia. The likeness 
 may be purely coincidental. At any rate, Pasylla's tying 
 her father to his bed is repeated in the story of the man 
 with the sixteen wives, two of whom tie him to his bed in 
 the same way. 
 
 The next indication of Greene's authorship of the Defence 
 is in the method of its conclusion. The idea of advertising 
 a following pamphlet is carried out. ''It is informed us," 
 says Cuthbert, "that you are in hand withe a booke named 
 The repentance of a Conny-catcherJ' This work is the same 
 as that mentioned in the preface to The Blacke Bookes 
 Messenger which Greene had intended to publish along 
 with the life and death of Ned Browne, and which he still 
 intended to put forth. ^^ In another respect the conclusion 
 to the Defence is interesting. It is marked by a strikingly 
 paradoxical tone. Throughout the work, the author has 
 been professedly Greene's bitter enemy. At the end he 
 urges Greene most heartily to publish this repentance he 
 has in mind. "If you doe so, ye shal do not onely a chari- 
 table, but a meritorious deed." And he threatens that if 
 Greene fails to do so, he will have the ''crue of Conny- 
 catchers sweare themselves your professed enemies for ever." 
 
 ^ The passages are about the Conny-catchers' pretended acquaint- 
 ance with the Continent, whereas they have never been out of England. 
 They are too long to transcribe. See Defence, pp. 74-5, and Blacke 
 Bookes Messenger, pp. 24-7. 
 
 " ''I had thought to have joyned with this Treatise, a pithy discourse 
 of the Repentance of a Conny-catcher lately executed out of Newgate, 
 yet forasmuch as the Methodeof the one is so far differing from the other, 
 I altered my opinion, and the rather for that the one died resolute and 
 desperate, the other penitent and passionate. For the Conny-catchers 
 repentance which shall shortly be published, it containes a passion of 
 great importance." 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 105 
 
 It may be said in connection with the Defence as a whole 
 that if Greene wished to write another conny-catching 
 pamphlet he would scarcely have gone to all this trouble of 
 posing as his own enemy, and that he would have put out a 
 Fourth Part or something of that nature. Yet we have 
 only to remember that in the Disputation, which we shall 
 discuss presently, Greene actually does write from the point 
 of view of those whom he is attacking. For in the Dis- 
 putation, Lawrence and Nan are quite as bitter against the 
 ''scholler" R. G. as ever Cuthbert Conny-catcher was. 
 
 In concluding this matter I should like to call attention 
 to what is apparently a step in the Greene-Harvey-Nashe 
 quarrel."*^ The quarrel was already on its way when Richard 
 Harvey in 1590 published his Lamb of God in which he 
 attacked Nashe as being impudent. Then, as Mr. Mc- 
 Kerrow says, ''some two years seem to have elapsed before 
 any attempt was made by the writers criticised to reply." ^^ 
 There is no explanation for this long silence. ''But there 
 seems to be nothing," Mr. McKerrow adds, "in any of 
 Greene's works at least, before the Quip, which can be 
 interpreted as a hit at him. It is possible that there were 
 intermediate links in the quarrel, of which we know nothing." 
 It is one of these intermediate links that is to be found in 
 the Defence. 
 
 "Wert not a merry jeast to have a bout againe Maister R. G. with 
 your poetical Brethren: amongst the which one learned Hypocrite, 
 that could brooke no abuses in the Commonwealth, was so zealous 
 that he began to put an EngUsh she Saint in the Legend, for the holinesse 
 of her hf e : and forgot not so much as her dogge, as Tobies was remem- 
 bred, that wagged tayle at the sight of his olde Mistresse. This 
 pure Martinist (if he were not worse) had a combat betweene the flesh 
 
 ^ Mr. McKerrow, in his edition of Nashe (London 1904-10) has 
 traced out in detail (Vol. V., pp. 65-110) the account of this whole 
 wretched affair. 
 
 « McKerrow's Nashe, Vol. V., p. 77. 
 
106 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 and the spirite, that he must needes have a wife, which he cunningly 
 conny-catcht in this manner. A pleasant Tale how a holy brother 
 Conny-catcht for a Wife^° 
 
 The story which follows of the pauper's son who married 
 the rich man's daughter is no doubt fictitious. But the 
 story and the passage I have quoted were meant in all 
 probability as a slur upon the Harveys, Richard in particular. 
 That this inference is well grounded is shown by two similar 
 references to Richard Harvey in subsequent pamphlets: 
 
 1. "The best is, the persons abused, are not altogether unknowen, 
 they have not so evell a neighbor, that ever reade, or hearde those 
 opprobrious villainies (it is too-mild a name, for my brother Richardes 
 most abhominable Legend, who frameth himselfe to live as chastely 
 as the leawde writer affected to live beastly) but hath presentlie broken 
 out into some such earnest, or more passionate speeches: o pestilent 
 knavery, who ever heard such arrant forgeries, and ranke lies?" 
 Thirde Letter, September 8 and 9, 1592. Harvey, Ed. Grosart, Vol. I., 
 p. 186. 
 
 2. "It was not for nothing brother Richard, that Greene told 
 you you kist your Parishioners wives with holy kisses, for you that 
 wil talk ... in a Theological Treatise, and in the Pulpit, I am 
 afraide in a privater place you will practise as much as you speake. 
 . . . Farewell uncleane Vicar, and God make thee an honest man." 
 Foure Letters Confuted, January 12, 1593. Nashe, Ed. McKerrow. 
 Vol. I., p. 273. 
 
 The passage to which Nashe refers is no doubt the lost 
 passage in the Quippe,^^ in which Greene attacked all the 
 Harveys at once. It is clear at any rate, that Greene did 
 accuse Richard Harvey of loose living. My conviction is 
 that we have here in the Defence, three months before the 
 publication of the Quippe, the same kind of attack (or 
 perhaps the same attack) as that which Nashe has in mind. 
 I do not wish to be understood, in passing from the 
 Defence to the last pamphlet of the first group, as thinking 
 50 Vol. XI., p. 79. 51 Nashe, Vol. V., p. 77. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 107 
 
 that the intrinsic importance of the Defence is entirely- 
 proportional to the length of the discussion bestowed upon 
 it. But tedious as it is, such a discussion is not without 
 value as emphasizing what I believe is the method back of 
 all of these social pamphlets of Greene's. The very fact 
 that there is a problem of authorship connected with the 
 Defence only urges the more strongly the idea that Greene's 
 work is not the product of a serious, patriotic purpose to 
 convey definite, accurate information. Rather we owe the 
 existence of the pamphlets to Greene's necessity. Nashe 
 tells us that ''in a night and a day" Greene would have 
 "yarkt up a Pamphlet as well as in seaven yeare" . . . and 
 this too because ''his only care was to have a spel in his 
 purse to conjure up a good cuppe of wine with at all 
 times." ^2 Nashe knew Greene pretty well. 
 
 The Blacke Bookes Messenger is the last number of the 
 first group. It was licensed August 21, 1592, and was 
 published as a substitute, or messenger, for the Blacke Book 
 itself which was announced in the Disputation.^^ Greene's 
 illness prevented his preparing the Blacke Book, which from 
 his account of it in the Disputation was to have contained 
 a full list of the vices and the names of all the wrong-doers 
 in the Capital. The Blacke Bookes Messenger was written 
 before Greene's fatal illness came upon him, and was sent 
 ^'as a Fay ring" until such time as Greene should have 
 recovered. 
 
 In this work Greene lays open "the Life and Death of 
 Ned Browne, one of the most notable Cutpurses, Cros- 
 biters, and Conny-catchers, that ever lived in England." 
 The pamphlet is in the first person and represents Ned 
 Browne "standing in a great bay windowe with a halter 
 about his necke ready to be hanged." Ned Browne is brazen 
 
 62 Nashe, Vol. I., p. 287. 
 53 Vol. X., pp. 225, 236. 
 
108 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 in the face of death. He tells his listeners that they need 
 not expect to hear a repentance, for he will be resolute to 
 the end. 
 
 We have an account of Ned's childhood and of the virtues 
 of his parents. We are told of how he was always a dis- 
 obedient son, and of how he early started on the way to 
 villainy, disregarding the advice of his parents, blaspheming 
 God, and following after the wickedness of the world. The 
 pamphlet, only thirty-seven pages in all, contains five tales 
 occupying twelve pages by which Ned illustrates the course 
 of his life. Now he deceives a maltman, now he outwits a 
 priest, now he kisses a gentlewoman and cuts her purse, 
 now he lets fall a key, and lastly he tells how his wife was once 
 cross-bitten in her own art. Between the tales Ned mentions 
 various of his exploits, how he robbed a church, for example. 
 Having finished his autobiography, he springs out of the 
 window and dies. After he is buried, a company of wolves 
 come in the night-time, tear him out of his grave, and eat 
 him up. 
 
 Greene evidently forgets all about Ned's determination to 
 persevere in the attitude of non-repentance which he uttered 
 so boldly on the opening page of the book. For the cutpurse, 
 the worst that ever lived in England, preaches a vehement 
 and orthodox sermon just before he leaps from the window.^ 
 All his defiance is gone. He would have us trust not in our 
 wits, in our strength. We are to follow the good counsel of 
 our friends, harken to God's ministers, scoff not at the 
 magistrates, beware of strange women, who are the Sirens 
 which draw us on to destruction. 
 
 What a show we have! Ned Browne is only a pup- 
 pet, a mechanical figure dressed up, with a halter about 
 his neck. There he stands, totally without life, a ven- 
 
 " In Painter's tale, the Countess of Celant "miserably and repent- 
 antly died," and asked the people to pray for her. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 109 
 
 triloquist's doll whose mouth is pulled open and shut by 
 strings. When the speech is over, Ned is pitched out. 
 But nobody cares. It was only an entertainment any- 
 how. 
 
 The quality of entertainment is characteristic not only 
 of The Blacke Bookes Messenger but of the whole series. 
 We have already pointed out that there is in the first three 
 pamphlets a diminution in the amount of information to 
 be conveyed, and an increase in the amount of illustration, 
 so that the Last Part contains nothing else. The Defence 
 and The Blacke Bookes Messenger continue in the same 
 kind of development, both in the inclusion of tales and in the 
 fiction of the frame-work too. '^ Obviously," as Professor 
 Chandler aptly remarks, ''in these pamphlets Greene was 
 progressing from an account of rogues' tricks to the more 
 interesting business of using rogues as anti-heroes in fic- 
 tion." ^^ Greene, the exposer of social vices, that is, had 
 little to say; Greene, the teller of tales, had much. It 
 does not follow, as one might think, that to speak of Greene's 
 conny-catching pamphlets as the product of his tastes, and 
 necessity for journalistic activity, is to deprive them of their 
 importance. Indeed, so speaking of them only calls our 
 attention to the real interest, which is not sociological but 
 dependent upon the illustrative tales as examples of Eliza- 
 bethan narrative art. 
 
 The stories are somewhat allied to the stories of the jest- 
 books so common before and after the time of Greene.^^ This 
 relation is especially true in connection with the emphasis 
 upon the trick, the performance of a clever deed. But Greene's 
 collections are different from these. They have not the 
 unity to be found in a jest-book hke the contemporary Merrie 
 
 66 The Literature of Roguery, by F. W. Chandler. Vol. I., p. 98. 
 w See Chandler, Literature of Roguery, Vol. I., p. 59. Also Cambridge 
 History of English Literature, Vol. III., for bibliography. 
 
110 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Conceited Jests of George Peele,^"^ wherein we gain some 
 definiteness of conception of the roguish hero; nor do they 
 have the anecdotic quahty of the earher collections like the 
 C. Mery Talys (1526). There is not in Greene's stories the 
 personal element of the former, in that Greene's men and 
 women are almost as uncharacterized as the absence of their 
 names indicates; and yet we are made aware that the 
 crudity, or undevelopedness, of the latter has disappeared 
 under a method of artistic handling. We are not presented 
 to people in whom we are interested for their own sakes. 
 At the same time our attention is not centered wholly upon 
 the event. I think the reason for this is the very thing that 
 Professor Chandler speaks of, the using of rogues as anti- 
 heroes. So that we do not have from Greene a collection 
 of jests, but genuine fictitious narrative of such merit as to 
 mark a step in the employment of the anti-heroic as a 
 subject for artistic treatment. 
 
 Although Greene made some advance over the jest-book 
 by giving the significance of a literary form to his work, 
 he did not produce anything which should be called pica- 
 resque romance. The tales, for the most part, are complete 
 in themselves, and have no bearing upon any of the tales 
 before or after them. There is no conception of unity in 
 Greene's mind, no desire to paint a roguish person. Not- 
 withstanding the fact that there is present in many of the 
 tales much of the subtlety in the formulation of the trick 
 and much of the adroitness in extrication from difficult places, 
 there is not the breadth of view nor the extensiveness of 
 interest which characterizes the genuine picaresque. The 
 confession of Ned Browne is no exception. 
 
 The tales, then, are individual units embedded in a frame- 
 work either expository like the first two parts of conny- 
 
 5^ Entered in the Stationers' Register December 14, 1605. Works 
 of George Peele, ed. Bullen. Vol. II. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 111 
 
 catching and the Defence, or fictitious biography like that 
 of Ned Browne. Or the tale may have no frame- work at 
 all, like those of the Thirde Part. However found, each must 
 be judged as a unit on its own basis. 
 
 There are about thirty-five of the tales scattered through- 
 out the pamphlets. Many of them are very short, although 
 a number run to the length of six or eight pages, or even a 
 little more. Some are genuinely amusing, and some are 
 very clever. One or two not in themselves humorous at all 
 are told with such forced gusto that it is the artificial gaiety 
 we smile at rather than the narratives. Some of them are 
 slight, and more than one needs Greene's parting '^Let each 
 take heede of dealing with any such kinde of people," or 
 his ''Let this give them warning to beware of any such 
 unprofitable guests" to apologize for its lack of weight and 
 to justify its inclusion in the series. The truth is, that 
 Greene is sometimes compelled to do his manufacturing out 
 of scant material. 
 
 Many of the tales are good reading. The brevity of them 
 necessitates directness and clearness. They are unified in 
 idea and in treatment, for they are by their nature limited 
 to the telling of one event. In style they are simple. For- 
 tunately Greene conceived the proper language in which to 
 write of such base subjects to be itself ''base" and devoid 
 of refinement. Of the thirty-five stories as a group, the 
 impression one gets is that Greene has accomplished satis- 
 factorily the end he had in mind, "Let this suffice, and now 
 I will recreate your wits with a merry Tale or two." 
 
 Here is one of them: 
 
 ''How a cunning knave got a Truncke well stuffed with linnen and cer- 
 taine parcells of plate out of a Citizens house, and how the Master of the 
 house holpe the deceiver to carry away his owne goods. 
 
 Within the Cittie of London dwelleth a worthy man who 
 hath very great dealing in his trade, and his shop very well 
 
112 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 frequented with Customers: had such a shrewd mischaunce 
 of late by a Conny catcher, as may well serve for an example 
 to others leste they have the like. A cunning villaine, that 
 had long time haunted this Cittizens house, and gotten many 
 a cheat which he carried awaye safely : made it his custome 
 when he wanted money to helpe him selfe ever where he 
 had sped so often: divers thinges he had which were never 
 mist, especially such as appertained to the Citizens trade, 
 but when anye were found wanting they could not devise 
 which way they were gone, so pollitiquely this fellow alwayes 
 behaved him selfe: well knew he what times of greatest 
 business this Cittizen had in his trade, and when the shop 
 is most stored with Chapmen: then would he step up the 
 staires (for there was and is another door to the house 
 besides that which entreth iiito the shop) and what was next 
 hand came ever away with. One time above the rest in an 
 evening about Candlemas, when daylight shuts in about 
 six of the clock, he watched to do some feate in the house, 
 and seeing the mistresse goe foorth with her maid, the good- 
 man and his folkes very busie in the shop: up the staires 
 he goes as he was wonte to doo, and lifting up the latch of 
 the hall portall doore, saw nobody neere to trouble him: 
 when stepping into the next chamber, where the Citizen 
 and his wife usually lay, at the beds feete there stood a 
 hansome truncke, wherein was very good linnen, a faire guilt 
 salte, two silver french bowles for wine, two silver drinking 
 pots, a stone Jugge covered with silver, and a dosen of silver 
 spoons. This truncke he brings to the staires head, and 
 making fast the doore againe, drawes it downe the steppes so 
 softlye as he could, for it was so bigge and heavy, as he could 
 not easily carry it: having it out at the doore, unseene of 
 any neighbour or anybody else, he stood strugling with it to 
 lift it up on the stall, which by reason of the weight trobled 
 him very much. The goodman comming foorth of his shop, 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 
 
 113 
 
 to bid a customer or two far well made the fellowe afraide 
 he should now be taken for all togither: but calling his 
 wittes together to escape if he could, he stood gazing up at 
 the signe belonging to the house, as though he were desirous 
 to knowe what sign it was: which the Cittizen perceiving, 
 came to him and asked him what he sought for? I looke for 
 the sign of the blew bell sir, quoth the fellowe, where a 
 gentleman having taken a chamber for this tearme time, 
 hath sent me hether with this his Troncke of apparell: 
 quoth the Citizen, I know no such sign in this streete, but in 
 the next (naming it) there is such a one indeede, and there 
 dwelleth one that letteth foorthe chambers to gentlemen. 
 Truely sir quoth the fellowe, thats the house I should go 
 to, I pray you sir lend me your hand but to helpe the Trunke 
 on my back, for I thinking to ease me a while upon your 
 stall, set it shorte, and now I can hardly get it up againe. 
 The Citizen not knowing his owne Trunke, but indeede 
 never thinking on any such notable deceite: helpes him up 
 with the Truncke, and so sends him away roundly with his 
 owne goods. When the Truncke was mist, I leave to your 
 conceits what householde greefe there was on all sides, espe- 
 cially e the goodman himself e, who remembering how hee 
 helpt the fellow with a Truncke, perceived that heereby 
 hee had beguyled himselfe, and loste more then in haste 
 hee should recover againe. How this may admonish others, 
 I leave to the judgement of the indifferent opinion, that see 
 when honest meaning is craftilye beleagerd, as good fore- 
 sight must be used to prevent such daungers." 
 
 The story is typical for it illustrates the characteristics 
 I have enumerated above. It is short, it is clever, it is 
 simple, and, moreover, it is interesting. I believe that its 
 effectiveness is the result of a conscious effort. Greene wrote 
 these tales with a long experience back of him. Starting out 
 as the ape of Euphues when a boy of twenty, to enter the 
 
114 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 perilous career of a man of letters in Elizabethan London, 
 a man of his versatility and quickness would naturally de- 
 velop independence and consciousness of method. This 
 tale which I have printed in full shows such consciousness. 
 There is careful but rapid sketching of the setting and of 
 the conditions which make possible the event about to be 
 related. There is just enough character drawing to show 
 us the unsuspecting citizen and the cunning thief, and to get 
 us ready for their respective actions when the unexpected 
 moment of meeting arrives. There is concreteness of de- 
 tail — the contents of the trunk are given, which make it 
 so desirable a prize. The dialogue is good. There is sus- 
 pense, — What will the thief do when he finds himself dis- 
 covered? There is admirable climax when Mr. Goodman 
 helps the conny-catcher on with his trunk. In its way, the 
 piece is excellent. And it contains less than seven hundred 
 words. 
 
 An understanding of this narrative importance of the 
 social pamphlets of the first group associates Greene at 
 once with the writer of fiction as we have seen him in con- 
 nection with his novels. What we said of him there applies 
 even more strongly here. Greene is at his best when he is 
 concerned with the development of events, and when he is 
 not encumbered with the task of presenting character. In 
 the illustrative tales of the conny-catching pamphlets all the 
 conditions for success for a man like Greene are inherent 
 in the nature of the material. A rogue is pretty much a 
 rogue anywhere. It is not his character as an individual 
 that we are interested in; it is what his character leads him, 
 and enables him, to do. So that Greene is left, in the writ- 
 ing of these tales, to follow out his own natural inclination 
 in presenting action and clever situation rather than person- 
 ality. His results are often worthy of high praise. 
 
 The pamphlets of Greene's first group are superficial as 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 115 
 
 exposures of deceits, and light in their aim. Their greatest 
 merit is not in their sociological value, but rather in their 
 qualities to afford entertainment. The two pamphlets of the 
 second group ^^ are differentiated from those of the first by 
 their keener insight into certain social forces and by their 
 greater understanding of Elizabethan society, one of them 
 manifesting an intelligence of the element of sex as an 
 active power toward crime, the other furnishing a knowl- 
 edge of social estates at once extensive and deep. 
 
 These two pamphlets were not, it is probable, thus differ- 
 entiated in Greene's own mind. Professor Collins, speaking 
 of the significance of one of them, noted that significance as 
 ''being the more effective, as it is obviously neither intended 
 nor perceived by the writer." ^^ I believe that what Pro- 
 fessor Collins said is true. Greene apparently did not 
 regard these two pamphlets as unlike the Notable Dis- 
 covery or The Blacke Bookes Messenger, and apparently he 
 did not publish them for any different purpose. The 
 ''Reade, laugh, and learne" on the title-page of the Dispu- 
 tation would indicate as much. But although Greene was not 
 aiming at the production of anything different and was not, 
 it may be, aware of the greater significance of the two pam- 
 phlets, the difference does exist, as I shall try to make clear. 
 
 Of the two, the Disputation is the nearer to the pamphlets 
 of the first group. We can, therefore, take it up first. 
 
 «8 A DISPUTATION Betweene a Hee Conny-catcher, and a Shee 
 Conny-catcher, whether a Theefe or a Whoore, is most hurtfull in 
 Cousonage, to the Common-wealth. DISCOVERING THE SECRET 
 VILLAnies of alluring Strumpets. With the Conversion of an 
 English Courtizen, reformed this present yeare. 1592. Reade, laugh, 
 and learne. Nascimur pro patria. 
 
 A QUIP FOR AN UPstart Courtier: Or, a quaint dispute 
 between Veluet breeches and Cloth-breeches. Wherein is plainely 
 set downe the disorders in all Estates and Trades. 
 
 ^^ Collins' Edition of Greene. General Introduction. Vol. I., p. 31. 
 
116 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 This work is in two parts of about equal length, some 
 forty pages each. The first part, from which the pamphlet 
 derives its name, consists essentially of a dialogue between 
 a thief and a courtezan, who happen to meet, and who, 
 after they have conversed a few minutes on the street, go 
 to a tavern, take a room, and order supper. While the 
 meal is preparing, they debate their respective abilities at 
 cozenage. ^° Nan wins, and Lawrence pays for the supper. 
 The dialogue is interspersed with four or five tales. 
 
 There are similarities to the other pamphlets which tend 
 to identify the Disputation with them. For the Disputation 
 is full of references to Greene himself, advertisements of 
 the Blacke Booke soon to appear, and of the Conny-catching 
 pamphlets already pubHshed. There are the same boasts 
 of patriotism and of bravery despite the threats which have 
 come; there is a stirring account of how, while he was at 
 supper one night in St. John's Head within Ludgate in the 
 company of a certain gentleman, some "fourteene or fif- 
 teene of them met, and thought to have made that the 
 fatal night of my overthrowe''; but the citizens came to his 
 aid and he escaped, though the gentleman who was with 
 him was sore hurt. There is the same pride in the effect- 
 iveness of the exposures, ''I cannot deny but they beginne 
 to waste away about London. ... I will plague them to 
 the extreamitie: let them doe what they dare with their 
 bilbowe blades, I feare them not."^^ Throughout the first 
 half of the pamphlet there is, in short, such stir and noise 
 
 ^° Professor Collins was mistaken in thinking that this "dialogue 
 is carried on in bed." Vol. I., p. 31. He mis-read Nan's remark 
 "Lye a little fm-ther & give mee some roome," (Vol. X., p. 205) and 
 did not perceive that Nan was only rebuking Lawrence. "What 
 Lawrence," she went on, "your toong is too lavish." Nan's proposal 
 "Let us to the Taverne," occurs within five lines of the remark which 
 led Professor Collins astray. 
 
 61 Vol. X., p. 236. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO P ATRIA 117 
 
 and clatter, such raising of the dust, no wonder we are 
 deafened and blinded. With all this palaver about us, no 
 wonder we lose ourselves and take Greene for what he is 
 striving his utmost to impress upon us that he is. But 
 in such respects as these Greene is still the quack. 
 
 In other respects, however, the Disputation is different 
 from the pamphlets I have just associated it with. It is 
 more vital. In the first place, it is genuinely humorous. 
 The whole affair of these conny-catchers is humorous, to 
 be sure, if regarded from the point of view I have tried to 
 set forth. We cannot but laugh at Greene for the face he 
 puts on. And there are humorous passages in some of the 
 pamphlets, too. But the humor of the Disputation is all 
 its own. It is not the humor evoked by the confession of 
 Ned Browne, the laughter aroused from hearing the speech 
 of a wooden doll, even though the wooden doll be put to 
 death at the end with a string about its neck. It is not the 
 knowing smile in which Greene indulges over some of the 
 more simple tales which he thinks funny; it is not the keen 
 appreciative delight over a cleverly turned trick; nor the 
 sympathy we bestow upon the rascal when we know well 
 enough that we should be sad for the victim. And it is 
 not the flippant, saucy humor of the oft-repeated, ''Was 
 not this a pretty conny-catching, Maister R. G.?" The 
 humor of the Disputation is none of these. It is deeper; 
 grim, but not cynical. It comes partly from the situation, 
 and partly from Greene's method of treatment. It is uncon- 
 scious, unaffected. Nan and Lawrence talk naturally, never 
 thinking for a moment that they are being overheard. Our 
 enjoyment of their conversation is that of an eavesdropper. 
 We have no business to be there, but we have not the will 
 to go away. Nan and Lawrence have been so complaisant 
 in their views of life, in the shrewdness of their wits, that 
 we delight to see them wriggle under the sting of their 
 
118 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 recent exposure. We rejoice in their discomfiture, and their 
 bitterness. A primitive sort of humor, no doubt, to laugh 
 at another's pain, but nevertheless universal, and never- 
 theless effective. 
 
 In the second place, Greene somehow got a hold, in this 
 little pamphlet of his, of one of the most fundamental forces 
 in the whole world of wrong-doing. He reveals, by the 
 dialogue between the thief and the courtezan, the power of 
 sex. In villainy, Lawrence is supreme. But Nan is greater 
 than he; for most of his arts are at her command. She can 
 nip purses with the best. She can steal, cheat, lie. She 
 can equal him at his own trade. And then she can do more. 
 Her strength is threefold. Evil she can do for herself; she 
 can entice her victims to her and destroy them herself; she 
 can demand tribute from those who would retain her favor. 
 For hers is the allurement of the strumpet. 
 
 ''. . . why the Lawrence what say you to me? haue I 
 not prooued that in foysting and nipping we excell you, 
 that there is none so great inconuenience in the Common 
 wealth, as growes from whores, first for the corrupting of 
 youth, infecting of age, for breeding of brawles, whereof 
 ensues murther, in so much that the mine of many men 
 come from us, and the fall of many youthes of good hope, 
 if they were not seduced by us, doe proclaime at Tyborne, 
 that wee be the meanes of their miserie: you men theeues 
 touch the bodie and wealth, but we mine the soule, and 
 indanger that which is more pretious then the worldes 
 treasure: you make worke onely for the gallowes, we both 
 for the gallowes and the diuel, I and for the Surgian too, 
 that some Hues like loathsome laizers, and die with the French 
 Marbles. Whereupon I conclude that I haue wonne the 
 supper. 
 
 Laur, I confesse it Nan, for thou has tolde mee such 
 wondrous villainies, as I thought neuer could haue been in 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 119 
 
 women, I meane of your profession; why you are Croco- 
 diles when you weepe, Basihsks when you smile, Serpents 
 when you deuise, and diuels cheefest broakers to bring the 
 world to destruction. And so Nan lets sit downe to our 
 meate and be merry." 
 
 "Vivid" and ''graphic" are the words which have been 
 applied to this dialogue.^^ Vivid and graphic it is. But it 
 does not stop there. It is true, — true, that is, in the largest 
 sense. In this pamphlet we cannot quibble over details; we 
 cannot inquire whether this statement or that has foundation 
 in the facts of Elizabethan times, whether the picture it pre- 
 sents is accurate or not. We cannot judge this pamphlet as 
 we judged the pamphlets of the first group. Fot this one is 
 based upon a universal principle of truth. Whoever Nan 
 and Lawrence may be — creations of Greene's own imagina- 
 tion — they are a man and woman at any time and in any 
 place. Be the woman a conny-catcher, she is Nan; be she 
 an Egj^tian queen, she is Cleopatra; be she a sorceress, 
 she is Circe. And the man, — he is any man who does not 
 like Ulysses bind himself to the mast. 
 
 The second part of the pamphlet is, I think, of less social 
 significance than the first. It is concerned with the story 
 of an English courtezan who is converted from her life of 
 sin to one of virtue. The reformation is brought about by 
 a young man who, going with the beautiful courtezan into 
 a very dark room, reminds her that even there God can see 
 them. He pleads with her to change her life. She does 
 so. Then he takes her from the house of shame and she 
 becomes his wife. ''Not a fiction, but a truth of one that 
 yet lives," Greene tells us, is this wonderful "life of a 
 Curtszin" whose reformation took place "this present 
 yeare. 1592." 
 
 One need not believe, in spite of Greene's declaration, 
 ^2 Collins. General Introduction. Vol. I., p. 32. 
 
120 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 that we have the account of a real person. Within this 
 story there is a second story of similar nature, "a pleasant 
 discourse, how a wife wanton by her husbands gentle warn- 
 ing, became to be a modest Matron," which, I have 
 pointed out before, Greene took from Gascoigne's Adventures 
 of Master F. J. (1573),^^ the story of how a man won back 
 his faithless wife from his faithless friend by paying her as 
 a courtezan, and by his kindly manner. Whether Greene 
 had some similar source for the story of the Enghsh courtezan 
 is not known. The method of the young man in taking the 
 woman to the darkest room in the house is somewhat similar 
 to that which the wife of the usurer's victim in the Defence ®^ 
 used in getting the usurer into a remote room. In that room 
 she confined him. In this present story the young man 
 pleads with the sinful woman. The aims of the two were 
 different, perhaps too much so for us to say that one story 
 influenced the other. But whether a source will ever be 
 discovered or not, the identity of the woman and the origin 
 of her story have no relation to the significance of her con- 
 version. That significance is dependent upon Greene's im- 
 aginative treatment. 
 
 I have throughout this chapter looked upon Greene 
 lightly, and I have placed little faith in his words or in his 
 purposes. Even the dying words of Ned Browne, the cut- 
 purse, I have regarded mostly as clap-trap. The story of 
 the courtezan is apparently like that of Ned Browne, but in 
 reality I believe the two are different. I cannot see that 
 it is a mistake to perceive more sincerity in the prayer of the 
 young man and in the woman's turning from sin than is to be 
 found in most of Greene's work. Such passages are very few 
 with him, in which we get genuine emotion and sincerity 
 
 " Gascoigne, Ed. W. C. Hazlitt, Vol. I., p. 473. Modern Language 
 Notes. Vol. 30, No. 2, p. 61. 
 " Vol. XI., p. 58. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 121 
 
 of expression. When we do come upon one which seems 
 to be sound, we pause suspicious. We hesitate; we fear 
 that it may turn out mere sentimentality and that our feel- 
 ings may be trifled with. The reformation of the courtezan, 
 however, appears real. I mean not that the story of it — 
 the manner in which it is brought about — is affecting, but 
 that the emotion which the account of it arouses is real. 
 Here, for one of the rare times in Greene, one may let one- 
 self go and not feel that one is mawkish, too easily moved, 
 unperceptive. 
 
 In the two respects that I have indicated, one in the 
 recognition of an important sociological factor in crime, 
 the other in the expression of a true emotion, the Disputa- 
 tion is worthy to be separated from the larger and less pro- 
 found group of Greene's social pamphlets. The Quippefor an 
 Upstart Courtier also has this same depth of interest. 
 
 In the Quippe we are no longer concerned with the conny- 
 catchers and the harlots. In it Greene does not deal with 
 one class only, but with some sixty professions and trades, 
 from the knight down to the lowest and humblest workman, 
 all of which are passed in review, commented upon, and 
 branded as good or bad. Greene's method is as follows. 
 One day in the Spring, he is in the fields gathering flowers. 
 There are many people around. Suddenly they all dis- 
 appear and Greene is left alone. In a few moments he sees 
 coming toward him a pair of gorgeous velvet breeches : from 
 the opposite direction appears a pair of plain cloth ones. 
 These two, representing pride and lowliness, debate their 
 right to hold the realm of Britain. They can reach no 
 agreement. A jury is proposed, the selection of which fills 
 the important part of the pamphlet. Finally, however, the 
 twenty-four men are chosen, with the knight at their head. 
 The jury debates briefly and renders its decision that cloth 
 breeches is the older and rightful possessor of the land. 
 
122 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Greene got the plan and many details, sometimes verbal 
 borrowings and paraphrases, from a poem written a number 
 of years before. This was The Debate between Pride and 
 Lowliness by one F. T.,®^ the relation between which and 
 Greene's tract was first pointed out by Mr. J. Payne Collier 
 in 1841. Of this poem "the most remarkable circumstance," 
 Collier says,^® is that Greene "stole the whole substance of 
 it, and, putting it into prose, published it in 1592, in his 
 own name, and as his own work." Storojenko does well to 
 object to Collier's statement.^^ It is indeed true, as he says, 
 that while the work is by no means entirely original Greene 
 did much more than transform dull poetry into interesting 
 prose. Greene took the plan and the purpose of the old 
 debate; but he omitted and he added. He did not in any 
 sense permit himself to be a slave to his original. 
 
 The result is that Greene's pamphlet is much better than 
 the poem on which it is based. Instead of the eighty pages 
 of stiff unreadable quatrains with their awkward versifica- 
 tion and their lack of emphasis, Greene gives us sprightly 
 prose which is as free from monotony as the method of the 
 work would well allow. The plan, in itself, is not conducive 
 to the production of enthusiasm. Sixty orders are to be 
 brought into view, talked about, and gotten rid of. That 
 is a tremendous task. And those sixty orders must be dis- 
 cussed with sufiicient distinctness to warrant the selection 
 of twenty-four of them to serve as a jury. There are indi- 
 cations that Greene realized the enormity of the under- 
 taking and that he planned definitely to meet it. In the 
 first place he lets the debate between velvet breeches and 
 
 ^5 Formerly thought to be Francis Thynne, but shown not to be 
 by Furnivall in his Preface to the Animadversions of Thynne, Chaucer 
 Society, 1876, p. cxxviii. 
 
 ^ Shak. Soc. Pub. Vol. XVII. Introduction, p. v. 
 
 " Grosart's Edition of Greene's Works, Vol. I., p. 143. 
 
NASCIMUR PRO P ATRIA 123 
 
 cloth breeches rise to a high pitch before he proposes the 
 settlement by jury. Then he does not tell us whether the 
 case is to ''be tried by a verdict of twelve or four and 
 twenty." If only twelve, we think, it will not take long. 
 
 The jury is hard to select. First comes a tailor in velvet 
 and satin, pert, as dapper as a bridegroom. Greene invites 
 him to be of the jury. 
 
 ''Not so," quoth cloth breeches, "I challenge him." 
 
 "And why?" quoth I. 
 
 Whereupon cloth breeches lays bare the vanity of tailors, 
 their deceits and dishonesties, their catering to pride, their 
 disregard for simpHcity of fashion, and so on. Then the 
 tailor steps aside. He will not do. 
 
 Presently comes a broker. He is refused. Then a barber, 
 a physician, an apothecary, a lawyer. All are open to some 
 criticism. Finally the twelfth man is accepted, a rope- 
 maker.^^ We are relieved. One man has been chosen. 
 But alas! the next three are refused for their villainy. We 
 give up in despair. 
 
 Now for a stroke of luck. Three men arrive together, the 
 knight, the esquire, the gentleman. They must be of the 
 jury, and we have four. 
 
 Here is the best news of all. "Ther came a troope of men 
 in apparell seeming poore honest Citizens, in all they were 
 eight." They were content to serve. Nobody had serious 
 objections, and so they took their places with the other 
 four. We are quite as glad as Greene that "there were so 
 many accepted of at once, and hoped that now quickly the 
 jury would be ful." In a moment the thirteenth man is 
 chosen. 
 
 Apparently things are going well. We shall soon be 
 through. Then nine in succession are refused! 
 
 «8 This was the celebrated passage from which the Greene-Harvey- 
 Nashe quarrel immediately arose. 
 
124 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Well, the jury is finally chosen. But that is not the 
 point. What I wish to emphasize is that Greene made a 
 conscious effort to counteract a fundamental difficulty. If 
 he was going to succeed in presenting sixty orders in a 
 salable pamphlet he had to do something more than enu- 
 merate; and what Greene accomplished was considerably 
 more than enumeration. He came to the writing of the 
 Quippe with a twelve years' experience as a man who had 
 made his living with a pen. He had been obliged, as never 
 an Englishman before him, to learn the art of successful 
 composition, and he had come to a realization of the fact 
 that the manner of expression counted much. Greene 
 brings before us, then, the sixty orders; but his method is 
 one which has interest in itself. He manages to shift our 
 attention away from the monotony of counting off trades- 
 men to the more human and interesting task of being sorry 
 for ourselves that the selection of a jury for this ridiculous 
 quarrel should take so long. 
 
 Founded though it is upon the work of another, the Quippe 
 marks the highest point in the development of Greene's 
 prose style. Notwithstanding that the first part of the piece 
 is not closely related to the rest of it, and that these opening 
 pages are marked distinctly by the artificialities of Euphuism, 
 the body of the tract is well written and thoroughly mature. 
 It has the simplicity which characterizes the other social 
 pamphlets; and it has also a dignity which they lack. It 
 has humor — not so much as the Disputation — and clear- 
 ness of outline. The sentences are firmly constructed, and 
 contrast with the straggling ungrammatical creations of the 
 earlier works. There is vigor and strength and stability. 
 
 In addition to the qualities which arise from the style, 
 the Quippe made improvement over the Debate in the trans- 
 formation of the abstractions of personality. The butcher, 
 the baker, the bellows-mender, the goldsmith, the cook, — 
 
NASCIMUR PRO PATRIA 125 
 
 all these, as types, belong of course to the genre of character- 
 writing. Greene's (rather F. T.'s) idea of presenting them 
 is, therefore, by no means new. And Greene's attitude 
 toward these personages is not unique either, for they are in 
 his work still representatives of a type. This is necessarily 
 so; else they would have no place in a work of this kind — 
 any more than the Knight or the Lady Prioress would 
 have in the company of the immortal pilgrims if they did 
 not personify definite social classes. But types as they are, 
 Greene has made over the bloodless and boneless unrealities 
 of the poem, and has given them a degree of reality. They 
 are not abstract types, but semi-living types, if it be not a 
 paradox to say so. They are the product, not of an exposi- 
 tory, but of a dramatic mood. It cannot be maintained that 
 Greene has secured total freedom from the method of his 
 predecessor. But he has done much. He has secured for 
 the types of which he writes the attention which we pay to 
 personality rather than to a discussion of estates and con- 
 ditions of life. 
 
 It is entirely in accord with Greene's nature that he should 
 not have succeeded in endowing the people in the Quippe 
 with complete individuality. Had he been Chaucer he could 
 have done so. But Greene was not, as we saw in his fic- 
 tion, able to progress to a sharp presentation of character. 
 His talent lay in the direction of the ordering of events. 
 The Quippe is another illustration of this fact. I endeav- 
 ored to show how Greene made definite provision for his 
 reader's interest in his narrative. But he did not, and 
 could not, make the same provision in the way of character. 
 So far as the Quippe is story, therefore, it is successful. So 
 far as it is presentation of character, it is not wholly so. 
 
 Defective in the element of characterization the Quippe 
 is, despite the vast amount of improvement which Greene 
 made. But after all, I do not believe that the greatest 
 
126 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 importance of the pamphlet attaches to its quality either 
 as narrative or as study of character. The real significance 
 I take to be the firmness of its grasp upon an understanding 
 of social values. 
 
 In turning from the underworld of London Greene was 
 broadening his view of society. He was dealing not with 
 the problems of a particular time and place, but rather 
 with the universal struggle between haughtiness on the one 
 hand which leads to tyranny, and lowliness on the other 
 which leads to the development of a substantial common- 
 wealth and the establishment of democratic ideals. 
 
 Satires of the estates compose an established literary 
 tradition. Greene is carr3dng on this tradition of the 
 satire, of course. Perhaps he meant only satire, an expo- 
 sure, in this quaint dispute and in the judgment of the 
 classes of society who are to make up the jury, of the traits 
 of good and bad, of uplifting and degenerating, which con- 
 stitute everywhere the society of men. There is no way of 
 knowing whether Greene meant anything else than just that. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE POETRY 
 
 If we exclude the lost ballad, of which we know nothing 
 but the title/ Greene's career as a poet extends over nine 
 years, from the time of the Second Part of Mamillia in 1583 
 down until his death. In this period of time Greene ran 
 the number of his poems up to almost ninety. His poems, 
 with few exceptions, are lyrics; and all but one are found 
 embedded, either incidentally or integrally, in the romances 
 upon which he was engaged. 
 
 Greene was not unique, of course, in his mingling of prose 
 and poetry. There were plenty of examples in the work 
 of the Italian writers, notably of Sannazaro. His immediate 
 predecessors in the field of Enghsh prose fiction — Painter, 
 Fenton, Gascoigne, for instance — had employed the method. 
 And Greene's own contemporaries were doing the same thing, 
 men like Riche and Lodge, and above all. Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 For the most part, Greene's poems, like those of the 
 other writers, bear little relation to the romances in Which 
 they occur. They are inserted, often on the flimsiest pos- 
 sible excuse, to afford their author a means of publication 
 for what are not infrequently experimental effusions, and 
 
 1 Edward White: Vicesimo die Marcii (1581) Lycenced unto him 
 under th(e) (h)andes of the Bishop of London and the wardens, A 
 Ballad Intituled, youthe seinge all his wais so Troublesome abandon- 
 inge vertue and learninge to vyce, Recalleth his former follies with 
 an inwarde Repentaunce By Greene. Stationers' Register, Arber Vol. 
 IL, p. 391. 
 
 127 
 
128 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 what are in any event only poetical by-products which would 
 otherwise have had no chance of circulation. 
 
 Sometimes a passage is put into poetry, and so introduced, 
 which might just as well, as prose, have formed a part of the 
 romance, or have been omitted altogether. How far this 
 habit is carried can be seen in the Description of Maesia.^ 
 "She was passing fair," says Greene, "for this I remember 
 was her description." And the poem of eighteen lines which 
 follows is not merely incidental, but obviously dragged in. 
 Certain poems are, however, by Greene's own statement, 
 meant to be incidental. One of the best-known poems, his 
 Sonetto in Menaphon, What thing is Love?^ is so intro- 
 duced: — "Since we have talkte of Love so long, you shall 
 give me leave to shewe my opinion of that foolish fancie 
 thus." More frequently, though, than for any other reason, 
 the poems, be they of ever so little importance to the develop- 
 ment of the story, are put forward on the pretext that they 
 are expressions of mental states of various characters. And 
 so we have Doralicia, who "to rid hir selfe therefore from 
 these dumpes, took hir Lute, whereupon she played thys 
 dittie";^ Barmenissa, who "was overcharged with melan- 
 choly: to avoyde the which . . . she warbled out this 
 Madrygale";^ Isabel, who "cald for pen and inck and 
 wrote this mournfuU Sonnet";^ and many another dis- 
 tressed heroine or repentant hero. 
 
 In many cases, to be sure, there does exist a definite, and 
 often a necessary, connection between the poem and the 
 novel. Occasion for Arion's discourse upon the nature of 
 
 2 Farewell to Follie, Vol. IX., p. 266. 
 
 3 Vol. VI., p. 140. Mr. Crawford (Notes and Queries. Ser. 10. 
 No. 9. May 2, 1908) points out that Allot in England's Parnassus 
 wrongly ascribes this poem to the Earl of Oxford. 
 
 4 Arbasto, Vol. III., p. 248. 
 
 5 Penelopes Web, Vol. V., p. 179. 
 
 « Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 157. 
 
THE PO^ETRY 129 
 
 women was given by the song of Arion.'^ Eurimachus' 
 Madrigal was overheard by the mistress, who stepped to 
 the lover and ''drave him . . . abruptly from his pas- 
 sions." * Under the story of the fly which would perch 
 beside the eagle, Menaphon pleaded his love.® Melicertus 
 fell in love with Samela after he heard Doron's song in 
 description of her.^^ Mullidor sent his Madrigal to his 
 lady, in a letter. ^^ And lastly, Infida and Lamilia sang 
 their courtezan's songs, deliberately to allure and retain 
 their victims. ^^ 
 
 There are numerous other poems which have this same 
 relation to plot development. For all these the modem reader 
 feels the justification. But on the whole, the impression of 
 Greene's poetry, so far as its place in his romances is con- 
 cerned, is that it has no particular reason for existence. 
 The question of its intrinsic value is another matter. 
 Whether or not it has merit, it must be considered on its 
 own basis and not on that of its pretended relationship. 
 
 II 
 
 The themes of Greene's poems connect him with more 
 than one poetic movement. He was in several ways the 
 descendant of the poets who had preceded him during the 
 last thirty years, for few indeed are the subjects employed 
 by them which do not find a place in his work. At the same 
 time, he was strongly affected by the newer influences which 
 kept coming in from Italy and France, and which did much 
 to change the character of English poetry during this period. 
 As a result, Greene is, in this division of his work, as in 
 
 7 Orphanon, Vol XII., p. 65. » Alaida, Vol. IX., p. 99. 
 
 9 Menaphon, Vol. VI., p. 59. i" lb., p. 65. 
 
 1^ Francescos Fortunes, Vol. VIII., p. 217. 
 12 Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 75. 
 Groatsworth of Wit, Vol. XII., p. 113. 
 
130 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 everything else that he did, a fairly accurate mirror of the 
 literary activity of the age. 
 
 Like the other Elizabethan lyrists, Greene sang mostly 
 of love. Love is his prevailing theme, and he treats it in 
 various ways. ''What thing is Love?" he asks. It is a 
 power divine, a discord, a desire, a peace.^^ Love has no 
 law.i^ Life without love is lost, just as sheep die without 
 their food.^^ Greene praises chastity ^^ and constancy ^^ in 
 love, and he writes of lightness ^^ and jealousy ^^ in affection. 
 Six poems preach definitely the warning to beware of love. 
 Three have their basis in the Eros motiv. After the manner 
 of Petrarchists, Greene deals with the pangs of the lover. 
 At least six of his poems are on this theme. But there is 
 in none of them that exquisite restlessness and analytic 
 subtlety shown by Wyatt and the other poets of the early 
 Miscellanies, and by the Sonneteers. 
 
 Greene, besides reflecting the interest of his time in the 
 poetry of love, reflects also its interest in the pastoral devel- 
 opment which had been strengthening for some time, and 
 which, given decided impetus by the Shepherd's Calendar^ 
 first gained real importance in the decade following upon 
 1580. 
 
 This element of pastoralism Greene uses in several ways: 
 whether for adornment as when Menaphon sang 
 
 "When ewes brought home with evening Sunne 
 Wend to their foldes. 
 and to their holdes, 
 The shepheards trudge when light of daye is done," 20 
 
 " Menaphon, Vol. VI., p. 140. «n/6., p. 87. 
 
 16 Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 50. 
 
 « Philomela, Vol. XI., pp. 123, 178. 
 
 " Ih., p. 149; also Alcida, Vol. IX., p. 87. 
 
 " Alcida, Vol. IX., p. 87. OrphaHon, Vol. XII., p. 21. 
 
 19 Ciceronis Amor, Vol. VII., p. 123. 
 
 20 Menaphon, Vol. VI., p. 59. 
 
THE POETRY 131 
 
 in introduction to his plea for love; or whether as a medium 
 by which to extol love's sweetness, 
 
 "If countrie loves such sweet desires do gaine, 
 What Lady would not love a Shepheard Swaine?" *^ 
 
 Pastoralism in Greene's poetry, however, found its chief 
 expression in the seven poems which recount the stories of 
 shepherds' loves. In the case of Doron's Jigge,22Hhe poem, 
 to be sure, is mostly jingle, with only a few lines of narra- 
 tive to make a slight story. Again when Doron and Car- 
 mela join in an eclogue,^^ the story is of slight importance. 
 The interest in this dialogue poem centers rather upon the 
 rustic characters themselves and upon their speech, an 
 interest which is not in any degree changed, whether we 
 consider the poem as a serious attempt on Greene's part 
 to imitate country talk or as fun-poking at country manners. 
 
 "When Phillis kept sheepe along the westerne plaines," 
 however, ''and Coridon did feed his flocks hard by,"^^ we 
 have as a result a poem in which the love-story is of some 
 value. There is the conventional, but ever charming, 
 beauty of the shepherdess which sets the shepherd's heart 
 on fire. There is Coridon's leaving of his flocks to begin 
 the wooing, his ineptitude in speech, and his declaration of 
 love. There is Phyllis' coyness, and questioning, and eva- 
 sion, and final consent. And so ''this love begun and ended 
 both in one." In the Shepheards Ode,^^ too, we have re- 
 counted the love of this same youthful couple, or of another 
 youthful couple with the same dehghtfully pastoral names. 
 
 These are the stories of happy loves. The maiden is 
 kind, and all ends well. But the event is not always 
 
 2^ Mourning Garment, Vol. IX., p. 143a. 
 
 22 Menaphon, Vol. VI., p. 69. 
 
 23 lb., p. 137. 
 
 24 PeHmedes, Vol. VII., p. 91. 
 
 25 Ciceronis Amor, Vol. VII., p. 180. 
 
132 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 thus. 2^ Poor Tytirus ''did sigh and see" . . . ''where 
 Galate his lover goes," — Galate with the green chaplet on 
 her head and the beautiful face, as fair as a maid's could be. 
 But she said him nay and was off with a smile. And so 
 was Tytirus turned to scorn the smiles and faces of woman- 
 kind, and to, 
 
 "say to love, and women both, 
 What I liked, now I do loath." 
 
 Old Menalcus went even farther than disdain. He had 
 loved, but all in vain. And so he had learned to repent, 
 and, from his unhappy outcome, to stand as a warning to 
 youth that it should beware of love.^^ One more pastoral 
 theme Greene uses in this group of poems. I refer to the 
 unhappy love of Rosamund and Alexis, to Rosamund's 
 grief, lamentation, and death, — the sad result of abandon- 
 ment by the faithless shepherd Alexis.^^ 
 
 Greene has another pastoral poem, The Description of the 
 Shepherd and his Wife, which may serve as a transition 
 to the next group which we take up. This poem^^ is pas- 
 toral only in the sense that it deals with conventional 
 country people. It does in reality belong to another type 
 of poetry which Greene was fond of writing, — namely, 
 descriptions of persons. He describes both men and 
 women, not because an idea of their appearance is neces- 
 sary in any connection, but merely because he delights to 
 compose such descriptions for their own sake. 
 
 Aside from this description of the shepherd, there are 
 six poems which are pure descriptions of men. The most 
 noticeable group is that found in Greene's Vision, in which 
 we have three poems obviously planned together. These 
 
 ^ Mourning Garment, Vol. IX., p. 201. 
 
 27 Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 17. 
 
 28 Mourning Garment, Vol. IX., p. 159. 
 
 29 lb., p. 141. 
 
THE POETRY 133 
 
 are the descriptions of Chaucer, Gower, and Solomon,^^' 
 very elaborate, with some attempt at characterization, but 
 with more attention to outward detail of bodily appearance 
 and garments. Another rather interesting poem on this 
 theme is Infida's Song in Never too Late.^^ Here we have 
 a poem, written as a description of a man, which, except 
 that it is sung by a courtezan to entice her lover, and that 
 it contains what might easily be said to be adaptations to 
 the sex of the singer, cannot in any way be distinguished 
 from the conventional descriptions of women. There are 
 the same cherry cheeks, vermilion lips, silver-white neck, 
 and flaming eyes which fill the fond one's thoughts with 
 ''sweet desires"; there is the same appeal for mercy that 
 may be found in any other Elizabethan song of the kind 
 sung by a man. Indeed, we wonder whether there was 
 any clear-cut difference as to how the descriptions should 
 read, and whether all such descriptive poems were not 
 made purely in accordance with a convention which would 
 fit either men or women. We have at least seen such to 
 be the case in Infida's Song. And besides, Solomon and 
 the Palmer 32 both had amber locks — as what Elizabethan 
 beauty, save an occasional dark-haired maiden, had not? 
 
 Whether all poets so conventionalized their ideas of hand- 
 some men we do not have any adequate way of knowing. 
 For outside of Marlowe's celebrated description of Leander, 
 these descriptions of men are rare in the poetry of the age. 
 We have observed frequently that Greene is both a mirror 
 and an experimenter. Perhaps in these descriptions he is 
 showing us his experimental side. 
 
 In his descriptions of women, however, Greene was by 
 no means unique. Such poems were common enough in 
 
 30 Vol. XII., pp. 209, 210, 275. 
 
 31 Vol. VIII., p. 75. 
 
 32 Never too Late, Vol. VIII., p. 13. 
 
134 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Elizabethan poetry, as they are in all poetry. There were 
 beginnings of them even in TotteVs Miscellany, Wyatt has 
 a reference to 'Hresses of gold."^^ Surrey speaks of his 
 mistress' ''golden tresses" and ''smilyng lokes."^* Grim- 
 aid ^^ mentions his lady's eyes, head, foot, etc., even though 
 he does not describe them. But in the poems of the uncer- 
 tain authors we find examples of elaborate description. ^^ We 
 find them also in Turberville ^^ — yellow hair, eyes like stars 
 or sapphires, little mouth, coral lips, teeth white as whale- 
 bone, body blameless, arms rightly proportioned, and hands 
 well-shaped. And so on in the works of many of the mis- 
 cellaneous lyrists.^^ Thomas Watson has the same sort of 
 description in his Passionate Century of Love. Watson's lady, 
 too, is of the golden-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned type, 
 whose cheeks are of lilies and roses.^^ As Professor Erskine 
 remarks, ''the important thing about it (this method of 
 description) is that the picture immediately became con- 
 ventionalized with the Elizabethan poets, and it is the ideal 
 of beauty for the whole period.'' ^° 
 Slavishly, almost, Greene conforms to this ideal in his 
 
 33 Arber's Reprint, p. 68. ^4 75^ p 12, 
 
 35 Ih., p. 98. 36 75.^ p^ 214; p. 270. 
 
 37 Ed. Chambers, Vol. II., p. 644; p. 648. 
 
 38 "If I should undertake to wryte in prayse of a gentlewoman, I 
 would neither prayse her chrystal eye, nor her cherrie lippe, . . . 
 For these things are trita and obvia." Gascoigne. Notes of Instruction, 
 1575. Gregory Smith, Elizabethan Critical Essays, 1904. Vol. I., p. 48. 
 
 ® Hecatompathia. Spenser Society, 1869, p. 21, "This passion of 
 love is lively expressed by the Authour, in that he lavishlie praiseth 
 the person and beautiful! ornaments of his love, one after another as 
 they lie in order. He partly imitateth here in Aeneas Silvius, who 
 setteth downe the like in describing Lucretia the love of Euryalus; 
 and partly he followeth Ariosto Canto 7, where he describeth Alcina; 
 and partly borroweth from some others where they describe the 
 famous Helen of Greece." 
 
 ^0 The Elizabethan Lyric. 1905. p. 91. 
 
THE POETRY 135 
 
 poems.'*^ His women look just alike, created, as they are, 
 all of them thoroughly in accordance with the accepted 
 model. But on this set convention, Greene rings all possible 
 changes, with variations in simile and mythological adorn- 
 ment. Now my lady's lips are ruby red, now roses over- 
 washed with dew; her cheeks are lilies steeped in wine, or 
 strewn with roses red and white; or 
 
 "Lilly cheekes whereon beside 
 Buds of Roses shew their pride." ^^ 
 
 Her stature is like tall cedar trees,^^ her pace like princely 
 Juno's, she is fairer than Diana, or Thetis, or Venus. And 
 so on, ad infinitum, in the fifteen or twenty poems on this 
 theme.^'* But her locks are always golden, and her eyes are 
 always as sapphires or as twinkling stars. There are in 
 Greene's work none of those somewhat rare exceptions to 
 this blonde ideal, exceptions which eulogize dark-complexioned 
 women, such as Sidney praises in Astrophel and Stella,^^ and 
 such as reach their best-known delineation in the "dark 
 
 ^^ There is a passage in his prose works which indicates very clearly 
 how fully Greene recognized this type of beauty as wholly conventional. 
 Young men, he says, *'worke their own woe, penning downe ditties, 
 songs, sonnets, madrigals, and such like, shadowed over with the 
 pensell of fiatterie, where from the fictions of poets they fetche the 
 type and figure of their f ayned affection : first, decyphering hir beauty 
 to bee more than superlative, comparing hir face unto Venus, hir 
 haire unto golde,. hir eyes unto starres," etc. Vol. IX,, p. 292. 
 
 ^2 Vol. VIII., p. 62. 
 
 ^3 Vol. III., p. 123. Greene had a habit of repeating himself. This 
 description of Silvestro's Lady is used again, with some variations 
 and omissions, as the description of Maesia in Farewell to Follie, Vol. 
 IX., p. 266. 
 
 ^^ An interesting example of this variation of description is to be 
 found in the singing match (the only real example of this type of 
 poetry in Greene) between Menaphon and Melicertus, both singers 
 aiming to set forth the beauties of the same woman. 
 
 « Sonnet No. 7. 
 
136 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 lady" of the Shakespeare Sonnets, — exceptions which Sir 
 Sidney Lee maintains *^ are distinctively the reflection of 
 French influence from men like Amadis Jamyn. 
 
 These poems in praise of women's charms, which connect 
 Greene with the newer movements in English poetry, lead 
 easily to another of his themes, which connects him definitely 
 with the older school in a tradition which extends back into 
 the Middle Ages. Greene's first extant poem belongs to this 
 class — the satires on women. His interest in this theme, 
 however, seems to have been slight. He has only four 
 poems on it: one attacking particularly women's following 
 of fashion, and their desire for fine clothes; *^ one on the 
 curse of women's beauty ;^^ one on their pride in their 
 beauty; ^^ and the last one on the censure of their '^blab- 
 j^jj^g "50 ^g a variation to the satires on women, there are 
 a couple of poems against courtezans.^^ 
 
 Another interest which connects Greene with the past is 
 his group of poems on gnomic themes. The gnomic poems 
 belong to the latter half of his career, none being earlier 
 than 1587. After this date, he wrote on various subjects, 
 jealousy, the shortness of life, the triumph of truth, ambition, 
 discontent, gluttony, wit, and fortune. We have seen how 
 strongly Greene was dominated in his romances by the idea of 
 Fortune, and so we are surprised to find only two poems on this 
 theme — both of them on the despising of Fortune's power. 
 
 Fortune's anger was thought to strike most violently in 
 lofty places. The lowly life was therefore considered safest; 
 and he who was contented with his humble lot thus held 
 the power of Fortune in despite. This theme of contentment 
 was common enough among the Elizabethan poets. Greene 
 
 ^ The French Renaissance in England. 1910. p. 273. 
 
 '' Vol. II., p. 249. '^ Vol. IX., p. 24. 
 
 « Vol. IX., p. 25. 50 lb., p. 88. '* 
 
 61 Vol. X., p. 200. Vol. XII , p. 129. 
 
THE POETRY 137 
 
 wrote three poems on it,^^ among them his perhaps most 
 celebrated song, 
 
 "Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, 
 The quiet mind is better than a crowne." 
 
 We pass now to another group of poems, — the Anac- 
 reontics. In 1554 there was pubHshed in France, by Henri 
 Estienne, an edition of the poems of Anacreon, or rather 
 of the poems thought to be his. This edition had great 
 influence upon the poets of the Pleiade. It was almost 
 immediately translated in full by Remy Belleau, and was to 
 be seen thenceforth in many forms — translations, adapta- 
 tions, imitations — by various of Belleau's colleagues. The 
 Anacreontic vein, and to some extent, that of the Greek 
 Anthology with which they were already familiar, the 
 French poets shortly assimilated. And through the work 
 of these men (and possibly through the original tongue as 
 well) the Anacreontic poems became influential in England. 
 We find Greene a sharer in this movement, nowhere more 
 clearly than in a direct translation from the Pseudo- 
 Anacreon itself. This is the celebrated Number Thirty 
 One, which he translates as "Cupid abroade was lated in 
 the night." This poem was one evidently which appealed 
 to him, for he used it, with very slight changes, in two 
 different novels.^^ Needless to say, after the manner of 
 other Elizabethan poets, he nowhere indicates either the 
 source of the poem itself or the fact that he is reproducing 
 his own translation.^^ 
 
 ^'^ Vol. v., p. 179; Vol. VIII., p. 29; Vol. IX., p. 279. 
 
 53 Alcida, Vol. IX., p. 99; Orpharion, Vol. XII., p. 73. 
 
 " Greene's translation is printed also in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 
 (Ed. BuUen, 1891. Vol. II., p. 86) where there are translations of three 
 of Anacreon's Odes by A. W. Two of these three are translated "other- 
 wise," the second by Thomas Spelman (or Spilman) and the third by 
 Greene. 
 
138 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Of the other poems of the group, it cannot be said whether 
 they are original with Greene or not. Perhaps he is again 
 trying his hand at experimentation; at least no originals, 
 either Greek or French, are known. Whether original or 
 copied, some of these poems are in Greene's hghtest style, 
 and mark him clearly as distinct from the older poets of 
 the Miscellanies. Mars in a rage at Venus moves against 
 her in arms.^^ Cupid is afraid for his mother's life. She 
 bids him be not afraid. Trimming her hair, making herself 
 beautiful, carrying a fan of silver feathers, she goes in a 
 coach of ebony past the place where Mars is standing. She 
 frowns. In fear Mars throws his armor down and vows 
 repentance. Venus becomes gracious. Thus can woman's 
 looks subdue the greatest god in arms. All this in twenty- 
 four lines of a degree of polish unknown before the time of 
 Greene, and known only to a few of his contemporaries, 
 such as Lyly, Peele, or Spenser. 
 
 In another song of Greene's we have the same delicacy of 
 execution, but the delicacy is mingled with a suggestive 
 sensualness which somewhat mars the poem, 
 
 ". . . then though I wanton it awry, 
 And play the wag: from Adon this I get, 
 I am but young and may be wanton yet." ^ 
 
 One other only of these poems need be spoken of, the song 
 in Ciceronis Amor,^"^ "Fond faining Poets make of Love a 
 god," worth notice as reflecting the then prevalent poetizing 
 about the nature of Cupid and the extent of his power. 
 Greene says he is no god, as many foolish poets think, and 
 proves him ''but a boy not past the rod."^^ 
 
 65 Vol. VII., p. 133. 56 Vol. VII., p. 88. " Vol. VII., p. 136. 
 
 58 A similar conception is to be found in Thomas Watson's Tears 
 of Fancie, 1593. Sonnet I. "I helde him (Cupid) as a boy not past 
 the rod." 
 
 Another playful disbelief in the divinity of Cupid is expressed by 
 
THE POETRY 139 
 
 There is one group of poems left, a rather large group 
 of repentance poems. Dyce, and Grosart especially, have 
 emphasized the repentant note in Greene's work as a char- 
 acteristic of him, and have attempted to establish a canon 
 thereby by which to judge certain works, the authorship 
 of which has been discussed in connection with Greene's 
 name. It is natural, perhaps, in view of the prodigal-son 
 romances, to emphasize this side of Greene's activity. But 
 it may be seriously doubted whether there is more than a 
 reflection of the general tendency toward this sort of poetic 
 theme, and whether Greene is not merely doing the thing 
 which had begun long before his time, and which con- 
 tinued long after. At least many examples of repentant 
 poems can be found among the poets of the age, some 
 of which show a degree of real religious feeling, but more 
 of which reveal, as Greene's most often do, only the con- 
 ventional repentant ideas, sorrow for the sins of youth, and 
 so forth. 
 
 The one of Greene's poems which really contains what 
 has been called the ''characteristic" repentant note of 
 which Grosart spoke so often is the group of verses in the 
 Groatsworth of Wit, 
 
 "Dece3rving world that with alluring toys, 
 Hast made my life the subject of thy scorne, 
 
 O that a yeere were graunted me to live, 
 And for that yeare my former wit restorde, 
 What rules of life, what counsell would I give? 
 How should my sinne with sorrow be deplorde? 
 But I must die of every man abhorde. 
 Time loosely spent will not againe be woone, 
 My time is loosely spent, and I undone." ^^ 
 
 Thomas Howell in his Devises, 1581 (Ed. Raleigh, 1906, p. 69). 
 Howell says that Cupid is no god at all, but — a devil. 
 59 Vol. XII., p. 137. 
 
140 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 These verses are seemingly autobiographical. At least they 
 are as autobiographical as the novel in which they were 
 printed. But whether or not they express repentance for 
 an actual past line of conduct, they certainly do convey a 
 considerable amount of genuine feeling from a real or an 
 imagined experience. 
 
 The rest of Greene's repentant poems are, I think, purely 
 conventional. In a few cases he mingles the conventional 
 repentance with the conventional description of a woman, 
 the beauty of the woman being the cause of the manner of 
 life for which repentance later on is necessary. Francesco 
 is thinking of Isabel,^^ his wife, and of how he has gone 
 astray with Infida. His wanton eyes drew him to gaze on 
 beauty; he saw her charms — her milk-white brow, her face 
 like silver tainted with vermiUon, her golden hair, — and 
 these beauties entrapped him to sin. By these he slipped 
 from virtue's path. Now despair and sorrow overcome him. 
 ''Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eie." 
 
 In the song which the country swain sings ''at the return 
 of Philador" we have a repentant poem intermingled with 
 narrative elements. There is an elaborate description of 
 evening ^^ and of old Menalcus who sits mourning. He is 
 bewailing his past. He had fed sheep, secure from Fortune's 
 ire. Then he had become ambitious and had gone to the city, 
 where he followed in evil ways. In conclusion he has repented 
 of his wickedness, and has come back to the country to sing, 
 "... therefore farewell the follies of my youth." ^^ 
 
 60 Vol. VIII., p. 92. 
 
 " There are several other instances of elaborate settings. In Never 
 too Late (Vol. VIII., p. 50) tlje scene is a riverside, there are flowers. 
 It is April. A lady enters, sits down, and begins to speak. In the same 
 novel (p. 68) a poem opens with Nature quiet, the sky clear, the air 
 still, the birds singing. In Philomela (Vol. XI., p. 133) the time is 
 winter, there are frosts, and leafless trees. A shepherd is sighing. 
 
 " In the Paradise of Daintie Devises (Ed. Brydges and Haslewocd, 
 
THE POETRY 141 
 
 In Francescos Fortunes occurs ^^ a series of repentant stanzas. 
 There is a stanza for each sign of the zodiac, dealing with 
 the season (and often with country Hfe), and ending with 
 the statement that the seasons will call repentance to mind. 
 The lines are written on the wall as a ''testament" to serve 
 Francesco as a remembrancer of his follies, and, in spite of 
 their monotony of style, have a dignity and effectiveness of 
 movement which one would not expect in a poem of this 
 kind. 
 
 Another repentant poem is the dialogue between the grass- 
 hopper and the ant,^^ entirely along the lines of the fable, — 
 the spendthrift and repentant grasshopper, and the frugal, 
 inhospitable, unforgiving ant. Greene is like the grass- 
 hopper. Too late he has realized that night, and that 
 winter, would come. 
 
 There remains a final group of three or four miscellaneous 
 poems which cannot be classed with any of the groups spoken 
 of above. One of these is an Epitaph ^^ on the heroine of 
 a romance, one an oracle,^^ one a hermit's exordium,^^ — a 
 curious poem on the power of the Bible to overcome Satan. 
 The last one is among the best-known of Greene's poems, 
 Sephestia's Lullaby, the 
 
 "Weepe not my wanton smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art olde thers grief e inough for thee." 
 
 Lullabies are comparatively rare in Elizabethan poetry, so 
 rare that one does not expect to find an example, so exquisite 
 an example, among the poems of Greene. 
 
 The British Bibliographer, Vol. III., p. 97), M. Hunnis has a poem with 
 a similar refrain, 
 
 "Good Lord with mercie doe forgive the follies of my youth," 
 merely an illustration of a common theme and a common phraseology. 
 
 «3 Vol. VIIL, p. 223. ^ Vol. XII., p. 146. 
 
 65 Vol. IV., p. 264. 66 Vol. VI., p. 34. 
 
 " Vol. VII., p. 29. 
 
142 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 All the poems so far spoken of were written in connection 
 with the romances. We turn now to the one poem from 
 Greene's pen which was not so written, A Maiden's Dreame,^^ 
 printed in 1591, "upon the Death of the right Honorable Sir 
 Christopher Hatton Knight, late Lord Chancellor of Eng- 
 land,'' ^^ who died on November twentieth of that year. 
 It is an example of the dream, or vision, poetry so common 
 in our earlier literature. A maiden falls asleep and dreams. 
 She seems to be near a spring, about which are sundry god- 
 desses. A knight lies there dead, clad all in armor. Over 
 the body of the knight each of the goddesses utters her 
 complaint, — Justice, Prudence, Fortitude, Temperance, 
 Bountie, Hospitalitie, Religion. All these grieve bitterly. 
 More than anything else it is their uncontrolled passion 
 which mars the poem. The oft-repetitions of the ending of 
 each complaint, 
 
 "At this her sighes and sorrowes were so sore: 
 And so she wept that she could speak no more," 
 
 become, far from effective, after a while even ridiculous. 
 
 There is another poem not found in a novel which has 
 been associated with Greene's name. This is A Most Rare 
 and Excellent Dreame, Learnedly Set Downe by a Woorthy 
 Gentleman, a Brave Schollar, and M. of Artes in Both Univer- 
 sities, printed in the Phoenix Nest, ISQS.^*^ As Mr. Child 
 suggests, ^^ this may be the work of Greene. We know that 
 
 M Vol. XIV., p. 301. 
 
 ^3 "This poem had long disappeared, and was not known to be in 
 existence till 1845, when it was discovered by Mr. James P. Reardon, 
 who sent a transcript of it to the Council of the Shakespeare Society, 
 among whose papers it was printed (Vol. II., pp. 127-45)." Collins, 
 Introduction to A Maidens Dreame. Plays and Poems of Robert Greene. 
 1905. Vol. II., p. 219. 
 
 ^° Collier's Reprint, p. 45. 
 
 '^ Cambridge History of English Literature, Vol. IV., p. 135. 
 
THE POETRY 143 
 
 certain papers of Greene's were in the hands of printers 
 after his death in the previous year. The ''M. of Artes 
 in Both Universities" sounds like Greene, surely. And 
 there is nothing in the poem which is contrary to Greene's 
 genius. Still there were other '^ Masters of Artes in Both 
 Universities," there were other poets who wrote poems of 
 the type of the Excellent Dreame. There was so much that 
 was conventional in poems of the kind, and there is so little 
 in this poem — except its rather unusual length — to dis- 
 tinguish it from a hundred other poems on the same theme, 
 that I do not believe that we can say definitely either that 
 it is or that it is not the work of Greene. 
 
 The poem opens with an extended discussion on the cause 
 of dreams, after the mediaeval manner. Then follows the 
 visit of a lady to her sleeping lover. The lover (in the first 
 person) describes her beauties and tells of his restless and 
 hopeless state. The lady and he discuss the subject of love 
 at some length. She is firm in her denials, and he faints 
 away in a swoon. Thereupon she, fearing that he is dead, 
 relents; and the lover comes back to life and the waking 
 state. 
 
 We may now summarize briefly. Throughout, we have 
 seen in Greene a mirror of the poetical interests of the time. 
 It is true that there are many of its phases which are not 
 represented in his work. He has not the vaunt of immor- 
 tality which so obsessed the poets of the Pleiade, and which 
 came to be characteristic of the English sonneteers of the 
 following decade. There are many themes at which he does 
 not try his hand. He has no poems which are plays on 
 words, no epistles between personages of classical history, 
 no songs to Spring, no wedding songs, no poems in praise of 
 virginity, or on the theme of "try before you trust," no 
 tributes to deceased friends, no epitaphs. These and other 
 themes find no representative in Greene's volumes. But in 
 
144 ' ROBERT GREENE 
 
 spite of these omissions, Greene's poetry does to a very con- 
 siderable degree coincide with the main currents of endeavor. 
 We have noted his love poems, with their variations of theme, 
 his pastoralism, his descriptions of people, his satires on 
 women, his gnomic verse, his Anacreontic, and repentant, 
 poems. All of these together identify him with the past, 
 the present, and the future of his time. Sometimes in his 
 choice of themes he is continuing a tradition which comes 
 down from the Middle Ages, sometimes he is pushing his 
 way forward in experimentation. Most often he is simply 
 doing what he sees others doing, — a follower of fashion. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Greene is typical of the period, both in his use of metres 
 already developed and in his love of making experiments in 
 verse forms. Most of the poetical measures attracted his 
 attention. These he sometimes employed just as he found 
 them at hand. Often, however, he employed them as the 
 bases of experimentation which, more frequently than in 
 any other way, took on the shape of new combinations of 
 old forms. 
 
 Greene's favorite metre, and it was the favorite metre of 
 most of the poets who wrote between the time of the decay 
 of the poulter's measure and that of the revival of the 
 sonnet, was the six-line iambic pentameter stanza riming 
 ababcc. About twenty-five of his poems, or more than a 
 hundred stanzas, have this structure. He uses it, without 
 discrimination as to theme, for all conceivable subjects: 
 love songs, songs of contentment. Anacreontics, pastorals, 
 repentances, or gnomic verses. More often than not, the 
 metre is used in its ordinary, simple form. 
 
 This six-line stanza is also used in other ways. In several 
 poems the concluding couplet of the stanza takes on the 
 
THE POETRY 145 
 
 nature of a refrain and is used in the same form, or in an 
 appropriate variant form as the individual stanza may re- 
 quire, throughout the poem. In one case,^^ the sixth line 
 only is so used. In the Song of Arion,^^ there are three 
 stanzas of this form, plus a concluding stanza of two heroic 
 couplets. Lamilia's Song in the Groatsworth of WW^^ con- 
 sists of two stanzas. The first four lines of each are in con- 
 formity to the type, but the couplet at the end, very slightly 
 in the nature of a refrain, is of hexameters instead of the 
 regular pentameters. The poem is made somewhat more 
 elaborate, too, by the use of a light-tripping refrain, thrice 
 used, — before the first stanza, after the second, and between 
 the two. This refrain is a quatrain, abab, a being feminine, 
 and each foot consisting of an iambic and an anapestic : 
 
 "Fie, fie on blind fancie, 
 It hinders youths joy: 
 Fayre Virgins learne by me, 
 To count love a toy." 
 
 Finally in the fable of the grasshopper and the ant,'^^ we have 
 three stanzas of this metre, intermingled with quatrains and 
 prose. 
 
 The ababcc stanza was in use in both pentameter and 
 tetrameter forms. Greene nowhere uses the tetrameter 
 form in its strict application. But he does write a variant 
 tetrameter stanza ^^ in which the first and third lines do not 
 rime, as one expects, so that we have the scheme, xbybcc. 
 
 Greene's next most important metre is the tetrameter 
 couplet. This metre he uses in fifteen poems, and in doing 
 so is following a fashion by no means so common as that of 
 
 " Francescos Roundelay, Vol., VIII p. 92. 
 
 73 Vol. XII., p. 65. 
 
 74 Vol. XII., p. 113. 
 '^ Vol. XII., p. 147. 
 
 76 Vol. III., p. 180; Vol. IV., p. 264. 
 
146 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 the stanza just spoken of. The use of the form itself was 
 comparatively rare before Greene's time, and the employ- 
 ment of trochaics in that form was even rarer. In fact the 
 use of any foot but the iambic was unusual. '^^ Tusser, to 
 be sure, regularly used the tetrameter couplet in anapests, 
 sometimes combining seven such couplets to make a '^ son- 
 net." ^^ But Tusser 's work is sporadic rather than typical. 
 In the Paradise of Dayntie Devises the tetrameter couplet 
 is used,^^ but here it is in iambics. And the tetrameter 
 couplet was used to a considerable extent by Turberville.^^ 
 In Turberville, however, as in the older poets where the form 
 is occasionally found, the foot is almost invariably iambic. 
 It is not until we come to the work of Greene and Nicholas 
 Breton that we find the trochee a staple element in verse 
 construction, — thenceforth common enough, in the seven 
 syllable, or truncated four-accent line, with many a later 
 song writer. Indeed it may perhaps be said that this 
 couplet, in the poetry of Greene, Breton, Shakespeare, 
 Barnfield, Browne, and Wither, supplanted the abahcc 
 form just as that itself had taken the place of the poulter's 
 measure and the fourteener as the popular verse form. 
 
 Professor Schelling thinks it reasonable to regard the 
 EngHsh trochaic measures ''not so much as attempts to 
 follow a foreign metrical system, as a continuance of the 
 original freedom of English verse as to the distribution of 
 
 " Gascoigne: — "Note you that commonly now a dayes in English 
 rimes (for I dare not call them English verses) we use none other order 
 but a foote of two sillables, wherof the first is depressed or made short, 
 and the second is elevate or made long; and that sound or scanning 
 continueth throughout the verse." Certayne Notes of Instruction. 
 Elizabethan Critical Essays. Ed. Gregory Smith, 1904. Vol. 1., 
 p. 50. 
 
 ^8 British Bibliographer, ed. Brydges and Haslewood, Vol. III., p. 20. 
 
 ^8 lb. The perfect tryall of a faythfuU freend. Yloop. 
 
 80 Ed. Chambers, Vol. II. 
 
THE POETRY 147 
 
 syllables." ^^ And he proceeds to state that ''most English 
 trochaics show a tendency to revert back to the more usual 
 iambic system by the addition of an initial unaccented 
 syllable." In illustration of the tendency, he cites Greene's 
 Ode, ^2 a poem of thirty-six lines, of which ten are, as he says, 
 iambic, the rest trochaic. In this particular case, the illus- 
 tration bears out the statement.^^ But unless we expand with 
 an unusual looseness the meaning of the word tendency 1 
 cannot believe that the statement of Professor Schelling is 
 of great significance, so far as Greene is concerned. To be 
 sure, several of his poems are about evenly divided as to 
 iambic and trochaic feet. On the other hand, we must 
 acknowledge that Greene's feeling for trochees is pretty 
 well developed when we find him writing a poem of thirty- 
 eight lines ^ of which practically one hundred per cent are 
 in strict conformity to rule, and when we find ten other 
 poems in which the per cent of trochees is equal to ninety 
 or above. 
 
 The next in importance of Greene's metres is his blank 
 verse. He has ten poems in this metre, about 225 lines. 
 It cannot be said that he used blank verse to any great 
 advantage (I am not referring to the dramas at all), or that 
 he had any conception of its possibilities. He very seldom 
 ends a thought elsewhere than at the end of a line, and he 
 makes nothing of the caesura as an element of artistic con- 
 struction. His blank verse has more of the qualities of the 
 heroic couplet than of blank verse proper, except that it 
 does not rime. Very often indeed, he intermingles heroic 
 
 ^1 Elizabethan Lyrics, ed, Schelling, 1895. Introduction, p. xl. 
 
 82 Vol XI., p. 123. 
 
 83 An even better illustration might have been the poem (Vol. IX., 
 p. 201) of eighty-eight lines in which twenty-five per cent only are 
 trochaic; or the description of Chaucer (Vol. XII., p. 209) of which only 
 one-fifth is in this measure. 
 
 w Vol. VIII., p. 13. 
 
148 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 couplets in his blank verse; and nearly all of his blank 
 verse poems have one or more couplets at the end. 
 
 Like his trochaic tetrameter couplet, Greene's blank verse 
 is of some interest in the history of English prosody. The 
 use of blank verse in TotteVs Miscellany, by Surrey and 
 Grimald, has often been spoken of, as has the blank verse 
 of Gascoigne's Steel Glas (1576).^^ But outside of these 
 instances and of the drama, blank verse was very rare in the 
 sixteenth century. It was especially rare in the use to which 
 Greene put it. As a matter of fact, blank verse lyrics are 
 so seldom to be met with in the history of English poetry 
 in any of its periods as to make even the rather insignificant 
 ones of Greene worth a casual mention. 
 
 Nine of Greene's poems are in quatrains. Five of these 
 are iambic pentameter, riming ahab. One of these abah 
 quatrains ^^ is a little irregular in having after each two 
 lines a short line of five or six syllables. Three poems are 
 in iambic pentameter quatrains, but these rime abba. One 
 other poem^^ is not really a quatrain at all, being merely 
 fourteeners printed as broken lines, as was the custom of 
 the day.^^ 
 
 Of the heroic couplet there is very little use in Greene's 
 poetry. He has but one poem in that kind of couplets, 
 and it is very short — only six lines. ^^ We have seen, 
 
 85 One might perhaps mention the blank verse of Spenser's earlier 
 translation of the Visions of Bellay (Grosart, Vol. III., p. 231). These 
 Spenser later rewrote. 
 
 86 Vol. VI., p. 65. 
 
 87 Vol. III., p. 248. 
 
 88 The absence from Greene's poetry of fourteeners, with this one 
 exception, and of the poulter's measure altogether, is interesting as 
 showing to what extent these metres had decreased in popularity as 
 l3rric forms. From being the almost universal measures of the sixties 
 and seventies, they have become by Greene's time almost archaic. 
 
 89 Vol. X., p. 200. 
 
THE POETRY 149 
 
 however, that Greene almost always used pentameter 
 couplets in connection with his blank verse. 
 
 Various other metres were used by Greene at different 
 times. These may be dismissed somewhat briefly, before 
 we come to the elaborate stanzas which he was so fond of 
 using. One of these metres is the rime royal, in which 
 Greene's longest poem is written. ^° Another use to which 
 Greene put the rime royal is the combination of two such 
 stanzas to make what he called a " sonnet." ^^ It is hard 
 to say whether Greene meant these to be sonnets or not. 
 The fact, however, that in the short poems the stanzas of 
 rime royal always occur in groups of two or four may, even 
 though the stanzas are printed separated, indicate that 
 Greene had in his mind a poem to consist of fourteen lines 
 or a multiple of fourteen lines, no matter of what those 
 fourteen lines might consist. 
 
 Of the sonnet proper Greene makes practically no use. 
 In view of the excessive amount of sonneteering which had 
 already begun before his death this absence is interesting. 
 There are only three real sonnets, — if a sonnet may be de- 
 fined as merely a one-stanza poem of fourteen lines, — and 
 no two of these are alike. One of them follows ^^ h^q j.[j^q 
 scheme ahbaaccadeedff, with the division in thought into the 
 octave and sestette, but not into the smaller divisions of 
 quatrain and triplet. Another ^^ consists of three abba 
 quatrains (all different) with a concluding couplet. Still a 
 third ^^ — if it be Greene's — is of the regular Shakesperiantype. 
 
 ^° A Maidens Dreame. Whether or not the Rare and Excelmt 
 Dreame of the Phoenix Nest is Greene's, it also is in rime royal. 
 
 91 For example, Vol. XI., p. 142; Vol. XII., p. 137. 
 
 92 Vol. XII., p. 129. 93 Vol. VIIL, p. 169. 
 
 9* Collins' ed. Vol. II., p. 248. None of the earlier editions of 
 Menaphon contain this poem entitled, "Dorastus (in Love-passion) 
 writes these lines in Praise of his loving and best-beloved Fawnia." 
 Although Collins and Dyce reprint it from editions of the late seven- 
 
150 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Ten-line sonnets were not uncommon during the period; 
 Greene has two of them, — Shakesperian sonnets with one 
 of the quatrains left out. One of these ten-line sonnets 
 forms the second stanza of the third poem just mentioned 
 above. 
 
 The ottava rima has one example, the repentance poem 
 spoken of above, which devotes a stanza to each of the signs 
 of the zodiac. Another poem^^ seems to consist of two 
 ten-stress couplets with lines divided to make eight five- 
 stress lines, plus two five-stress couplets, twelve lines in all. 
 The last of these isolated metres is in Menaphon's Song to 
 Pesana.^^ Here we have a poem of twelve lines of which 
 the simplest analysis seems to be that it consists of iambic 
 pentameter couplets, each line followed (thus breaking up 
 the couplet) by a short line of five or six syllables, and the 
 short lines also riming. Thus: 
 
 U-lU-lU-|U-|U- a 
 
 U - I O - I O h 
 
 0-lU-lO-|U-|0- a 
 
 U - I O - I a h 
 
 In the experiments with classical metres Greene took 
 little part. He attempted a couple of poems " in Latin, one 
 in the Sapphic, and one in the elegiac, measure. But with 
 neither of these, nor with any other stanzaic measure did 
 he work in English. His sole experimentation was con- 
 fined to the writing of English hexameters. In the four 
 poems which he wrote in this measure, ^^ Greene in no way 
 
 teenth century, it seems reasonable at least to retain some doubt as 
 to its authenticity. 
 
 86 Vol. III., p. 125. 
 96 Vol. VI., p. 105. 
 
 87 Vol. VII., p. 125; ih., p. 145. 
 
 98 Vol. II., p. 219; Vol. IX., p. 151; Ih., p. 159; 76.., p. 293. 
 
THE POETRY 151 
 
 followed the laws of Roman verse construction. Instead he 
 preserved the customary English accents, and made them 
 coincide with the metrical stress. 
 
 It is not surprising to find that the classical metres made 
 small appeal to Greene whose real poetic ability lay in 
 fanciful and sentimental songs in short-lined, and, we shall 
 soon see, in capriciously elaborate measures. With a talent 
 of such a nature he would have felt himself bound down by 
 the restrictions of the Latin models, and so it is true that 
 ''he could never have cultivated the classic metres with any 
 considerable result." ^^ 
 
 In two of his poems Greene revives an old-time custom 
 of intermingling French and Enghsh. One of these poems ^^^ 
 consists of nine stanzas, each of two lines of English and 
 four lines of French, — the French portion being the same 
 in all the stanzas. 
 
 Sweet Adon', darst not glaunce thine eye, 
 
 N'oserez vous, mon bel amy? 
 Upon thy Venus that must die, 
 
 Je vous en prie, pitie me: 
 N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
 
 N'oserez vous, mon bel amyf 
 
 Greene's second poem of this kind is one of seventeen lines 
 divided into three parts.^^^ These parts are all extremely 
 irregular, and contain, between them all, six lines of French. 
 We now come to the numerous elaborated stanzas which 
 Greene employed. These may perhaps be best taken up 
 singly in the order in which they occur in the novels. The 
 first of these, and one of the most complicated stanzas not 
 
 99 S. L. Wolff, Englische Studien, Vol. 37, p. 334. 
 
 ^"° Mr. Alfred Noyes has a poem in this same stanza form, ("Our 
 Lady of the Sea." Oxford Book of Victorian Verse, p. 935) except 
 that his stanza consists of eight lines, the additional number being 
 caused by the insertion of two lines just before the last two lines of 
 French. loi Vol. VIII., p. 217. 
 
152 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 only in Greene's work but in the whole period, is in Mena- 
 phon's Song.^^2 'pj^g poem is one of two stanzas of fourteen 
 lines each. This stanza Professor Erskine^^^ resolves into 
 the equivalent of Sidney's ten-line epigrammatic form, 
 which is the Shakespearian sonnet minus one quatrain, by 
 saying that it is composed ''of two quatrains in tetrapodies, 
 followed by a pentapody couplet"; and that, of the stanza 
 thus resolved into ten lines, the first, third, fifth, and seventh 
 lines "are broken by a sjmcopated foot at the second accent." 
 The explanation seems even more complicated than the 
 stanza. Perhaps it would be better to take the stanza 
 just as it is, and simply say that it consists of a group of 
 four triplets and one couplet. Each triplet consists of two 
 truncated two-stress trochaic feet plus a third line of 
 iambic tetrameter. The rime of the short lines is uniform 
 throughout; the longer lines rime in pairs, the first two 
 going together, and the last two. The couplet at the end 
 is heroic and has still a third rime. The scheme is thus 
 aab aab aac aac dd. 
 
 Lodge in his Rosalynde, 1590, in Montanus' Sonnet, imi- 
 tates this stanza of Greene's. He omits, however, the con- 
 cluding couplet, his two-stress lines do not all end in the 
 same word — most frequently they do not rime at all, — 
 and the long lines rime in alternation. In Tarlton's News 
 out of Purgatory, issued anonymously in 1590, we have 
 another variation of Greene's stanza. Whether this^'^'* poem 
 is, or is not, meant to be a parody on Lodge's poem, as Mr. 
 Bullen suggests, ^^^ is not of interest here, but the metre as 
 
 i'>2 Vol. VI., p. 41. 
 
 103 The Elizabethan Lyric, p. 238. 
 
 ^°^ Ronsards Description of his Mistris, which he Weres in his Hands 
 in Purgatory. 
 
 105 Lyrics from the Dramatists of the Elizabethan Age. Ed. Bullen. 
 1901, p. 287. 
 
THE POETRY 153 
 
 worked out in that poem deserves notice. The stanza there 
 is reduced to eight lines, two triplets and an iambic tet- 
 rameter (instead of pentameter) concluding couplet. The 
 short lines of the triplets do not rime, the long ones do. 
 
 The second of Greene's elaborate stanzas is to be seen in 
 Sephestia's Song to her Child. ^®® This is a stanza of eight 
 lines riming in couplets, the fourth couplet ending in the 
 same word and employing nearly the same phraseology in 
 all three stanzas. The couplets are truncated trochaic 
 tetrameter, and a certain syncopated effect is produced by 
 the frequent, but irregular, omission of the unaccented 
 syllable in the second trochee. The song has a refrain, 
 used, as Elizabethan refrains almost always are, before the 
 first, after the last, and between all of the middle stanzas. 
 This refrain is a couplet of four-stress lines made up of ten 
 syllables, and is interesting both for the use of the dactyls 
 and the lightness of movement produced by the six un- 
 accented syllables. Thus: 
 
 "Weepe not my wanton smile upon thy knee, 
 When thou art olde thers grief e inough for thee." 
 
 In Menaphon's Roundelay ^°^ we again have a stanza of ten 
 lines. It seems to consist of two quatrains plus a concluding 
 heroic couplet. Of these quatrains, the first rimes abba, 
 and has the first and fourth in five-stress, and the second 
 and third in two-stress. The second quatrain rimes cdcd, 
 having the second and fourth in five-stress, and the first 
 and third in two-stress. The measure throughout is iambic, 
 except for an occasional trochee at the beginning of a fine. 
 
 The complicated six-line stanza used in Doron's Jigge ^"^ 
 consists of a tetrapody iambic couplet, the two lines of which 
 are separated by a couplet of two-stress dactylic lines; the 
 
 "6 Vol. VI., p. 43. ^" Vol. VI., p. 59. "^ Vol. VI., p. 69. 
 
154 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 whole is followed by a two-stress anapestic couplet. The 
 rime scheme is thus ahhacc, and the rime 56 occurs in all the 
 stanzas. Greene calls this song a roundelay; rightly so, 
 in as much as a roundelay is a ''light poem, originally a 
 shepherd's dance, in which an idea or phrase is repeated, 
 often as a verse, or stanzaic refrain." ^°^ 
 
 Another variety of six-line stanza is that consisting funda- 
 mentally of an ahah iambic pentameter quatrain followed by 
 two iambic trimeter lines, unrimed. There are four stanzas, 
 and the trimeter lines after the first quatrain rime with 
 those after the second quatrain in cdcd fashion. Those after 
 the third quatrain rime with the lines after the fourth. 
 
 A curious stanza ^^"^ is that made up of nine lines and 
 riming ahc ahc ddb. All the lines are iambic pentameter 
 except dd which are dimeter. 
 
 On three different occasions ^^^ Greene made use of an 
 eight-line stanza. This stanza consists of four pentameter 
 lines with the second and fourth riming, but with the first 
 and third unrimed. Following these four lines are two one- 
 stress iambic lines unrimed. The stanza is completed by 
 a heroic couplet. 
 
 Radagon's Sonnet in Francescos Fortunes'^^^ consists of ten- 
 line stanzas. The stanzas are made up of two iambic pen- 
 tapody quatrains each followed by an iambic dimeter line. 
 All the dimeter lines have the same rime. The two quatrains 
 of each stanza exchange rimes, the first being abba, the second 
 being baab. 
 
 One of the most elaborately complicated metres is an 
 eight-line stanza consisting of one-, two- and five-stress 
 lines, all of which are iambic. The first, third, fifth, and 
 
 *•*• Schelling, Elizabethan Lyrics. Introduction, p. liii. 
 "0 Vol. VIII., p. 157. 
 
 1" Vol. VIII., p. 175; Vol. IX., p. 214; Vol. XII., p. 242. 
 "« Vol. VIII., p. 200. 
 
THE POETRY 
 
 155 
 
 eighth are pentameter; the second and fourth are dimeter; 
 and the sixth and seventh are one-stress. The first two 
 pentameters rime with each other; and the last two. The 
 dimeters rime with each other; the one-stress lines have no 
 rime, either with themselves or with anything else in the 
 stanza. 
 
 The last of Greene's elaborate metres ^^* is one of six 
 lines. It consists of two tetrapody couplets (about half 
 trochaic, half iambic) with a dimeter trochaic couplet between 
 them. 
 
 This tendency toward the elaborate stanza, which we 
 have been discussing at perhaps tedious length, was a late 
 development in Greene's career. The lyrics in the earlier 
 romances are simple in form, being for the most part in 
 the ahahcc stanza, in blank verse, or in quatrain. In Mena- 
 phon and Francescos Fortunes (1589 and 1590), however, 
 his fancy for experiment ran wild, and he produced multi- 
 tudinous effects with long and short lines, and combinations 
 of long and short lines, employing m the process all varieties, 
 and combinations of varieties, of poetic feet. 
 
 This keen interest in experimentation which Greene mani- 
 fests is a very striking characteristic of his time. All the 
 poets show this interest, Breton, Sidney, Lodge. But in 
 no one of them, Sidney perhaps excepted, is there greater 
 fertility in the production of new and unique effects. 
 
 IV 
 
 Greene's poetry is best appreciated when it is recollected 
 in tranquillity. Under such conditions that portion which 
 has no especial interest drops out of mind; and the memory, 
 thus rid of its impedimenta, not only retains with vividness 
 
 113 Vol. VIII., p. 212. 
 
156 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 certain individual poems, but creates for itself a unity of 
 impression which arises from the contemplation of the 
 ensemble. Not all poets demand this remoteness, for what 
 the reader gets from them is something immediate which 
 comes directly from contact with their works. But with 
 a man like Greene, it is better to remove oneself to a 
 little distance in order to obtain from him the pleasure 
 which it is his to give. 
 
 There is no message in Greene's poems, no criticism of 
 life, no truth and high seriousness. Greene as a poet is 
 not great any more than he is great as a dramatist or as a 
 writer of romance. But he is, when he is at his best, grace- 
 ful and charming. There is an atmosphere about some of 
 his poems, a fragrance which lingers and becomes the more 
 fragrant from being remembered. 
 
 Greene is not a personal singer. Except as no artist can 
 fail to manifest somewhat of his individuality, these songs 
 are not an expression of Greene himself. They are largely 
 conventional, — poetical exercises rather than an outpouring 
 of lyric emotion. The origin of them is in an impulse of 
 art rather than of feeling. It is not a song of himself that 
 Greene sings, nor is he giving the record of any emotional 
 experience. Not for this reason, then, can we cherish his 
 poems. 
 
 The quality which pervades the poetry is the same as 
 that which gives the charm to Menaphon. Greene's was a 
 sensitive nature. It took over much of sentiment and of 
 the manner of expression from the whole movement of the 
 Renaissance; it caught the spirit of that age so full at once 
 of activity and of romantic thought. All of these it used; 
 but it idealized them. It imparted a spirit of freshness 
 and refinement, an elevation which was at the same time 
 beautiful and idyllic. So it was in the poetry. Greene 
 sang because others were singing and he sang much the 
 
THE POETRY 157 
 
 same things. But he did it with a sweetness of voice and 
 a delicacy of understanding, whether he piped his songs in 
 Arcadia, or trilled and carolled the pangs of love, or exe- 
 cuted graceful turns of melody. Always, in those poems 
 which we remember, there is charm. 
 
 I shall not attempt here to make a representative selec- 
 tion from Greene. The poems we choose are not always 
 representative. Here and there, we take from out a poet's 
 work a little phrase, a line, a stanza, or refrain, often iso- 
 lated — somewhat meaningless even, as it stands alone. 
 But we remember it. And we wrap up in it very often the 
 whole significance of that poet's life. It has, like Brown- 
 ing's star, opened its soul to us and therefore we love it. 
 
 The Shepheards Wives Song 
 
 Ah what is love? It is a pretty thing, 
 As sweet unto a shepheard as a king, 
 
 And sweeter too: 
 For kings have cares that waite upon a Crowne, 
 And cares can make the sweetest love to frowne: 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If countrie loves such sweet desires do gaine, 
 What Lady would not love a Shepheard Swaine? 
 
 His flockes are foulded, he comes home at night. 
 As merry as a king in his delight. 
 
 And merrier too : 
 For kings bethinke them what the state require, 
 Where Shepheards carelesse Carroll by the fire. 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If countrie loves such sweet desires gaine 
 What Lady would not love a Shepheard Swaine. 
 
158 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Maesia's Song 
 
 Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, 
 the quiet mind is richer than a crowne, 
 
 Sweet are the nights in carelesse slumber spent, 
 the poore estate scorne fortunes angrie frowne. 
 
 Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such blis 
 beggers injoy when Princes oft do mis. 
 
 The homely house that harbors quiet rest, 
 the cottage that affoords no pride nor care, 
 
 The meane that grees with Countrie musick best, 
 the sweet consort of mirth and musicks fare. 
 
 Obscured life sets downe a type of blis, 
 
 a minde content both crowne and kingdome is. 
 
 Philomelas Ode 
 
 Sitting by a River's side. 
 Where a silent streame did glide. 
 Muse I did of many things. 
 That the mind in quiet brings. . . . 
 
 Lamilias Song 
 
 Fie, fie on blind fancie. 
 It hinders youths joy: 
 Fayre Virgins learne by me, 
 To count love a toy. 
 
 Sonnet 
 
 Cupid abroade was lated in the night. 
 
 His winges were wet with ranging in the raine, 
 
 Harbour he sought, to mee hee tooke his flight. 
 To dry his plumes I heard the boy complaine. 
 
THE POETRY 159 
 
 I opte the doore, and graunted his desire, 
 I rose my selfe and made the wagge a fire. 
 
 Looking more narrow by the fiers flame, 
 
 I spied his quiver hanging by his back: 
 Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, 
 I would have gone for feare of further wrack. 
 But what I drad, did mee poore wretch betide : 
 For forth he drew an arrow from his side. 
 
 He pierst the quick, and I began to start, 
 
 A pleasing wound but that it was too hie, 
 His shaft procurde a sharpe yet sugred smart. 
 Away he flewe, for why his wings were dry. 
 But left the arrow sticking in my breast : 
 That sore I greevde I welcomd such a guest. 
 
 Infidas Song 
 
 Sweet Adon', darst not glaunce thine eye. 
 
 N^oserez vous, mon bel amy? 
 Upon thy Venus that must die, 
 
 Je vous en prie, pitie me : 
 N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
 
 N'oserez vous, mon bel amy? 
 
 Sephestias Song to Her Childe 
 
 Weepe not my wanton smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art olde ther's griefe inough for thee. 
 
 Mothers wagge, pretie boy, 
 
 Fathers sorrow, fathers joy. 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 
 Such a boy by him and mee. 
 
160 EGBERT GREENE 
 
 He was glad, I was woe, 
 
 Fortune changde made him so, 
 
 When he left his pretie boy. 
 
 Last his sorrowe first his joy. 
 Weepe not my wanton smile upon my knee : 
 When thou arte olde ther's griefe inough for thee. 
 
 Philomelaes Second Oade 
 
 Fields were bare, and trees unclad, 
 Flowers withered, byrdes were sad : 
 When I saw a shepheard fold, 
 Sheepe in Coate to shunne the cold : 
 Himselfe sitting on the grasse, 
 That with frost withered was: 
 Sighing deepely, thus gan say, 
 Love is folly when astray: . . . 
 Thence growes jarres thus I find 
 Love is folly, if unkind; 
 Yet doe men most desire 
 To be heated with this fire: 
 Whose flame is so pleasing hot. 
 That they burne, yet f eele it not : . . . 
 Here he paused and did stay. 
 Sighed and rose and went away. 
 
 DoRONS Jigge 
 
 ... I gan to woo 
 
 This sweete little one. 
 This bonny pretie one. 
 I wooed hard a day or two. 
 Till she bad: 
 Be not sad. 
 
THE POETRY 161 
 
 Wooe no more I am thine owne, 
 Thy dearest little one, 
 Thy truest pretie one: 
 Thus was faith and firme love showne, 
 As behooves 
 Shepheards loves. 
 
 Menaphons Song 
 
 Some say Love 
 Foolish Love 
 
 Doth rule and governe all the Gods, 
 I say Love, 
 Inconstant Love 
 
 Sets mens senses farre at ods. 
 Some sweare Love 
 Smoothed face Love 
 
 Is sweetest sweete that men can have: 
 I say Love, 
 Sower Love 
 
 Makes vertue yeeld as beauties slave. 
 A bitter sweete, a follie worst of all 
 That forceth wisedome to be follies thrall. 
 
 DORONS ECOLOGUE JOYND WITH CaRMELAS 
 
 Carmela 
 
 Ah Doron, ah my heart, thou art as white, 
 As is my mothers Calfe or brinded Cow, 
 Thine eyes are like the glow-worms in the night, 
 Thine haires resemble thickest of the snow. 
 
162 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Doron 
 
 Carmela deare, even as the golden ball 
 That Venus got, such are thy goodly eyes, 
 When cherries juice is jumbled therewithall, 
 Thy breath is like the steeme of apple pies. 
 
 Thy lippes resemble two Cowcumbers faire, 
 Thy teeth like to the tuskes of fattest swine, 
 Thy speach is like the thunder in the aire : 
 Would God thy toes, thy lippes and all were mine. 
 
 Carmela 
 
 I thanke you Doron, and will thinke on you, 
 I love you Doron, and will winke on you. 
 I seale your charter pattent with my thummes. 
 Come kisse and part for feare my mother comes. 
 
 The reader familiar with Elizabethan poetry will recog- 
 nize much that is conventional. He will perceive readily 
 that Greene is the child of his time. They were all a family 
 of poets, — Greene, Breton, Lodge, Barnfield. Shakespeare 
 was only a more gifted brother. But such a reader, or one 
 who is not so aware of Greene's likeness to his fellows, 
 cannot fail to see the delicacy with which these poems are 
 executed. 
 
 We have here only eleven of the ninety, it is true, and 
 not all of those — a selection in miniature. It contains, 
 nevertheless, the best of Greene as a poet, and small as it is, 
 it makes up the most pleasing part of his works. Greene 
 is often insincere; he is interested in literature for what it 
 yields him. These lyrics he wrote because they were the 
 fashion. But of songs imbedded in a romance or tale of 
 any sort we do not expect much. We judge them for their 
 
THE POETRY 163 
 
 beauty, and are satisfied if they give us pretty sentiment 
 or musical verses. We come to them disinterestedly. 
 Perhaps we do not quite, with Carlyle, make our claim a 
 zero and get infinity for our quotient. But when we get 
 pleasure, the pleasure is gain. 
 
 The selection reveals, too, a phase of Greene as a man. 
 It shows the more tender, graceful side of his nature. There 
 is nothing garish about it. Greene's taste in discrimination 
 between the fanciful and the ultra-fanciful was not always 
 sure. His fondness for fine clothes and his manner of wear- 
 ing his beard are characteristics which appear in his writings. 
 There is manifested a feeling for the artistic; at the same 
 time, there is no limit before which to stop. If he is writing 
 a romance, he has it romantic to excess; a didactic pamphlet, 
 he forces ideas upon us at every turn. In his poetry, taken 
 altogether, the same defect is present. But with the poetry 
 — something which is impossible with the prose works — 
 we can cut away the parts which are bad, and leave that 
 which is good discernible and clear. Reduced thus to 
 minute compass, sublimated, what is either dull or fan- 
 tastic in the mass becomes pure and undefiled. It can be 
 recognized as the product of a genuinely artistic imagination. 
 
 Greene has not the honor of a place in the Golden Treasury, 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 CHRONOLOGY OF GREENE'S NON-DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 For most of Greene's works a statement of the date is an 
 easy matter. In connection with a few of them there are 
 difficult problems. 
 
 The first novel which we have from Greene's pen is 
 Mamillia, a Mirrour or looking-glasse for the Ladies of Eng- 
 lande. This work is by "Robert Greene, Graduate in 
 Cambridge," and it was "Imprinted at London for Thomas 
 Woodcocke, 1583." Of this 1583 edition, one of two things 
 must be true. Either it was not the first edition, or the 
 work was delayed in publication. That it was written 
 earlier is clear from an entry in the Stationers' Register 
 (Arber, II., 378) as follows: 
 
 3rd October, 1580. 
 
 Thomas Woodcock: Lycenced unto him "Manilla," a lookinge 
 glasse for ye ladies of England. 
 
 If the year 1580 saw an edition, all copies have been lost. 
 On the other hand, there is no satisfactory explanation for 
 the three years' delay of publication, especially when we 
 remember that it was licensed in 1580 to the very man for 
 whom it was printed in 1583. 
 
 Mamillia: the second part of the triumph of Pallas offers 
 a similar problem. It is dated "From my Studie in Clare- 
 hall the vij of lulie," presumably in 1583. Two months 
 later it was entered on the Register (II., p. 428) : 
 
 6 September, 1583. 
 Master Ponsonbye: Licenced to him under Master Watkins hande 
 a booke entituled "Mamilia, The seconde parte of the tryumphe of 
 Pallas wherein with perpetuall fame the constancie of gentlewomen 
 is Canonized." 
 
 164 
 
CHRONOLOGY OF THE NON-DRAMATIC WORKS 165 
 
 The title-page declares it to be "by Robert Greene, Maister 
 of Arts, in Cambridge," and to have been printed at London 
 by ''Th. C. for William Ponsonbie." The date, surprisingly, 
 is 1593. We have here a difference of ten years, a difference 
 as strangely unaccountable as that of the First Part, for 
 the Second Part, too, was both licensed by, and printed for, 
 the same man. Various theories have been propounded, 
 among them those of Bernhardi,^ as an explanation of these 
 facts; but the wisest course seems to be that of saying merely 
 that there is no explanation. 
 
 Of the Myrrour of Modestie there is nothing to state 
 except that there was apparently only one edition, that 
 "Imprinted at London by Roger Warde'' 1584, and that 
 there is no entry of the pamphlet in the Stationers' 
 Register. 
 
 The year 1584 saw the production of four other works. 
 The first of these was Greenes Garde of Fancie. Of this work 
 the earliest known edition is that of 1587. I think there 
 can be no doubt, however, that the pamphlet pubhshed in 
 1587 by Ponsonby is to be identified with that entered by 
 him on April 11, 1584, that "yt is granted unto him that if 
 he gett the card of phantasie lawfullie allowed unto him, 
 that then he shall enioye yt as his own copie." 
 
 As regards Arhasto, in spite of the fact that Grosart 
 found in the S. R. no early notice of it, the pamphlet was, 
 nevertheless, entered therein on the thirteenth of August, 
 1584.2 It was published that same year by Jackson, and 
 it is the first of Greene's works to bear on its title-page his 
 celebrated motto, "Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile 
 dulci." 
 
 * Robert Greenes Leben und Schriften. Fine historisch-kritische 
 Studie. Leipzig. 1874. 
 
 * Hugh Jackson: Receaved of him for printinge a booke intituled 
 Arbasto the Anatomie of fortune . . . vj d. 
 
166 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Concerning Morando, the Tritameron of Love, there is some 
 doubt as to the date of its first appearance. There is an 
 entry in the S. R. by Edward White for August 8, 1586; 
 but this entry, it is more than likely, refers to an edition 
 in two parts (the only edition of which we have any knowl- 
 edge) by the same publisher in 1587. Grosart (Vol. III., 
 p. 44) mentions a ''Part 1st, of 1584, in the Bodleian," 
 and it is probable that there was such an edition. For 
 as Storojenko (Gros. Vol. I., p. 75) points out, the Earl of 
 Arundel, to whom the work is dedicated, "was committed 
 to the Tower for high treason in the following year"^ and 
 he remained in the Tower for the rest of his life. It is not 
 likely that Greene would have dedicated a pamphlet to him 
 after that event. 
 
 One work only dates from 1585. This is the Planetomachia: 
 or the first parte of the generall opposition of the seven 
 Planets. It was imprinted for Thomas Cadman. 
 
 After 1585 we have no new work of Greene until 1587. 
 But for June 11 of that year, the S. R. has an entry: 
 
 Edward Aggas: Received of him for Grene his farewell to follie 
 . . . vj d. 
 
 No copy of an edition of 1587 has come down to us. The 
 earliest that we have is of the edition of 1591, printed by 
 Thomas Scarlet, and giving as Greene's title, ''Utriusque 
 Academiae in Artibus magister." Now there is no reason 
 for believing that an edition of 1587 was ever made. That 
 it was written then in some form or other, is possibly true.^ 
 
 3 April 25, 1585. See D. N. B. for Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel. 
 Arundel had become a Catholic in September of the preceding year. 
 
 * The fact that the Farewell to Follie is, as we have seen (p. 23) 
 related definitely to that large group of didactic and quasi-didactic 
 frame- work tales which were so abundant in Greene's work about 1587, 
 and the fact that it, of all of Greene's work, shows the largest amount 
 
CHRONOLOGY OF THE NON-DRAMATIC WORKS 167 
 
 It is also true that it may have been published later in the 
 form in which it was originally written. There is no way 
 of knowing about that. But, it is evident that the prefatory 
 addresses at least, as we now have them, were not written 
 before the end of 1590. The statement, ''I presented you 
 alate with my mourning garment"^ fixes November 2, 1590, 
 as the earliest date, for that was the date on which the Mourn- 
 ing Garment was licensed.^ 
 
 Of the Farewell to Follie, Edward Aggas either was, or 
 was to have been, the publisher. He actually was the 
 publisher of Penelopes Web which was prepared about this 
 time and which may, of course, as Simpson suggests,^ have 
 been substituted for the Farewell to Follie. Penelopes Web 
 was licensed June 26, 1587, and was printed that year. 
 Three months later, on September 18, Euphues his Censure to 
 Philautus was licensed to Edward White, and this book too 
 was pubhshed in 1587. 
 
 On March 29, 1588, there was allowed unto this same 
 publisher, Edward White, the pamphlet ^'intytuled Perymedes 
 the black smith; and on December 9, Alcida Greenes Meta- 
 morphosis was entered by John Wolf. Whether for Edward 
 White is not known, for the earliest edition we possess is that 
 printed by George Purslowe in 1617.^ Sometime between 
 
 of borrowing from Primaudaye's Academy (translated 1586) may put 
 probability upon the year 1587, as the date of composition. 
 
 5 Vol. IX., p. 230. 
 
 ^ References to Tomliuclin (Tamberlaine [?] pub. 1590) and to 
 Martin Marprelate are taken by Simpson {School of Shakespeare, Vol. 
 II., p. 349) as further evidence that 1591 is the date of the first edition. 
 
 ^ School of Shakespeare. Vol. II., p. 350. 
 
 * There can be no doubt that there was an earlier edition than 
 that of 1617. The piece is mentioned among Greene's most popular 
 works by R. B. the author of ''Greene his funeralles" which was licensed 
 to John Danter February 1, 1594. I fail to see any force to Storo- 
 jenko's argument that the book was not published at once after Decem- 
 
168 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 March 29 and December 9, 1588, it is most likely that 
 Pandosto should be placed. This celebrated pamphlet was 
 printed by Thomas Orwin for Thomas Cadman in 1588. 
 There is no entry of Pandosto in the S. R. 
 
 On February 1, of the next year, was licensed the Spanish 
 Masquerado, the first of Greene's extant works which was 
 not a novel. It was reprinted the same year. 
 
 Thomas Orwin also printed, this time for Sampson Clarke, 
 Menaphon, of which the entry in the S. R. was made 
 August 23, 1589. During this same year Ciceronis Amor 
 also was printed,^ although there was no entry of it in 
 the S. R. 
 
 The earliest novel of 1590 is Orpharion, which was licensed 
 on January 9.^® This work must have been planned and pos- 
 sibly written nearly a year before the date of licensing,^^ for 
 Greene mentions it in his preface to Perymedes, March 29, 
 1588, when he speaks of "Orpharion, which I promise to make 
 you merry with the next tearme." In the preface to theOrpha- 
 rion itself he apologizes for the long delay, when he says, "I 
 have long promised my Orpharion ... at last it is leapt into 
 the Stacioners Shoppe, but not from my Study ... the 
 Printer had it long since : marry whether his presse were out 
 of tune. Paper deere, or some other secret delay drive it off, 
 it hath line this twelve months in the suds." The earliest 
 edition of which we have an example is that of 1599. 
 
 On April 15, the Royal Exchange was licensed. This work 
 contained ''sundry aphorisms of Phylosophie," and was 
 'Tyrst written in Italian and dedicated to the Signorie of 
 
 her 9, 1588. Storojenko argues that it must have been published after 
 Nashe's Anatomie of Ahsurditie, else, Alcida being against women, 
 Nashe could not have spoken of Greene as the "Homer of Women." 
 (Gros. Vol. I., p. 95.) 
 
 ' For Thomas Newman and John Winington. 
 
 " Not hcensed in 1589 as Grosart (Vol. XII., p. 3) thought. 
 
 ^^ Licensed by Edward White. 
 
CHRONOLOGY OF THE NON-DRAMATIC WORKS 169 
 
 Venice, nowe translated into English and offered to the Cittie 
 of London." The author of La Burza Reale is unknown. 
 
 With regard to the other works of 1590, the situation is 
 complicated. The only date that we can fix is that of the li- 
 censing of Greene's Mourning Garment on November 2, 1590. 
 That two other novels belong to this same year, is shown 
 by their title-pages; the Never too Late and the Francescos 
 Fortunes: or the second part of Greenes never too late. But 
 it is not certain to what part of the year to assign them, 
 for there are no entries in the S. R. There is a complica- 
 tion, too, which arises from the uncertainty of the date of 
 Greene's Vision^ which may, or more likely may not, belong 
 to this same year. 
 
 The title-page of the Vision (which was undoubtedly one 
 of the many papers which Chettle, in Kind-harts Dream, tells 
 us were left in booksellers' hands) states that it was "Written 
 at the instant of his death." Thomas Newman, the pub- 
 lisher, in his dedicatory address tells us that "it was one 
 of the last works of a wel known Author," and assures us 
 that although "manie have published repentaunces under 
 his name," yet there are "none more unfeigned than this, 
 being euerie word his owne: his own phrase, his own method." 
 Greene's address to the Gentlemen Readers is, I think, clearly 
 a genuine statement from his own pen, and may, it seems 
 to me, be considered as having been among the latest of 
 Greene's writings. There is no reason, that I can see, for 
 the doubt expressed by Mr. Collins as to this fact;^^ ^qj. 
 for not thinking that the Vision was prepared for publication 
 
 " "It would be interesting to be able to determine whether the 
 Address to the Gentlemen Readers was written, as it may have been, 
 by himself at the instant of his death, or whether it was written in 
 1590 under the stress of a severe illness when he thought himself on 
 the point of death, or whether, finally, it was a forgery of the pub- 
 lisher." (Collins, Vol. I., General Introduction, p. 26, note 2.) 
 
170 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 very shortly before Greene's death in an attempt to relieve 
 if possible the dire poverty of those last days. 
 
 The saying, however, that the work was prepared for 
 pubhcation late in August, 1592, is not saying that it was 
 necessarily written then. Indeed, I am inclined to believe 
 that it was not written then. The style is much less direct 
 than that of the ending of the Groatwsorth of Wit and of 
 the Repentance. Moreover, the pamphlet seems rather to 
 be a frame-work tale for the two stories by "Chaucer" and 
 by "Gower" than to partake of the nature of the other 
 repentance pamphlets. Neither do the three poems which 
 the work contains resemble the poems of the more serious 
 novels. And so it does not seem unreasonable to suppose 
 that it may have been written at any time between a date a 
 few months subsequent to the date of the events to which 
 it relates (the publication of the Cobbler of Canterbury in 
 1590 and the subsequent repentance for folly on Greene's 
 part) and the time of Greene's last illness. That it may have 
 been written as a frame-work tale and at the last moment 
 made over into a repentant pamphlet is not an altogether 
 impossible supposition. 
 
 The Vision is of considerable importance in determining 
 the order of the three novels, besides Orpharion, which date 
 definitely from 1590, for it contains a reference to two of 
 them: "Only this (father Gower) I must end my nunquam 
 sera est, and for that I craue pardon: . . . looke as speedily 
 as the presse will serue for my mourning garment." ^^ Mr. 
 Collins, on the basis of these references, places the composi- 
 tion of the Vision in the midst of the composition of the 
 other two. As I have said, I do not see how all of it at least 
 can be put there. "After I was burdened with the penning 
 of the Cobbler of Canterbury" does not sound like a state- 
 ment immediately following the publication of that las- 
 »3 Vol. XII., p. 274. 
 
CHRONOLOGY OF THE NON-DRAMATIC WORKS 171 
 
 civious pamphlet. And there is another consideration 
 against the Vision^ s having been written just then. The 
 events described in the Vision undoubtedly occurred in 
 1590. But never in 1590, nor until much later, was Greene 
 personal in his writings. We think of him as having talked 
 a great deal about himself, and the death-bed pamphlets 
 are those we usually read first. But we must remember 
 that by 1590 Greene had really said very little, and that 
 it was not until August, 1592, that he wrote of himself 
 personally — in the Groatsworth of Wit and in the Repentance. 
 We can hardly, therefore, place the Vision as early as 1590. 
 This dating does not in any way conflict with the references 
 to the Never too Late and the Mourning Garment. Greene 
 in the Vision was looking back upon events as they occurred, 
 and from that point of view did have those books still to 
 finish. 
 
 To come back now to the other novels. Greene evidently 
 was writing the Never too Late when the events described 
 in the Vision occurred, for he asked Father Gower for per- 
 mission to finish it before he took up the Mourning Garment. 
 At the end of the Never too Late, however, Greene promises 
 us a sequel: ''As soone as may bee Gentlemen, looke for 
 Francescos further fortunes, and after that my Farewell to 
 FoUie, and then adieu to all amorous Pamphlets."^* The 
 Francescos Fortunes soon followed, which with more show 
 of protestation than of sincerity, perhaps, Greene says 
 would not have gone to press ''had it not been promised." ^^ 
 And then, before preparing the Farewell to Follie which had 
 been promised at the end of Never too Late, Greene turned 
 to write the Mourning Garment to which he makes reference 
 in the Vision, and which he speaks of in the preface to the 
 Farewell to Follie.^^ 
 
 " Vol. VIIL, p. 109. ^5 Vol. VIII., p. 118. 
 
 16 Vol. IX., p. 230. 
 
172 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 So much then for the novels of 1590, with Orpharion first 
 on January 9, and Mourning Garment last, on November 2. 
 Between these two dates come Never too Late and Fran- 
 cescos Fortunes. As for the Vision, it may belong anywhere 
 from the latter half of 1590 on to 1592. 
 
 In 1591 the Farewell to Follie was the only novel published. 
 This pamphlet we have already discussed. 
 
 On December 6, 1591, Greene published A Maidens Dreame, 
 his only extant poem which is not part of a work of fiction. 
 
 One week later, December 13, were entered the first of the 
 conny-catching pamphlets : 
 
 Edward White and Thomas Nelson: Entred . . . The arte of Connye 
 katching. 
 
 William Wright: Entred for his copie to be printed always for him 
 by John Wolf The second parte of Connye katching. 
 
 The Thirde and last Part was entered February 7, 1592, 
 by Thomas Scarlet, for Cutberd Burbie. The Defence of 
 Conny 'Catching was licensed April 21. A Disputation 
 Betweene a Hee and a Shee Conny-Catcher dates from about 
 this time, a little later perhaps. 
 
 Philomela was licensed July 1, 1592. Greene says it was 
 written earlier." From its dissimilarity to the realistic 
 pamphlets among which it appears, and from its striking 
 likeness to some of the earlier work, the romance may be, no 
 doubt, placed, as Dr. Wolff says,^^ with the 1584-7 group or 
 with the PandostO'Menaphon group of 1588-9. It is rather 
 characteristic of Greene that in addition to his apology for 
 publishing a love pamphlet after the promises made in the 
 Mourning Garment and the Farewell to Follie, he should 
 change his motto from the Omne tulit, which he used on 
 
 1^ ". . . which I had writen long since & kept charily." Vol. XI., 
 p. 109. 
 
 ^ Greek Romances, p. 405. 
 
CHRONOLOGY OF THE NON-DRAMATIC WORK 173 
 
 similar romances, to the Sero sed serio of the prodigal-son 
 romances. On July 20, A Quippe for an Upstart Courtier 
 appeared. The Blacke Books Messenger, or the Life and 
 Death of Ned Browne, was entered August 21. 
 
 The last novel from Greene's pen is the Groatsworth of Wit. 
 When this was started there is no way of knowing. But 
 the last part of it, surely, was written during Greene's last 
 days when the seriousness of his illness was making itself 
 felt. It was not published until after his death, having 
 been licensed on September 20, 1592. The earliest known 
 edition is that of 1596. 
 
 The last date we have to mention is October 6, when 
 the Repentance appeared. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE PLAYS 
 
 (A) The Chronology of the Plays 
 
 There is no doubt that The Comical History of AlphonsuSj 
 King of Arragon,^ is the earliest play that has come to us 
 from Greene's pen. Upon this fact scholars are agreed. 
 In addition to the crudity of the play in regard to general 
 style and mechanism, which show immaturity, there are 
 Greene's own lines in the Prologue, 
 
 "And this my hand, which used for to pen 
 The praise of love and Cupid's peerless power, 
 Will now begin to treat of bloody Mars, 
 Of doughty deeds and valiant victories, "^ 
 
 * The earliest examplar "as it hath been sundrie times acted" was 
 printed by Thomas Creede, 1599; this is the only one of Greene's 
 plays which has no motto. 
 
 2 This passage in Greene's prologue may be a challenge to Marlowe, 
 or it may be an imitation of Marlowe's prologue to Tamburlaine: 
 "From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits. 
 And such conceits as clownage keeps in play, 
 We'll lead you to the stately tent of war." 
 Passages like Marlowe's and Greene's may, however, both be just 
 following a fashion. Such passages were at least not unknown in 
 poetry. In England's Helicon (Ed. Bullen, p. 240) there is "An 
 Heroical Poem" which contains these lines: 
 
 "My wanton Muse that whilom wont to sing 
 Fair beauty's praise and Venus' sweet delight, 
 Of late had changed the tenor of her string 
 To higher tunes than serve for Cupid's fight. 
 Shrill trumpet's sound, sharp swords, and lances strong. 
 War, blood, and death were matter of her song." 
 174 
 
THE PLAYS 175 
 
 which have been taken to mean that in Alphonsus Greene 
 turned from novels to plays, inspired to do so, it is further 
 agreed, by the success of Tamhurlaine. 
 
 But though Alphonsus is recognized as his earliest dramatic 
 production, the date at which Greene began to write plays 
 has been a matter of discussion. Especially so, since the 
 appearance of the edition of Greene's plays ^ by the late Mr. 
 Churton CoUins, who argued for a much later date than any 
 hitherto proposed.^ 
 
 Granting the relation between Alphonsus and Tamhurlaine 
 as that of copy and model, Mr. Collins, nevertheless, places 
 Alphonsus as not earlier than 1591. Most important among 
 his reasons for this date is the similarity between the pro- 
 logue to Alphonsus and certain passages in Spenser's Com- 
 plaints (published 1591). In The Teares of the Muses, 
 Spenser, through the mouth of Calliope, deplores the 
 decay of poetry and the want of heroic themes. The 
 Muse threatens eternal silence. Alphonsus as a hero satis- 
 fies Calliope, according to Greene's prologue, and she deter- 
 mines to break her silence. Greene's play is, therefore, a 
 response to Spenser's Complaints. Certain parallels of 
 
 In the heroical poems of Daniel and Drayton there are indications 
 of this same kind of ostentatious introduction. 
 
 Recognition of the prevalence of such passages as that of Greene's, 
 while it casts a httle doubt upon Greene's challenge to Marlowe, does 
 not alter the relation between the two plays; nor does it in any way 
 lessen the probability that Alphonsus is Greene's first play. 
 
 3 The Plays and Poems of Robert Greene, Ed. with Introductions 
 and Notes, by J. Churton Collins. Clarendon Press, 1905. 
 
 4 The whole matter, it may be said, is very difficult. The problem 
 of the dates — and the authorship, too — of Greene's plays is perhaps 
 unsolvable, and it is to be doubted whether anything more definite 
 than approximations can be reached. To the discussions of dates and 
 authorship I have little to add. What I say, largely by way of sum- 
 mary, may be found in the writing of Gayley, Greg, Storojenko, and 
 Collins. 
 
176 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 thought and diction bear out this same conclusion. Addi- 
 tional reasons Mr. Collins finds as follows: In none of his 
 works before 1591 does Greene mention his plays, although 
 he mentions his novels; Nashe says nothing of Greeners 
 plays in the Preface to Menaphon (1589); nor do the com- 
 mendatory verses to Menaphon (1589), to Perymedes (1588), 
 to Alcida (1588), have any such references. The possible 
 objection that, since Tamburlaine was produced as early as 
 1587, 1591 would be a rather late date at which to be paro- 
 dying it, is answered by the statement that Tamburlaine had 
 continued to be popular upon the stage and that additional 
 prominence had been given to it by its publication in 1590. 
 Such are, briefly, Mr. Collins' reasons for his choosing 
 1591 as the date of Alphonsus. Mr. W. W. Greg, reviewing 
 Collins' work,^ attacked the theory. Mr. Greg says that the 
 question turns "upon the interpretation of an important but 
 obscure passage in the Preface to Perymedes ^\ dated 1588: 
 
 "I keepe my old course, to palter up some thing in Prose, using 
 mine old poesie still, Omne tulit punctum, although latelye two Gentle- 
 men Poets made two mad men of Rome beate it out of their paper 
 bucklers: & had it in derision, for that I could not make my verses 
 jet it upon the stage in tragicall buskins, everie worde filling the mouth 
 like the faburden of Bo-Bell, daring God out of heaven with that 
 Atheist Tamburlan, or blaspheming with the mad preest of the sonne."* 
 
 The full meaning of Greene's words cannot be known, but 
 two interpretations may be given to the passage as a whole. 
 One is to the effect that Greene is taunted for not having 
 written plays; the other, to the effect that he has done so 
 and failed. Collins, arguing for a late date for Alphonsus, 
 believes the latter to be the more sensible interpretation. 
 Greg agrees.^ But he would place Alphonsus immediately 
 
 ^ Modern Language Review, Vol. I. ^ Vol. VII., p. 8. 
 
 ' This is the interpretation given by Mr. Gayley also. {Repre- 
 sentative English Comedies. Vol. I., p. 403.) 
 
THE PLAYS 177 
 
 after Tamhurlaine, not later than 1588. As for the simi- 
 larities to Spenser, Mr. Greg considers them of little worth. 
 '^Supposing the parallels to have the least force, which it is 
 difficult to grant, nothing follows, since, as Professor Collins 
 himself admits, the poems in question circulated in MS. for 
 several years before they issued from the press. "^ 
 
 In addition to his refutation of Collins' statements, Greg 
 brings forward another argument for the year 1587. It is 
 this. Delphrigus and the King of the Fairies are men- 
 tioned as famous parts by the player who in Groatsworth 
 of Wit induced Roberto to become a maker of plays. The 
 detail in Groatsworth of Wit is, Mr. Greg thinks, a personal 
 recollection, and indicates that these plays were popular 
 when Greene began to write plays. Now Nashe, in the 
 Preface to Menaphon speaks of the ''company of taffety 
 fools" who "might have antickt it untill this time up and 
 downe the countrey with the King of Fairies, and dined 
 every day at the pease porredge ordinary with Delphrigus." 
 The plays, that is, were old in 1589. Hence Greg con- 
 cludes, in 1587 — immediately after the success of Tamhur- 
 laine — Greene wrote his Alphonsus. 
 
 On account of the closeness of the relationship between 
 Alphonsus and Marlowe's play, 1587 or 1588 has been 
 accepted by Fleay, Storojenko, Dickinson, Gayley, and 
 Greg. Against the belief of these men, the argument of 
 Professor Collins for a later date seems unconvincing. 
 
 Greene's second play, it is almost generally believed, was 
 A Looking Glasse for London and Englande. This play 
 Gayley assigns to 1587. Storojenko and Grosart place it 
 late in 1588 or early in 1589. Collins puts it in 1590 or 
 1591, as a part of Greene's ''repentant" work. The state- 
 ment of Collins, in view of what has been said in an earlier 
 chapter regarding Greene's repentance, need not detain us 
 
 8 Mod. Lang. Rev. Vol. I., p. 244. 
 
178 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 here. As for the others, they agree that 1589 may be safely 
 considered as the latest possible date, on account of a pas- 
 sage at the end of Lodge's Scillaes Metamorphosis, 
 
 "To write no more of that whence shame doth grow, 
 Or tie my pen to penny-knaves delight, 
 But live with fame and so for fame to write."' 
 
 I can see no particular force to the argument. In the 
 first place, inasmuch as the lines occur at the end of a poem 
 and not of a play, I cannot see that Lodge is referring to plays 
 particularly and not to all kinds of writing for pennj^-knaves' 
 delight. In the second place Lodge is not to be taken too 
 seriously. His statement is nothing more than the con- 
 ventional apology for the ''trifle" therewith presented. ^° 
 As for 1589, however, it is hkely that the Looking Glasse 
 was written before that date. 
 
 About 1588 Lodge sailed with Captain Clarke to Tercera 
 and the Canaries. He wrote some commendatory verses for 
 Greene's Spanish Masquerado (licensed February 1, 1589), and 
 published his own Scillaes Metamorphosis on September 22. 
 He and Greene may have collaborated during the summer, after 
 Lodge's return. But Gayley's point is well taken that, since 
 the play contains no reference to the Armada (and such a 
 play might very naturally contain such references). Lodge 
 and Greene produced it before Lodge left England in 1588. 
 It does not seem necessary, however, to put the date as 
 early as Gayley does, — June, 1587, the time when Spain and 
 the Pope joined forces in a treaty. 
 
 The Looking Glasse was printed for Thomas Creede in 1594, 
 having been entered on the Stationers' Registers on March 5 
 of that year. This play is mentioned in Henslowe's Diary 
 
 ^ Lodge's works, Hunterian Club. Mr. Gosse inclines to place this 
 poem as early as 1585 or 1586. 
 
 ^° Similar to the utterances of Gascoigne and of Greene himseK. 
 
THE PLAYS 179 
 
 among the performances of 1592: March 8, March 27, April 
 19, and June 7. 
 
 The earliest impression of Orlando Furioso, ''as it was 
 playd before the Queenes Maiestie," was published in 1594, 
 having been entered on December 7, 1593. The Queen's 
 players left the court on December 26, 1591. The play 
 must have been written before that date. Orlando was 
 already an old play when it was performed in Henslowe's 
 theater by the Admiral's and Lord Strange's men on 
 February 21, 1592. If there is any truth in the passage in 
 the Defence of Conny-Catching, "you sold Orland Fourioso 
 to the Queens players for twenty nobles, and when they 
 were in the country, sold the same play to Lord Admirals 
 men, for as much more," it would indicate that the play 
 had been resold early in 1592, and that it had belonged to 
 the Queen's company until December 26, 1591. 
 
 It is very likely that December 26, 1591, marks the latest 
 date for composition. A passage within the play ^^ sets July 
 30, 1588, as the earliest. This passage, as Prof. Gay ley says,^^ 
 is historically minute, referring to the departure of the 
 Armada from Lisbon; it does not ''savour of afterthought 
 or actor's clap-trap," and it agrees with a later passage in 
 the play which has to do with Orlando's defense of Angelica 
 (lines 1485-6), 
 
 "Yet for I see my Princesse is abusde, 
 By new-come straglers from a forren coast." 
 
 That the play was written after the defeat of the Armada 
 seems clear. 
 
 " Lines 82-85: Scene I. 
 
 "And what I dare, let say the Portingale, 
 
 And Spaniard tell, who, mann'd with mighty fleets, 
 
 Came to subdue my islands to their kings, 
 
 FiUing our seas with stately argosies." 
 12 Rep. Eng. Com. p. 408. 
 
180 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Between July 30, 1588, and December 28, 1591, the Queen's 
 company acted at court ten times. ^^ The performance of 
 February 9, 1589 (being assigned also to the Admiral's men), 
 is open to question, which leaves December 26, 1588, as the 
 only date within the year that followed the Spanish defeat. 
 This is a probable date for the performance, for references 
 to the Armada would be likely to occur in a play to be per- 
 formed at court at such a time. There may be further 
 ground for thinking that Orlando was acted before the 
 spring of 1589 in that Peele may be alluding to Orlando 
 in his Farewell,^'^ written that year. 
 
 The Honorable Historie of frier Bacon and frier Bong ay, 
 according to Gayley,i^ dates from the end of 1589 or the 
 beginning of 1590, sometime within a year after the produc- 
 tion of Dr. Faustus. The play is the first entered in Hens- 
 lowe's Diary, under the date February 19, 1592. It was 
 not then a new play. 
 
 The play of Faire Em is of considerable importance in 
 the problem of dating Friar Bacon. Faire Em is obviously 
 imitation of Greene's play. Greene reproaches its author^® 
 for having consumed "a, whole yeare" in the process of 
 writing. Whatever "a whole yeare" may mean. Friar 
 Bacon precedes Faire Em by several months at least. 
 
 Professor Gay ley dates Faire Em 1590. It very likely 
 followed the fresh editions of Yver's Printemps d'lver (the 
 source) in 1588 and '89. It was written between November 2, 
 
 13 1588, Dec. 26; 1589, Feb. 9 (?), Dec. 26; 1590, Mar. 1, Dec. 26; 
 1591, Jan, 1, 3, 6, Feb. 14, Dec. 26. (Fleay, Hist, of Stage, pp. 76-80.) 
 
 1^ See Collier, Memoirs of Alleyn; Fleay, Life of Shakespeare, 
 p. 96; Gayley, Rep. Eng. Comedies, p. 409. 
 
 15 Rep. Eng. Comedies, p. 411. 
 
 1® O, tis a jollie matter when a man hath a familiar stile and can 
 endite a whole yeare and never be beholding to art? but to bring 
 Scripture to prove anything he says — is no small piece of cunning." 
 (Vol. IX., p. 233.) 
 
THE PLAYS 181 
 
 1590, and the middle of 1591, — between the preface to 
 Greene's Mourning Garment, which has only general refer- 
 ences to those who may reject his repentance, and the 
 preface to Farewell to Follie, which contains the specific 
 reference to the author of Faire Em. A year preceding 
 would place Friar Bacon in the second half of 1589 or very 
 early in 1590. 
 
 Mr. Fleay ^^ brings forward another argument to indicate 
 1589 as the date of Friar Bacon. Inasmuch as playwrights 
 using dates in their plays always, Mr. Fleay says, used the 
 almanac of the current year; and inasmuch as 1589 is the 
 only possible year which fulfils these conditions, the earliest 
 possible date is thus determined. 
 
 Collins, it should be said, believes that Friar Bacon fol- 
 lowed, rather than preceded Faire Em, believing that 
 Greene's play is an imitation of the anonymous one. He 
 assigns it, therefore, to the end of 1591 or the beginning 
 of 1592. 
 
 The last of Greene's undoubted plays is James IV. This 
 play was entered on the Stationers' Registers on May 14, 
 1594, but no copy earlier than that of 1598 is known. As to 
 the date of its composition, Mr. Colhns has nothing to say, 
 further than that it is among Greene's latest dramatic 
 work. 
 
 It is probable that James IV. dates from the end of 1590 
 or the beginning of 1591, following upon the line of develop- 
 ment started in Friar Bacon. Mr. Gayley makes consid- 
 erable of what he thinks is a definite relationship between 
 Dorothea's song in James IV. (Act I., lines 270-9) and 
 some lines in Peele's Hunting of Cupid, which he dates as 
 1590. In the resemblance of Dorothea's song to Greene's 
 lines and in the further resemblance to Greene's own song in 
 Mourning Garment (November 2, 1590) I can see no argument 
 " In Ward's O. E. D., cxliii-cxliv. 
 
182 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 of weight. "Ah, what is love?" was too common a theme 
 to make reasoning upon its occurrence at all stable. There 
 seems to be more foundation to Gayley's statements that the 
 boast of Dorothea, 
 
 "Shall never Frenchman say an English maid 
 Of threats of forraine force will be afraid," 
 
 contains a reference to Elizabeth's landing of troops in 
 France in 1590 and 1591; and that the reference to the 
 Irish wars may have come from the contemporary troubles 
 in Fermanagh. On the whole, the conclusion that the play 
 was presented at court on December 26, 1590, is not bad. 
 
 The conclusions stated above are by no means certain. 
 Long years ago Dyce prophesied that it would be impos- 
 sible to determine with exactness the date of any one of 
 Greene's plays. Since Dyce's time, not enough definite 
 information has been secured to prevent the fulfilment of 
 the prophecy. To date Alphonsus 1587 or 1588; Looking 
 Glasse the same years (more likely, 1588); Orlando 1588, 
 December 26; Friar Bacon, 1589 or 1590; James IV., 1590, 
 December 26, — is to come as near the truth, however, as, 
 at present, is possible. 
 
 (B) Attributions to Greene 
 
 Aside from the problems of dates, the student of Greene's 
 plays is confronted by the further problem of determina- 
 tions of authorship. With this problem, as with the other, I 
 shall endeavor to state briefly what arguments have 
 been advanced. 
 
 Of the numerous plays which have at times been assigned 
 to Greene it is necessary to mention the following: First 
 and Second Parts of Henry VI., The Pinner of Wakefield, 
 Selimus, and A Knack to Know a Knave. With regard to 
 
THE PLAYS 183 
 
 the Henry VI. plays the long-standing attribution of a share 
 to Greene by Miss Lee^^ has been argued to be without 
 foundation by the author of a recent discussion of the 
 Henry VI. problem. ^^ A Knack to Know a Knave has been 
 proposed by Professor Gayley,^^ following a suggestion of 
 Simpson, as a solution for the puzzling passage in Greene's 
 Groatsworth of Wit. Greene, writing to Marlowe, says, 
 ''With thee I joyne young Juvenall, that byting satirist, 
 that lastly with mee together writ a comedie.'^ The identi- 
 fication of ''young Juvenall" and of the "Comedie" has 
 caused much discussion, into the merits of which it is not 
 necessary to enter.^^ 
 
 Opposed to the theory favoring Lodge and the Looking 
 Glasse, Professor Gayley believes that Nashe and a Knack 
 to Know a Knave better fit the problem. With the exception 
 of Collins, who somewhat arbitrarily favors Lodge, opinion 
 has come to rest largely upon Nashe. But Gayley is alone 
 in his proposed solution of the "comedie" in which Greene 
 says he had a share. His argument is that the subject is 
 not foreign to Nashe, that certain characters resemble two 
 others in Summer^ s Last Will, that Greene had been engaged 
 
 ^8 Miss Jane Lee. The New Shakespeare Society Transactions. 
 1875-6, p. 219. ''On the Authorship of the Second and Third Parts 
 of Henry VI. and their Originals," 
 
 19 C. F. Tucker Brooke. "The Authorship of 2 and 3 Henry VL" 
 The main points to Mr. Brooke's discussion are as foUows: 
 
 1. The approach of the subject from the side of Shakespeare 
 cannot yield results. 
 
 2. Marlowe is the author of the Contention and the True 
 Tragedy. 
 
 3. Neither Greene nor Peele had any connection with the 
 plays. 
 
 4. Shakespeare revised Contention and True Tragedy, deep- 
 ening the characters and changing many passages and lines. 
 
 20 Rep. Eng. Comedies. Vol. I., pp. 422-6. 
 
 2^ A good summary may be found in McKerrow's Edition of Nashe. 
 
184 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 in knave pamphlets, that it has certain parallels to Friar 
 Bacon, that it is called a ''comedie" while no authenticated 
 play of Greene's is so called, that its date is in accord with 
 Greene's statement, and that it was played by a company 
 then acting three of Greene's known dramas. All these 
 points are suggestive, even though not conclusive. 
 
 The remaining two, Selimus and George-a-Greene, have 
 more importance in this question of authorship. Dr. 
 Grosart first "reclaimed" Selimus for Greene and included 
 it among Greene's plays. This he did on the basis of ex- 
 ternal and internal evidence. The external evidence con- 
 sists in the fact that two passages from Selimus — on Delaie 
 and Damocles — are attributed to Greene by Robert AUott 
 in England's Parnassus (1600), — a collection of quotations 
 from the then extant poetry of England. The internal 
 evidence has to do with the resemblance between certain 
 lines in Selimus and Greene's song, ''Sweet are the thoughts 
 that savour of content"; with the fact that Greene promised 
 a second part to Alphonsus, for which, in view of the failure 
 of Alphonsus, Greene substituted Selimus; and finally that 
 there are many resemblances between Alphonsus and 
 Selimus. 
 
 The most earnest upholder of Dr. Grosart is Mr. Hugo Gil- 
 bert, whose dissertation ^^ argues strongly for Greene's author- 
 ship of Selimus. Gilbert believes in Allott's trustworthiness 
 in England's Parnassus, in which he finds six passages from 
 Selimus — an increase over Dr. Grosart's two. Mr. Gilbert 
 finds what he thinks are certain resemblances between the 
 character of Bullithrumble in Selimus to the clowns in 
 Greene's authenticated plays. He sees in Selimus the same 
 praise of country life that is to be found in some of Greene's 
 works. The natural history allusions, the archaisms, the 
 
 ^ Robert Greene's Selimus. Eine Litterarhistorische Untersuchung. 
 Kiel 1899. 
 
THE PLAYS 185 
 
 Machiavellian doctrine, the proper names, all occur in 
 Greene's acknowledged work, and so all prove Greene's 
 authorship of Selimus. 
 
 Gilbert pointed out that the source of Selimus is to be 
 found in Paulus Jovius' ''Rerum Turcicarum commentarius 
 ad Invictissimum Caesarem Carolum V. Imperatorem 
 Augustum"; and he cites as proof that Greene knew Paulus 
 Jovius passages in Farewell to Follie (p. 337) and Royal 
 Exchange (p. 254). Professor Hart corrects Mr. Gilbert by 
 showing that Greene got his plot for Selimus not from 
 Paulus Jovius directly, but indirectly from Primaudaye's 
 Academy P The belief that Selimus was written about 1587, 
 and the fact that then was a time when Greene was borrow- 
 ing very extensively from Primaudaye, especially in the 
 Farewell to Follie, Professor Hart regards as proof of 
 Greene's authorship. 
 
 Having set down the arguments advanced for Greene's 
 authorship of this play, I now give those against it. The 
 first is that of Dr. Wolif ,2^ who doubts Greene's authorship 
 on the ground of the characterization. This matter he thinks 
 would alone be decisive, for Selimus, Acomat, Corcut, 
 Bajazet, are characters so well rounded and individual as 
 to seem beyond Greene's power. 
 
 Professor Gayley declines to think Greene the author of 
 Selimus. AUott, he says, is not trustworthy, for he assigns 
 to Greene passages which do not belong to him — two, for 
 instance, which belong to Spenser. Professor Gayley fails 
 to see in Selimus any traces of Greene's diction, sentiment, 
 poetic quality, or rhythmical form. As a suggestion, he 
 proposes Lodge's name in connection with Selimus, on the 
 grounds of relationship to Civill War and Mucedorus. 
 
 23 Chap. LIX., p. 642. "Of the Education of a Prince in Good 
 Manners and Condicions." 
 
 24 Eng. Stud., Vol. 37, p. 359, note. 
 
186 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Collins does not print Selimus in his edition of Greene, 
 inasmuch as he finds Grosart's arguments unsatisfactory. 
 
 The latest word on the subject is that in the Cambridge 
 History of English Literature,^^ of which the material is taken 
 from an unpubhshed article by Mr. F. G. Hubbard. Mr. 
 Hubbard pointed out (1) that the comic scene in Locrine 
 which is paralleled in Selimus stands alone in the latter play, 
 while in Locrine there is much low humor of the same kind 
 in connection with the same characters; (2) that Locrine pre- 
 ceded Selimus because Locrine has many lines from Spenser's 
 Complaints not found in Selimus; but that with one possible 
 exception, Selimus has nothing from the Complaints not to 
 be found in Locrine; (3) that, moreover, one of these bor- 
 rowed lines in Selimus is followed by five other lines not in 
 the Complaints but in Locrine; that Locrine and Selimus 
 are not by the same man, since Selimus has borrowings 
 from the Faerie Queene while Locrine has none [Collins 
 believed that Locrine and Selimus were written by the 
 same man]; (5) that Locrine was not completed before 
 
 1591, when the Complaints were published [As a matter of 
 fact the Complaints circulated widely before their publica- 
 tion]; (6) that a line near the end of Act V., ''One mischief 
 follows on another's neck," is apparently copied from Tan- 
 cred and Gismond (published 1591, with preface dated August 
 8) — a line not given in the earlier MS. version of the play; 
 (7) that since Selimus is later than Locrine (which is later 
 than August 8, 1591), and since Greene died September 3, 
 
 1592, the issue of Greene's authorship is brought within 
 narrow limits. 
 
 Such at length are the arguments for and against the 
 attribution of Selimus to Greene. The only conclusion which 
 can be justified, so far as I can see, is that the problem has 
 not been, probably cannot be, settled. 
 25 Vol. v., p. 96. 
 
THE PLAYS 187 
 
 With regard to George-a-Greene, which has been included 
 among Greene's plays by Dyce, Grosart, Collins, and Dick- 
 inson, the problem is quite as complex as that of Selimus. 
 No one of these men is satisfied with the grounds on which 
 he included the play, but no one is quite content to leave 
 the play out. It may be well to state the situation. 
 
 On the title-page of the 1599 edition are the following 
 manuscript notes: 
 
 Written by ... a minister who acted the piners pt in it himselfe. 
 Teste W. Shakespeare. 
 
 Ed. Juby saith that the play was made be Ro. Greene. 
 
 These notes were made by different persons. The hand- 
 writing is of the style of the Elizabethan age. Upon the 
 value of these memoranda the validity of the ascription of 
 the play to Greene partly depends. And it can be said at 
 once that, so far as that vaUdity is concerned, all scholars are 
 agreed that the notes are of decidedly questionable worth. 
 In the first place it can only be assumed that they are the 
 notes of contemporaries; and in the second place it can only 
 be assumed that they are genuine. As Mr. Greg says, 
 no one can judge without examining the original notes, and 
 without being famiUar with the Ireland and Collier forgeries.^^ 
 
 The attribution of George-a-Greene to Greene on the basis 
 of the notes is, therefore, made on very slender evidence. 
 
 The other basis for belief or disbelief in Greene's author- 
 ship has been found within the play itself. The internal 
 evidence has been variously interpreted. Mertins^^ thought 
 the play was not by Greene. It lacks, Mertins says, the 
 pompous style and classical references, the imaginative ele- 
 ments, the poetical diction, the Latin, French, and Italian 
 phrasing, the unusual word compounds, the ornate epithets, 
 
 26 See Appendix II., where these notes enter into the discussion of 
 whether or not Greene was at one time a minister. 
 
 27 Robert Greene and the Play of George-a-Greene. Breslau, 1885. 
 
188 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 SO common in Greene's other plays. The grammatical 
 forms are different from Greene's; the meter is unlike 
 that of Greene's plays; as for the similarity between George- 
 a-Greene and Friar Bacon, that may be due merely to the 
 similarity in material. 
 
 To most of Mertins' objections, Professor Collins agrees. 
 Yet he believes the play to be Greene's, and he includes 
 it in the edition of Greene's works. The play is built, he 
 says, as Greene built plays; the t3rpes of character are like 
 Greene's; there are similarities between this play and Friar 
 Bacon and James IV. And so Professor Colhns, ''though 
 the evidence ... is far from conclusive," thinks the play 
 should be given to Greene because "there is no dramatist 
 of those days known to us to whom it could be assigned 
 with more probabihty." 
 
 Professor Gayley^^ is non-committal. He finds in George- 
 a-Greene the skilful plot, the popular material, such as 
 Greene used in Friar Bacon. And he finds here and there a 
 rhetorical style like Greene's. But he does not find 'Hhe 
 curious imagery, the precious visualizing, the necromantic 
 monstrous toys," nor the "conscious affectation of uncon- 
 scious art." The conversations, while sometimes like 
 Greene's, are not on the whole equal to his "humorous 
 indirection and his craft." 
 
 Thus the matter stands. 
 
 Henslowe records five performances of the play between 
 December 29, 1593, and January 22, 1594. But the first 
 entry is not marked as that of a new play. The title-page 
 states that the play had been acted by the Sussex company, 
 a company which is not known to have acted at that time any 
 of Greene's unquestioned plays, although the Sussex men 
 soon afterwards joined Greene's company in the production 
 of Friar Bacon. 
 
 28 Rep, Eng. Com. p. 418. 
 
THE PLAYS 189 
 
 George-a-Greene was entered to Cuthbert Burbie on April 1, 
 1595. The earliest known copy is that in the library of the 
 Duke of Devonshire, dated 1599, and uniform as to printer, 
 publisher, year, vignette, and motto with Orlando Furioso. 
 
 As to date, nothing is known. If the play is by Greene, 
 it belongs undoubtedly just before or just after James IV. 
 The only indication of date within the play is that in line 
 42 the Earl of Kendal says, 
 
 "Lest I, like martial Tamburlaine, lay waste 
 Their bordering countries." 
 
 (C) Greene as a Dramatist 
 
 It was following fashion which turned Greene to the writ- 
 ing of plays. Just as the popularity of Euphues started him 
 off on the production of Mamillia, and as Daphnis and Chloe 
 gave the impulse for Menaphon with its pastoralism, so the 
 great success of Tamburlaine was sufficient to focus Greene's 
 attention. 
 
 Before the day of Marlowe and Kyd, great progress had 
 been made in both tragedy and comedy; but the evolution, 
 even after the building of the theaters, had been gradual. 
 With the exception of Lyly no man stands out in sharp dis- 
 tinction from his fellows as having made this or another 
 contribution to the art of play-writing. The plays written 
 before 1585, for the most part, gave an impression of their 
 impersonality. Not that they were authorless, but that 
 they are today significant more as types and as mani- 
 festations of varied dramatic interests than as products 
 of individual men possessed of individual personalities. 
 It is not remarkable, therefore, that Greene, busy with 
 the exploitation of prose narrative, and engrossed in the 
 discovery of his own powers in the writing of fiction, and 
 eager in his inculcation of new standards of refinement, 
 
190 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 should not have turned to the writing of plays before he did. 
 Nor is it remarkable that he turned when he did. How- 
 ever closely engaged in one kind of activity, Greene was 
 never so indifferent to contemporary literary movements 
 as not to be aware at once of the entrance of a new force 
 within the sphere of popular favor. And so it was that 
 the plays of Kyd and Marlowe at once caught his eye. 
 
 It has often been remarked that Greene's plays fall into 
 two distinct classes, his failures and his successes. The 
 explication of this one fact involves what is essential to an 
 understanding of Greene as a dramatist. There is Alphonsus, 
 which attempts the bloody deeds of Mars; and there is 
 Friar Bacon, which invites refreshing drinks of milk in the 
 dairy-house at Fressingfield. Both classes spring from very 
 definite qualities of Greene's mind; and both are of necessity 
 what they are. 
 
 Greene's first play was a direct outgrowth from Tambur- 
 laine. Because of that fact, it was a failure. Tamhurlaine 
 is essentially a play dependent upon the character of its hero 
 to sustain interest. The march of events, as the Scythian 
 shepherd advances to his kingship of the world — conquest 
 following conquest, — has no dramatic interest in itself as 
 compared with the interest with which we behold the revela- 
 tion of character which those events show. The action of 
 Tamhurlaine, lacking in complexity and in unity, forms only 
 a succession of gorgeous scenes bound together by a unity of 
 characterization, and supported by the power of the im- 
 agination with which the hero is conceived. Indomitable 
 ambition, imflinching will, unlimited self-confidence working 
 themselves out to their desired end constitute the theme of 
 the play, and give English literature the great prototype of 
 Richard III., Macbeth, and Milton's Satan. Tamhurlaine 
 is a tremendous personality swept on by his lust for power. 
 In his greatness, he is a hard character to imitate. 
 
THE PLAYS 191 
 
 Another characteristic of Marlowe's play made it dis- 
 tinctive. Abandoning rhyme, Marlowe chose blank verse, 
 and in so doing was free to let his fancy run. He was able 
 to infuse into the verse of the play something of the spirit 
 of his protagonist. Thus form and matter harmonized, and 
 combined to make the effect, the Marlowesque, full of 
 vaunting thoughts proclaimed through sonorous and high- 
 sounding language. The sublimity of Tamhurlaine gave it 
 power, — the power which Greene felt, but could not copy. 
 
 Alphonsus — whether Alphonsus V., king of Aragon, 
 Sicily, and Naples (died 1454) or Alphonsus I., king of Ara- 
 gon and Navarre (died 1134), is not quite clear — is Tamhur- 
 laine emasculated. So far as the arrangement of scenes is 
 concerned, Greene's play is as good as Marlowe's. We learn 
 of the young man's plans to regain his father's throne, of 
 the successive steps in the realization of ambition, of 
 Amurack's opposition to the conquest, of Alphonsus' fall- 
 ing in love with the Sultan's daughter. Throughout the 
 play, incident follows incident naturally and effectively. 
 The trouble with the play is not in the development of the 
 action. It is rather in the fact that Greene was not able 
 to grasp the conception of the forceful personality necessary 
 to the success of a play which depended so largely upon that 
 conception of character. The abundance of strength, the 
 buoyancy of spirit, with which Tamhurlaine compels interest, 
 were not in Greene's power to portray. Tamhurlaine was 
 the very worst model Greene could have chosen. 
 
 The weakness of Alphonsus is very apparent. The line 
 of action, though developing naturally, falls into two parts. 
 There is, in reality, the play of Alphonsus, followed by the 
 play of Amurack the Turk. The lack of unity in action 
 results in lack of unity of character. Alphonsus, nominally 
 the hero, shares his prominence with his opponent. Indeed 
 Amurack is given the more prominence. He has the same 
 
192 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 elements which Alphonsus has; and in addition he is en- 
 grossed in his troubles with his wife and daughter, and he 
 is involved in various kinds of magic incantations which 
 give a clap-trap interest to his career. 
 
 But the lack of unity in Alphonsus is of no great conse- 
 quence in view of the play's failure to convince. Even the 
 faintness and the inconsistencies of characterization are ab- 
 sorbed in this fundamental defect. Marlowe's Tamhurlaine 
 gathers momentum as it goes, a huge ball rolling faster and 
 faster, moved by an invisible force within. Alphonsus 
 gathers no momentum at all. Always it is Greene, behind, 
 pushing with all his might, and laboriously trying to move 
 an immovable weight. He makes much noise, and you 
 would think his exertions effective if it were not that the 
 ball is ever in the same place. 
 
 Greene's imagination could not encompass intense char- 
 acter. Neither could his poetic fancy attain the necessary 
 height. Nowhere in the play is there a passage which so 
 combines poetry and passion as any random passage in the 
 work of Marlowe. 
 
 "Slash ofif his head! as though Albinius' head 
 Were then so easy to be slashed off: 
 In faith, sir, no; when you are dead and gone, 
 I hope to flourish like the pleasant spring." 
 
 Act II., Sc. 2. 
 "As for this carping girl, Iphigena, 
 Take her with thee to bear thee company, 
 And in my land I rede be seen no more, 
 For if you do, you both shall die therefore." 
 
 Act II., Sc. 2. 
 "Pagan, I say thou greatly art deceived: 
 I clap up fortune in a cage of gold, 
 To make her turn her wheel as I think best; 
 And as for Mars whom you do say will change, 
 He moping sits behind the kitchen-door, 
 Prest at command of every scullion's mouth, 
 
THE PLAYS 193 
 
 Who dares not stir, nor once to move a whit, 
 For fear Alphonsus then should stomach it." 
 
 Act IV., Sc. 3. 
 
 Some critics have said that Alphonsus is not an imita- 
 tion at all — that it was not meant as imitation, but as 
 parody. Marlowe had had one hero. Greene would have 
 two. Tamburlaine had met with no opposition. In the 
 parody, let there be two conquering boastful heroes bump- 
 ing their heads together and endeavoring to beat each other's 
 brains out. Or, say, it would be as if one should turn from 
 admiring a fine specimen of a cock, alone in his splendor, 
 to the spectacle of that same fowl with bloody head and 
 ruffled feathers, engaged in the most ridiculous of contests, — 
 a rooster fight. 
 
 I do not believe that Alphonsus is a parody. A parody 
 is either humorous or satirical. Now Alphonsus is not obvi- 
 ously humorous. And it is not satirical. To interpret it 
 as such is to misunderstand Greene. Even the Quippe for 
 an Upstart Courtier is not satirical, abundant as its possi- 
 bilities for satire are. Alphonsus is a bad play, but not 
 because it is poor satire. There is a better explanation. 
 
 Experimenter though he was, Greene was no critic. He 
 seems never to have learned what he could not do. In the 
 mass of his work there is good and bad mingled all together. 
 When Greene took up his pen it was with no discrimination. 
 His instinct, not his judgment, is to thank for what is good. 
 His misdirected effort is to blame for what is bad. Alphonsus 
 was the outcome of misapplied energy. There was no par- 
 ody about it. Tamburlaine was popular. Greene, with the 
 impulse derived from his ever wishing to follow a leader, 
 attempted a play of the same kind, — and produced one of 
 the worst of the many bad Elizabethan dramas. 
 
 Orlando Furioso is the dramatization of the incident in 
 Ariosto's Romance in which Orlando goes mad through love 
 
194 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 of Angelica and through jealousy of his supposedly success- 
 ful rival. At the palace of Marsilius, emperor of Africa, 
 various suitors are urging their suit for the hand of Angelica. 
 Orlando is successful. Sacripant desires Angelica and plots 
 to secure her. He bids his servant carve the names of 
 AngeHca and Medor on the trees. Orlando, believing the 
 treachery of Angelica, goes mad, and creates the famous 
 scenes of entering upon the stage ''with a leg on his neck" 
 and of ranging through the woods saying "Woods, trees, 
 leaves; leaves, trees, woods." Angelica is banished for her 
 supposed unfaithfulness. In the woods she meets Orlando, 
 who does not recognize her. After a time Melissa, an 
 enchantress, restores Orlando's wits. There is much fighting 
 — "they fight a good while, and then breathe," — Angelica 
 is restored to her home, and everything ends well. 
 
 This play has been interpreted as a parody on The Spanish 
 Tragedy. Greene, it is said, was satirizing the use of mad- 
 ness on the stage, an element in the drama made very popu- 
 lar by Kyd's play. The mad Orlando wandering through 
 the forest is a burlesque on the raving Hieronimo. And 
 "woods, trees, leaves" is only ridicule of the Grand Mar- 
 shal's discovery of his dead son's body, and other similar 
 scenes. 
 
 Orlando is universally regarded as a poor play; some are 
 inclined to regard its badness as intentional. I do not 
 agree to any interpretation which regards the play as a 
 parody. I think that it is a failure; and a failure for the 
 same reason that Alphonsus is. To portray insanity well 
 on the stage is a great imaginative achievement, as King 
 Lear proves. The imagination required is of a different kind, 
 from that required to produce Tamburlaine. Less sweeping 
 but none the less intense. Intensity, keen insight — without 
 his being aware of the deficiency — were what Greene lacked. 
 Orlando Furioso is an imitation just as Alphonsus is. Both 
 
THE PLAYS 195 
 
 plays were meant to be heroic. Both are unpardonable fail- 
 ures. It is hard upon Greene to say so. But there is no 
 justice in trying to excuse failure under the name of parody. 
 Better to say at once that Greene was trying to do what he 
 could not do. 
 
 Friar Bacon was written in emulation of Dr. Faustus, 
 The play is both a failure and a success. Inevitably so: 
 it is a combination of two elements. There is the story of 
 Bacon and the brazen head which he had constructed — 
 how he had pursued learning and had become a powerful 
 magician, how he had made the head which should enable 
 him to encircle England with a wall of brass, how Miles, the 
 dull servant, was set to watch, how the devil came and 
 marred all. There is also the story of Margaret, the maid 
 of Fressingfield, with whom Prince Edward fell in love but 
 whom he relinquished in favor of his friend who had been 
 sent to woo for him. This second story is a development 
 of the hint in the old Friar Bacon ballad of the maid who 
 had two suitors, and who preferred the lowly one to the one 
 of high degree. 
 
 With regard to Friar Bacon himself, Greene wa^ endeav- 
 oring to copy the figure of Faustus, all-wise, all-powerful 
 magician. He did not succeed. There is nothing sublime 
 about Bacon, nothing dignified. His sorcery is nothing but 
 clap-trap; his contests with Vandermast only stage show, 
 poor spectacle at that. Even the brazen head, as manifes- 
 tation of Bacon's power, is fooHsh, however much a source 
 of comedy it may be when seen through the eyes of Miles. 
 Friar Bacon bears the same relation to Dr. Faustus that 
 Alphonsus bears to Tamburlaine. Friar Bacon, Alphonsus, 
 Orlando, all demand greatness of imagination; and Greene 
 had no greatness to bestow. All three are, therefore, not 
 so much characters which are true but only faintly por- 
 trayed, as they are mechanical figures poorly constructed. 
 
196 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 If Friar Bacon were just a play with a conjurer as hero 
 (as Greene meant it to be), it would belong with Alphonsus 
 and Orlando among the things that would better not have 
 been. It is, however, successful. Greene found in the old 
 ballad upon which he based his play the hint of a story 
 which he developed. It is this story, originally incidental, 
 which differentiates Friar Bacon from the plays that had 
 preceded it. For the story and the character of Margaret 
 and her lover predominate over the story and character of 
 Friar Bacon. In the success of the love story, and in the 
 fusing of it with the story of Bacon, the weakness of the 
 magician is unheeded. 
 
 Emphasizing the love story as he did, Greene became for 
 the first time original in the drama. Marlowe had been 
 his model in the earlier plays, and Marlowe had provided 
 the starting-point for Friar Bacon. But Friar Bacon — the 
 Friar Bacon we remember — belongs to Greene alone. For 
 the very reason that there is nothing of Marlowe in it, it is 
 in a new class. Greene could not copy Marlowe, but he 
 could write plays of his own, plays distinctively his own. 
 
 James IV. is a continuation of the work begun in Friar 
 Bacon. It is a dramatization of a tale in Cinthio's Heca- 
 tommithi (3:1), made with considerable skill and some 
 changes from the source.^^ James IV. of Scotland is mar- 
 ried to Dorothea, the daughter of the king of England. He 
 immediately confesses his love for the Countess Ida, a 
 confession overheard by Ateukin. Ateukin devises plots. 
 
 ^ The greatest change is in the opening of the play. The long 
 process of the development of the false love is dispensed with, and in 
 the opening of the play James is shown to be in love with Ida at the 
 time of his marriage with Dorothea. In the play Ateukin overhears 
 the king's statement of love rather than hears of it, through some one 
 else as in the novel. Greene's changes, on the whole, make for con- 
 densation and dramatic effectiveness. 
 
THE PLAYS 197 
 
 Dorothea is at length persuaded of her husband's faith- 
 lessness and flees in disguise, accompanied by her dwarf, 
 Nano. James hires an assassin who attempts to put Doro- 
 thea to death. The king of England arrives with an army. 
 James is defeated. Dorothea comes from her disguise. 
 James is sorry for his misdeeds and everything ends happily. 
 This play, too, is free from the influence of Marlowe, and 
 like Friar Bacon it is successful. 
 
 Failure and success, then, were Greene's results. The 
 cause for the failure has been shown to be Greene's lack 
 of an intense imagination and of an elevation of style which 
 could enable him to follow the model created by Marlowe. 
 It remains to analyze the cause of Greene's success in the 
 plays in which he displayed his originality. 
 
 A study of Greene as a dramatist is analogous to a study 
 of him as a novelist. Alphonsus and Orlando Furioso corre- 
 spond to the tales of Valdracko and Arbasto; Friar Bacon 
 and James IV. correspond to Menaphon and Pandosto — 
 the former failures, and the latter successes. The qualities 
 which make Friar Bacon and James IV. good plays are, 
 therefore, the same qualities which make Menaphon and 
 Pandosto good novels. The success in all cases is due to 
 the charm with which the story is told. 
 
 Whether in novel or in play, when Greene had a theme 
 centering around a heroine rather than around a hero, he 
 was at his best. Greene was not effeminate. But he did 
 have a delicacy about him, a refinement, which somehow was 
 displayed in two charming ways. In the first place, his 
 imagination when dealing with women characters was able 
 to bring forth creatures for whom his reader can feel genuine 
 interest and sympathy. I do not mean that Greene created 
 great women characters; but he did create wholesome 
 women. In the second place, Greene could blow through 
 his pages the freshness of the out-of-doors. 
 
198 KOBERT GREENE 
 
 Medea, Iphigena, Melissa, Angelica, all these are worth- 
 less figures. But three of the women in Greene's plays 
 are of importance. These are Margaret, Ida, and Dorothea. 
 Ida is the least fully pro tray ed. But she is a fine character. 
 Whether at the court or on her porch in the country she is 
 the same, firm in her morality to resist the love of the king, 
 bright, clean-minded, calm, serious. Dorothea is descended 
 from the type of faithful women who are true in the face of 
 all disaster. When she is told of her husband's falseness, 
 she refuses to believe. She even maintains that the letter 
 is forged which contains the order for her assassination. 
 But Dorothea is not an abstraction of faithfulness. She 
 is human in her faith, she is virtuous, she is lovely. Trem- 
 blingly she sets off in disguise to avoid danger. Affectionate 
 toward the little Nano who accompanies her in her distress, 
 ready to forgive wrong before forgiveness is asked, beloved 
 by all who surround her, she is an admirable woman. 
 
 Margaret is Greene's best character; and she is charming 
 indeed. Margaret is a lodge-keeper's daughter, young, 
 vivacious, witty, beautiful. She is clearly portrayed. She 
 arouses interest as she goes about her work, as she gives the 
 prince a drink from her dairy, as she goes with the young 
 country folk to the fair, as she talks with Lacy and falls in 
 love with the dashing courtier. She is faithful to the man 
 of her choice even though her other suitor is the king's own 
 son. When Lacy's letter comes, telling that he no longer 
 loves her, she decides to be a nun; and if you do not know 
 that so beautiful a play must perforce end happily, you 
 would feel sorry for her as she makes her adieu, 
 
 "Now farewell, world, the engine of all woe! 
 Farewell to friends and father! welcome Christ! 
 Adieu to dainty robes! this base attire 
 Better befits an humble mind to God 
 Than all the show of rich habiliments. 
 
THE PLAYS 199 
 
 Farewell, O love, and, with fond love, farewell, 
 Sweet Lacy, whom I loved once so dear! " 
 
 Strangely inconsistent is her renouncing of the convent when 
 she learns that Lacy has but tried her love. Yet happily 
 so. And beautiful is her joy in the new clothes with which 
 she decks herself for her marriage, to go off to the court to 
 live. Pure, unspoiled, fresh, Margaret is a rare creation. 
 
 Lovely as those heroines are, and important as they are 
 in the development of Elizabethan drama, the figure of 
 Nano is. Professor Woodberry thinks, the real connecting 
 link between Greene and Shakespeare. Certainly there is 
 much about the dwarf which is of interest. He does stand 
 in a very striking way between the Vice of the moralities 
 and early comedies on the one hand, and Launce and Touch- 
 stone on the other. Yet he is significant for his own sake. 
 Nano is the product of the same imagination which pro- 
 duced the delightful women. He is delicately drawn. His 
 little body, his lightness of foot, his sprightliness, his wit, his 
 loyalty to his mistress, make him a lovable personality. Yet 
 personality is scarcely the correct word. Our affection for 
 Nano is not that for a fellow human being. It is rather that 
 given to a pet or a living big doll. ''What wouldn't one give 
 to have him in a box and take him out to talk!" — as Mrs. 
 Carlyle might say. 
 
 The figures of Ida, Dorothea, Margaret, Nano, do much 
 to give charm to Greene's successful plays, and constitute 
 no small part of Greene's contribution to the drama. The 
 second element which made Greene's success was the out- 
 of-doors which is to be found most delightfully in Friar 
 Bacon. The surcharged atmosphere of courts and battle- 
 fields clears away for the calm air of Fressingfield and the 
 activity of the Harleston Fair, where Margaret shines 
 ''amongst the cream bowls" and where cheese is safely "set 
 upon the racks." 
 
200 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 "Well, if you chance to come by Fressingfield, 
 Make but a step into the Keeper's Lodge; 
 And such poor fare as woodmen can afford, 
 Butter and cheese, cream and fat venison, 
 You shall have store, and welcome therewithal." 
 
 Freshness and delicacy are Greene's contributions, mani- 
 fested in the brightness of the out-of-doors, the idyllic 
 country life, the attractive women of his comedies. The 
 rant and superficiality of the earlier plays are Greene's, too. 
 They are a part of his work, and reveal a definite side of his 
 make-up. But they are not contributions. Marlowe had 
 made an advance. For Greene to have copied Marlowe — 
 even to have done well what Marlowe had done — would 
 have been no addition. To have copied Marlowe and to 
 have failed, is loss. In the later plays, however, there is 
 originality and gain. 
 
TABULATION OF THE FRAMEWORK TALES 209 
 
 Ciceronis Amor, 1589. 
 The Sheepheardes Tale. — A pastoral. How Phillis and 
 Coridon made up and were married. 
 
 Orpharion, 1590. 
 
 Orpheus Tale. — Tale of Lydia, from Ariosto, 34:7-43. 
 
 Arions Tale. — How Argentina preserved her chastity by 
 promising to consent to her lover after he had been 
 confined for three days without food, and how the lover 
 broke the agreement by first eating meat. 
 
 Mourning Garment, 1590. 
 
 The Shepheards Tale. — A pastoral. How Alexis aban- 
 doned Rosamond for Phillida, and how Rosamond 
 died of grief. Whereupon Alexis hanged himself upon 
 a willow-tree. 
 
 Francescos Fortunes, 1590. 
 
 The Hosts Tale. — The shepherdess Mirimida had three 
 suitors. Letters from them all arrived at the same 
 instant. She appointed a meeting with them all. 
 When they had promised to abide by her decision, she 
 told them all nay. 
 
 Farewell to Follie, 1591. 
 
 Peratios Tale. — Tale of Pride. Vadislaus, king of Buda, 
 was deposed for his pride and tyranny, and went forth 
 to wander as a beggar. 
 
 CosiMOS Tale. — Of Lust. Story of Semiramis. 
 
 Berardinos Tale. — Of Gluttony. A poor man unjustly 
 judged by the drunken ruler, invited the ruler to a feast. 
 While the ruler was drunk the poor man built a scaf- 
 fold and invited the citizens. When the ruler found 
 that he was to be hanged, he hanged himself. 
 
210 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 Groatsworth of Wit, 1592. 
 
 Lamilias Tale. — An animal story with a hidden meaning. 
 
 Accounts for the enmity between dogs and badgers. 
 Robertos Tale. — Of the fabliau type. Story of the farmer 
 
 bridegroom, who is cheated out of his wife and forced 
 
 to marry another girl. 
 
 Vision, 1590-92? 
 
 Chaucers Tale. — Of the fabliau tjrpe. Analyzed in the 
 text, p. 28. 
 
 GowERS Tale. — A tale of jealousy. A man who has put 
 away his wife on account of jealousy, is cured of his 
 jealousy by a magician who transforms him into a young 
 man. In this shape he tries his wife's faith, and find- 
 ing her true takes her back again. 
 
APPENDIX II 
 
 MISCONCEPTIONS CONCERNING GREENE 
 
 There are a few matters which remain to be treated 
 here. These, perhaps, demand an apology for being con- 
 sidered at all. At least, if they cannot be totally ignored 
 they are no longer of sufficient importance to warrant their 
 inclusion elsewhere than in an appendix. Although unmis- 
 takably founded on errors, they have so continued to be 
 discussed seriously by Greene's biographers as almost to 
 make them traditional, and a discussion of them unavoidable. 
 
 I. One of these misapprehensions is that of Greene's 
 connection with the church. Since the days of Dyce various 
 biographers, Bernhardi, Fleay, and Grosart, have argued that 
 Greene was at one time a minister. Fuller investigation has 
 shown that he was not. The situation may be briefly sum- 
 marized as follows: 
 
 1. In 1576, a Robert Grene was presented by the Queen 
 to the rectory of Walkington in Yorkshire.^ There is no 
 reason, however, on the basis of this fact, for assuming that 
 Greene was connected with the church, inasmuch as he was 
 at that time a freshman in the University. 
 
 2. Greene cannot have been he who was Vicar of Tolles- 
 bury in Essex from June 19, 1584, to February 17, 1586; ^ 
 
 1 Rymer's Foedra, Vol. XV, p. 765. 
 
 2 The entry (in Newcourt's Repertorium, Vol. II, p. 602, which uses 
 as its authority Bp. Grindal's i^e^^isfer, fol. 213; fol. 225) is as follows; 
 
 "Tollsbury. 
 Rob. Grene cl. 19 Jun. 1584, per mort. Searles. 
 Barth. Moody, cl. 17 Feb. 1585, per resign. Grene." 
 211 
 
212 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 for that period in Greene's life was, by his own account, 
 filled with other events. 
 
 3. He cannot, as Mr. Fleay thought,^ be identified, as 
 Robert the parson, with the Robert Persj or Rupert Persten 
 who was with the Earl of Leicester's troupe on the Continent 
 from December 1585, to July, 1587. We have no evidence 
 that Greene formed a part of this troupe. It is, moreover, 
 useless to attempt to make parson out of the Persj or Persten 
 as it appears in the Saxon and Danish records. Besides, 
 if Greene was Vicar of Tollesbury, as Fleay said he was, he 
 must have been abroad as a member of a troupe of players 
 during three months of the time that he was preaching in 
 Essex. 
 
 4. Greene himself does not speak of having been a 
 minister. Nor do any of his contemporaries, Nashe, Burbye, 
 Dekker, Heywood, Chettle, — not even the arch-enemy, 
 Gabriel Harvey. 
 
 5. A passage in the Epistle Dedicatorie to the anon- 
 ymous tract Marline Mar-Sixtus has been taken to refer to 
 Greene as a minister. This tract was issued in 1591, and 
 was re-issued with change of date only in 1592. The epistle 
 is signed R. W.^ and clearly refers to Greene in the words 
 about those who ''are faine to put on mourning garment, 
 and cry, Farewell." But the words, "I loathe to speake it, 
 every red-nosed rimester is an author," whether they refer 
 to Greene or not, are those from which the misunderstand- 
 ing has come. It is, though, a misunderstanding which is 
 removed at once when the word is seen to be not minister, 
 as Dr. Grosart read, but rimester. 
 
 6. Much has been made, at times, of certain manuscript 
 
 3 Life of Shakespeare pp. 92, 105; Hist. Stage, p. 82. 
 
 * This Epistle is reprinted in Notes and Queries, 10th Ser., No. 2, 
 Dec. 17, 1904; and the suggestion is there made that R. W. was Richard 
 WiUes. 
 
MISCONCEPTIONS CONCERNING GREENE 213 
 
 notes on the title-page of the 1599 edition of The Pinner of 
 Wakefield. These notes are: 
 
 (a.) ''Written by ... a minister who acted the piner's 
 pt in it himself e. Teste W. Shakespeare.'* 
 
 (6) ''Ed. Juby saith that the play was made by Ro. 
 Greene." 
 
 Reasoning on the evidence of these notes is unsound for 
 it must be remembered, as Mr. Gayley well says,^ "that 
 both attributions are hearsay; that both notes are anon- 
 ymous, that one or both may be fraudulent; ^ that there 
 is no certain proof that they were written by contempora- 
 ries; and that, unless their contents are shown to be accu- 
 rate as well as authentic, they do not connect any Robert 
 Greene with the ministry." 
 
 II. Another of the misapprehensions concerning Greene 
 is that he was at one time an actor. That Greene was an 
 actor was held particularly by Dyce and Fleay, the former 
 of whom misinterpreted certain of Harvey's remarks about 
 Greene's ''wilde head, full of mad brain and a thousand 
 crotchets;" the latter of whom was anxious to identify 
 Greene the parson as an actor in Leicester's troupe. There 
 is, however, no reason on the grounds taken by Dyce or 
 Fleay, nor on any other grounds, for thinking that he was 
 ever professionally an actor. Neither he nor any of his 
 contemporaries says anything about it. 
 
 III. That Greene was once studying to become a physi- 
 cian has often been stated in biographies of him. The basis 
 of the statement has of course been the occurrence of the 
 phrase ''student in phisicke" on the title-page of Planeto- 
 
 ^ Representative English Comedies, p. 401. 
 
 ® It seems good to call attention to a remark made by Mr. Greg in 
 Mod. Lang. Rev. 1906, p. 244. He said, "One to be competent to 
 judge (in regard to these manuscript notes) must examine the original 
 notes, and also be familiar with the Ireland and the Collier forgeries." 
 
214 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 machia, 1585. But the presence of these words does not in 
 any way warrant the assumption that Greene was a student 
 of medicine. Inasmuch as Planetomachia is a pamphlet de- 
 signed to set forth the opposition of the planets and to be 
 an exposition concerning their influence, it seems better to 
 interpret the phisicke in the sense of natural philosophy, in 
 which sense it is used, for example in Thomas Bowes' trans- 
 lation of Primaudaye's French Academy (1586) as 'Hhe 
 studie of naturall things: metaphysycke, which is of super- 
 natural things;" and to believe that Greene used the word 
 merely that he might speak with pretended authority on 
 the subject of the stars. 
 
APPENDIX III 
 EARLY ALLUSIONS TO GREENE 
 
 In the following pages no attempt is made to bring together 
 all the early allusions to Greene. Only those are printed 
 which seem to help in forming an estimate of how Greene 
 was regarded by his contemporaries. 
 
 1. Letter by Christopher Bird. Aug. 29, 1592. Harvey's 
 Works, Ed. Grosart. Vol. I, p. 160. 
 
 "In steed of other novels, I sende you my opinion, in a plaine, but 
 true Sonnet, upon the famous new worke, intituled, A Quippe for an 
 upstart Courtier; or, forsooth, A quaint Dispute betweene Velvet-breeches, 
 and Cloth-breeches; as fantasticall and fond a Dialogue, as I have 
 seene: and for some Particulars, one of the most licentious, and in- 
 tolerable Invectives, that ever I read." 
 
 A due Commendation of the Quipping Autor. 
 
 Greene the Connycatcher, of this Dreame the Autor. 
 
 For his dainty devise, deserveth the hauter. 
 
 A rakehell: A makeshift: a scribling foole: 
 
 A famous bayard, in Citty, and Schoole. 
 
 Now sicke, as a Dog: and ever brainesick: 
 
 Where such a raving, and desperate Dick? 
 
 Sir reverence, A scurvy Master of Art. 
 
 He sweared inough . . . 
 
 Aunscornes ther Aunswere: and Envy Salutes 
 
 With Shortest vowels, and with longest mutes. 
 
 For farther triall, himself he referres 
 
 To proof e, and sound judgment, that seldome erres. 
 
 Now good Robin-good-fellow, and gentle Greene-sleeves, 
 Give him leave to be quiet, that none aggreeves. 
 
 2. Harvey's The Second Letter. Sept. 5, 1592. 
 
 My next businesse was to enquire after the famous Author: who was 
 reported to lye dangerously sicke in a shoemakers house near Dow-gate: 
 
 215 
 
216 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 not of the plague, ... as a Gentleman saide, but of a surfett of pickle 
 herringe and rennish wine, or as some suppose, of an exceeding feare. 
 For in his extreamest want, he offered ten, or rather then faile twenty 
 shillinges to the printer (a huge som with him at that instant) to leave 
 out the matter of the three brothers, p. 162. 
 
 I was suddainely certified, that the king of the paper stage (so the 
 Gentleman tearmed Greene) had played his last part, & was gone to 
 Tarleton: whereof I protest, I was nothing glad . . . because I was 
 Deprived of that remedy in Law, that I entended against him, in the 
 behalfe of my Father, p. 167. 
 
 Looke for my Confutation of his fine Quippe . . . whome his sweete 
 hostisse, for a tender farewell, crowned with a Garland of Bayes: to 
 shew, that a tenth Muse honoured him more being deade, than all the 
 nine honoured him alive, p. 172. 
 
 Here lies the man, whom mistrisse Isam crown'd with bayes; 
 
 Shee, shee, that joyed to heare, her Nightingales sweete layes. 
 
 p.l. 
 
 3. Harvey's Third Letter. Sept. 8 & 9, 1592. 
 
 Thanke other for thy borrowed & filched plumes of some little 
 Italianated bravery; & what remaineth, but flat Impudencie, and 
 grosse Detraction: the proper ornaments of thy sweete utterance? 
 p. 187. 
 
 I am not to extenuate or prejudice his wit, which could not any 
 way be great, though som way not the least of our vulgar writers, & 
 mani-waies very ungracious: but who ever esteemed him either wise, 
 or learned, or honest, or any way credible? p. 189. 
 
 The second Toy of London; the Stale of Poules, the Ape of Euphues, 
 the Vice of the Stage, the mocker of the simple world: . . . Peruse his 
 famous bookes: and in steede of Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile 
 dulci (that forsooth was his professed Poesie) Loe a wilde head, ful 
 of mad braine and a thousand crotchets: A scholler, a Discourser, a 
 Courtier, a ruffian, a Gamester, a Lover, etc., p. 189. 
 
 But I pray God they have not done more harme by corruption of 
 manners, than by quickening of witte: and I would, some Buyers had 
 either more Reason to discerne, or lesse Appetite to desire such Novels. 
 p. 190. 
 
 The Countesse of Pembrokes Arcadia is not greene inough for queasie 
 stomackes, but they must have Greenes Arcadia: and I beleeve most 
 eagerUe longed for Greenes Faerie Queene. p. 191. 
 
EARLY ALLUSIONS TO GREENE 217 
 
 4. Chettle. Kind-harts Dreame. Dec. 8, 1592. Ed. 
 Rimbault. Percy. Soc. Vol. 5. 
 
 About three moneths since died M. Robert Greene, leaving many 
 papers in sundry Booke sellers hands, among other his Groats-worth of 
 wit, in which, a letter written to divers play-makers, is offensively by 
 one or two of them taken . . . For the first, whose learning I reverence, 
 and, at the perusing of Greenes booke, stroke out what then, in con- 
 science I thought, he in some displeasure writ : or had it been true, yet 
 to publish it was intollerable : him I would wish to use me no worse 
 than I deserve. I had onely in the copy this share, it was il written, 
 as sometime Greenes hand was none of the best, ... To be briefe, I 
 writ it over. p. iv. 
 
 With him was the fifth, a man of indifferent yeares, of face amible, 
 of body well proportioned, his attire after the habite of a schoUer-like 
 gentleman, onely his haire somewhat long, whome I supposed to be 
 Robert Greene, maister of Artes. . . . He was of singular pleasaunce, 
 the verye supporter, and, to no mans, disgrace bee this intended, the 
 only comedian, of a vulgar writer, in this country, p. 11. 
 
 5. Nashe, Foure Letters Confuted. Jan. 12, 1593. 
 Ed. McKerrow. 
 
 Had hee liv'd, Gabriel, ... he would have made thee an example 
 of ignominy to all ages that are to come, and driven thee to eate thy 
 owne booke butterd, as I sawe him make an Apparriter once in a 
 Tavern eate his citation, waxe and all, very handsomely serv'd twixt 
 two dishes, p. 271. 
 
 Is my stile like Greenes or my jeaste like Tarltonsf Do I talke of 
 any counterfeit birds, or hearbs, or stones, or rake up any new-found 
 poetry from under the wals of Troy? p. 319. 
 
 Of force I must graunt that Greene came oftner in print than men 
 of judgment allowed off, but neverthelesse he was a daintie slave to 
 content the taile of a Tearme, and stuffe Serving mens pockets, p. 329. 
 
 What Greene was, let some other answere for him as much as I have 
 done; I had no tuition over him; he might have writ another Galatseo 
 of manners, for his manners everie time I came in his companie: I 
 saw no such base shifting or abhominable villanie by him. Something 
 there was which I have heard, not seene, that hee had not that regarde 
 to his credite in, which had beene requisite he should, p. 330. 
 
218 ROBERT GREENE 
 
 6. Greenes Newes both from Heaven and Hell, Anon. 
 1593. 
 
 You have beene a busie fellowe with youre peiine, it was you that writ 
 the Bookes of cony-catching, but sirra, could you finde out the base 
 abuses of a company of petty varlets that lived by pilfering cosonages, 
 and could you not as well have descryed the subtiU and fraudulent 
 practises of great conny-catchers, such as rides upon footeclothes, and 
 sometime in coatches, and walkes the streets in long gownes and velvet 
 coates? 
 
 7. Greenes Funeralls. 1594. By R. B. 
 
 (A series of verses eulogizing Greene most highly. Valuable for its 
 list of Greene's works.) 
 
 8. Warner. Pan his Syrinx. 1584. In 2nd Ed. 1597. 
 
 A scholler better than my selfe on whose grave the grasse now 
 groweth green, whom otherwise, though otherwise to me guiltie, I name 
 not. 
 
 (Warner is probably accusing Greene of plagiarism in that he took 
 the plot of Never too Late from his Opheltes.) 
 
 9. Francis Meres. Palladis Tamia. 1598. An English 
 Garner. Critical Essays and Literary Fragments, with an 
 Introduction by J. Churton Collins. 
 
 As Achilles tortured the dead body of Hector; and as Antonius and 
 his wife Fulvia tormented the lifeless corpse of Cicero; so Gabriel 
 Harvey hath showed the same inhumanity to Greene, that lies full low 
 in his grave, p. 19. 
 
 10. Rowlands. Tis Merrie when Gossips Meete. 1602. 
 Hunterian Club. A conference between a gentleman and 
 an apprentice. 
 
 Prentice 
 What lacke you Gentle-man? See a new Booke new come foorth. 
 Sir: buy a new Booke, sir. 
 
 Gentleman 
 New Booke say'st: Faith I can see no prettie thing come foorth 
 to my humours liking. There are some old Bookes that I have more 
 delight in than in your new, if thou couldst help me to them. 
 
EARLY ALLUSIONS TO GREENE 219 
 
 Prentice 
 Troth sir, I thinke I can shew you as many of all sorts as any in 
 London, sir. 
 
 Gentleman 
 Can'st helpe mee to all Greenes Bookes in one volume? . But I will 
 have them every one, not any wanting. 
 
 Prentice 
 Sir; I have the most part of them, but I lacke Conny-catching, and 
 some halfe dozen more: but I thinke I could procure them. There 
 be in the Towne I am sure can fit you. 
 
 11. Dekker. A Knights Conjuring. 1607. Percy So- 
 ciety. Ed. Rimbault, Vol. 5. p. 76. 
 
 These were likewise carowsing to one another at the holy well, 
 some of them singing Pseans to Apollo, som of them hymnes to the 
 rest of the Goddes, whil'st Marlow, Greene, and Peele had got under 
 the shades of a large vyne, laughing to see Nash (that was but newly 
 come to their Colledge) still haunted with the sharpe and satyricall 
 spirit that followed him here upon earth. 
 
 12. Overbury. Characters. Ed. Rimbault. 1890. p. 
 101. A Chamber-maide. 
 
 She reads Greenes works over and over. 
 
 13. Taylor. The Water Poet. Works, Ed. 1630. 
 Spenser Soc. 1869. Praise of Hemp-Seed, p. 72. 
 
 In Paper many a Poet now survives 
 Or else their lines had perish'd with their lives. 
 Old Chaucer, Gower, and Sir Thomas More, 
 Sir Philip Sidney who the Lawrell wore, 
 Spencer, and Shakespeare did in Art excell, 
 Sir Edward Dyer, Greene, Nash, Daniel, 
 Silvester Beaumont, Sir John Harington. 
 
 14. Heywood. Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels. 1635 
 p. 206. 
 
 Greene who had in both Academies ta'en 
 Degree of Master, yet could never gaine 
 To be called more than Robin. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Adams, Joseph Quincy, Jr. Modern Philology vol. 3, p. 317, Jan., 
 1906. Greene's Menaphon and The Thracian Wonder. 
 Mod. Lang. Notes, XXII. 225, Nov. 7, 1907. Robert Greene's 
 What Thing is Love? 
 
 Ameis, Theodorus. Jahreshericht hohere Burgerschule zu Langensala. 
 1869. On Robert Greene's Dramatical Style. 
 
 Arber, Edward. A Transcript of the Stationers' Registers. 5 vols. 
 Privately printed. 1875-1894. 
 
 Atkins, J. W. H. Cambridge History of English Literature. Chap. 
 XVI. Vol. III., p. 886. Elizabethan Prose Fiction. 
 
 Aydelotte, Frank. Oxford Historical and Literary Studies. Vol. I. 
 Elizabethan Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 
 Baker, G. P. Cambridge History of English Literature. Vol. V., 
 Chap. VI , p. 136. The Plays of the University Wits. 
 
 Bernhardi, Wolfgang. Robert Greenes Leben und Schriften. Eine 
 historisch-kritische Studie. Leipzig, 1874. 
 
 Boas, F. S. Shakespeare and his Predecessors. New York, 1908. 
 
 BoDENSTEDT, F. M. VON. German Edition of Greene's Plays. Marlowe 
 und Greene als Vorldufer Shakespeares. Brunswick, 1858. 
 
 Bond, R. Warwick. The Complete Works of John Lyly. 3 vols. 
 Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1902. 
 
 Bradley, Henry. Mod. Lang. Rev. vol. I., 3, 208 ff. Some Textual 
 Puzzles in Greene's Works. 
 
 Brereton, J. LeGay. Mod. Lang. Rev. Vol. II., p. 34. The Rela- 
 tion of The Thracian Wonder to Greene's Menaphon. 
 
 Brie, F. Eng. Stud. Vol. 42, p. 217. Lyly und Greene. 
 
 Brooke, C. F. Tucker. The Authorship of 2 and 3 Henry VI. 
 
 The Tudor Drama. A History of EngHsh National Drama to the 
 Retirement of Shakespeare. Houghton Mifflin Co. 1911. 
 
 Brown, J. M. New Zealand Magazine, No. 6. April, 1877. pp. 
 97-133. An Early Rival of Shakespeare. Reproduced substan- 
 tially in Vol. I. of Grosart's edition of Greene's Works. 
 
 BuLLEN, A. H. Article on Greene in Dictionary of National Biography, 
 
 221 
 
222 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Caro, J. Eng. Stud. Vol. 2, p. 141. Die Historischen Elemente in 
 
 Shakespeares Sturm und Wintermarchen. 
 Chandler, F. W. The Literature of Roguery. Houghton MiflSin Co., 
 
 1907. 
 Collier, J. P. The History of English Dramatic Poetry to the Time of 
 
 Shakespeare: and Annals of the Stage to the Restoration. 3 Vols., 1831. 
 Collins, J. C. The Plays and Poems of Robert Greene. Clarendon 
 
 Press, 1905. 2 vols. 
 Conrad, Hermann. Jahrhuch der Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft. 
 
 XXIX-XXX, 1894, p. 210. Robert Greene als Dramatiker. 
 Cooper, C. H. Athenae Cantabrigiensis. 
 CoiTRTHOPE, W. J. A History of English Poetry. Macmillan and 
 
 Co., 1906. 
 Crawford, Chas. Collectanea, First Series, 1906. Edmund Spenser, 
 
 "Locrine,'' and ''Selimus." 
 Creizenach, W. Anglia, 1885, Vol 8, p. 419. Zu Greene's James 
 
 the Fourth. 
 CuNLiFFE, J. W. Cambridge History of English Literature. Vol. 5, 
 
 Chap. IV, p. 68. Early Enghsh Tragedy. 
 Daniel, P. A. Athenaeum, Oct. 8, 1881, p. 465. Greene and Cinthio. 
 
 ibid. April 16, 1898, p. 512. "LocHne" and ''Selimus." 
 Debate Betweene Pride and Lowliness. By F. T. Shak. Soc. 
 
 Pub., Vol. XVII., 1841. 
 Delius. N. Jahrbuch der Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft. XV., 
 
 1880, p. 22. Greene's Pandosto und Shakespeare's Winter's Tale. 
 Dickinson, T. H. The Complete Plays of Robert Greene. Mermaid 
 
 Series, 1909. 
 Disraeli, Isaac. Calamities of Authors: Literary Ridicule. Illus- 
 trated by some Account of a Literary Satire. 
 Dyce, Alexander. Collected Plays and Poems of Robert Greene, 2 
 
 vols., 1831. Contains an account of author and list of works. 
 
 Dramatic and Poetical Works of Robert Greene and George Peele. 
 
 1 vol., 1858. 
 Erskine, John. The Elizabethan Lyric, A Study. Columbia Uni- 
 versity Press, 1905. 
 Fleay, F. G. a Chronicle History of the Life and Work of William 
 
 Shakespeare, Player, Poet, and Playmaker. New York, 1886. 
 A Chronicle History of the London Stage, 1559-1642. 1890. 
 A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama. 
 FuRNiVALL, F. J. The Shakespeare Library, 1907. The Rogues and 
 
 Vagabonds of Shakespeare's Youth. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 223 
 
 Gayley, C. M. Representative English Comedies. Macmillan, 1903. 
 
 Contains a monograph, "Greene's place in Comedy," by G. E. 
 
 Woodberry. 
 Gilbert, Hugo. Robert Greene's Selimus. Fine litterarhistorische 
 
 Untersuchung. Dissertation, Kiel, 1899. 
 GossE, E. The Complete Works of Thomas Lodge. 4 vols. Printed 
 
 for the Hunterian Club, 1883. Introduction. 
 Greg, W. W. Mod. Lang. Rev., Vol. I, p. 238. 1906. Review of 
 
 Collins' Edition of Greene. 
 The Modern Language Quarterly, vol. 3, p. 189. Giraldi Cintio and 
 
 the English Drama. 
 Grosart, Alexander. Complete Works of Robert Greene, 15 vols. 
 
 8vo., 1881-3. Huth Library Series. Vol. 1 contains a transla- 
 tion of Nicholas Storojenko's Life of Greene. 
 Hart, H. C. Notes and Queries. 10th Ser., Nos. 4, 5, 9. 
 Hatcher, O. L. Mod. Lang. Notes. Vol. XXIII, p. 16. The Sources 
 
 and Authorship of the Thracian Wonder. 
 Hazlitt, W. C. Notes and Queries. 3rd Ser. No. IV, p. 184. 
 Herford, C. H. New Shak. Soc, 1st Ser., Part 2, p. 181. A Few 
 
 Suggestions on Green's Romances and Shakespeare. 
 The Literary Relations of England and Germany in the Sixteenth 
 
 Century. 
 Hermit of Holyport. Notes and Queries. 1st Ser., No. 3, p. 103. 
 
 A Dutch Translation of a Tract by Robert Greene. 
 Hubbard, F. G. Unpubhshed Article on Relation of Locrine and 
 
 Selimus referred to, and synopsis given, in Cambridge History 
 
 of English Literature. Vol. V, p. 96. 
 Ingleby, C. M. Athenaeum. Feb. 28, 1874, p. 292. Greene's 
 
 " Young Juvenal." 
 JussERAND, J. J. The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare. 
 
 Translated from the French by Elizabeth Lee, 1895. 
 Knaut, Carl, tjber die Metrik Robert Greene's. Dissertation at 
 
 Halle, 1890. 
 KoEPPEL, Emil. Quellen und Forschungen. Vol. 70. Studien zur 
 
 Geschichte der Italienischen Novelle in der Englischen Literatur 
 
 des XVI Jahrhunderts. 
 KozMiAN, Stanislaus. Athenaeum, Nov. 6, 1875, p. 609. A Winter's 
 
 Tale. 
 Lee, Jane. The New Shakespeare Society Transactions, 1875-76, p. 
 
 219, On the Authorship of the Second and Third Parts of Henry 
 
 VI. and the Originals. 
 
224 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Lee, Sidney. The French Renaissance in England. Oxford, 1910. 
 McKerrow, Ronald B. The Works of Thomas Nashe. Edited from 
 
 the original texts. Notes. 5 vols. 
 McCoNAUGHY, J. L. Teacher's College Publications, Columbia Uni- 
 versity. The School Drama. 
 Mertins, Oscar. Robert Greene und the Play of George-a-Greene, the 
 
 Pinner of Wakefield. Breslau Dissertation, 1885. 
 Meyer, Edward. Litterarhistorische Forschungen. Vol. I., 1897. 
 
 Machiavelli and the Ehzabethan Drama. 
 Nicholson, B. Notes and Queries. 7th Ser. III., p. 81, 124. Some 
 
 Textual Remarks on the Play of George-a-Greene. 
 Perott, Joseph de. Eng. Stud. XXXIX., p. 308. 1908. Robert 
 
 Greenes Entlehnung aus dem Ritterspiegel. 
 RiTTER, Otto. De Roberti Greeni Fabula: Friar Bacon and Friar 
 
 Bungay. Dissertation, 1866. 
 RouTH, Harold V. Cambridge History of English Literature. Vol. IV., 
 
 Chap. XVI., p. 362. London and the Development of Popular 
 
 Literature. 
 ScHELLiNG, Felix E. ^ Book of Elizabethan Lyrics, 1895. Ginn & 
 
 Co. 
 The Queen's Progress and Other Elizabethan Sketches, No. 6. 
 Elizabethan Drama. 1558-1642. 2 vols. Houghton Mifflin Co. 1908. 
 English Literature during the Lifetime of Shakespeare. New York, 
 
 1910. 
 Scott, Mary Augusta. Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass'n. 1896. p. 377. 
 
 Ehzabethan Translations from the ItaHan: the titles of such 
 
 works now first collected and arranged, with annotations. 
 Simpson, Richard. Academy, Greene on Nashe. April 11, 1874. 
 Ibid. Chettle on Shakespeare. 
 The School of Shakespeare Vol. II., p. 330. 
 Smith, G. C. M. Notes and Queries. 10th Ser. No. 8. p. 461. Lyly, 
 
 Greene and Shakespeare. 
 Smith, G. Gregory. Elizabethan Critical Essays. Oxford, 1904. 
 Staunton, H. Athenaeum, March 21, 1874, p. 391. Greene's Young 
 
 Juvenal. 
 Athenaeum, Feb. 7, 1874, p. 193. A Mistaken Allusion to Shake- 
 speare. 
 Storojenko, Nicholas. Life of Robert Greene, translated by E. A. B. 
 
 Hodgetts, in Grosart's edition of Greene, Vol. I. 
 Notes and Queries, 4th Ser., No. 12, p. 441. Dec. 6, 1873. The 
 
 Date of Greene's Menaphon. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 225 
 
 Symonds, J. A. Shakespeare^s Predecessors in the English Drama. 
 
 New Edition, 1904. 
 ToYNBEE, Paget. Athenaeum, Feb. 15, 1902, p. 216. References to 
 
 Dante. 
 Vetter, V erhandlungen der 4:4: Versammlung dtsche Philologen und 
 
 Schulmdnner. Robert Greene und Seine Prosa. 
 ViLES, Edward. (See under Furnivall.) 
 Ward, A. W. A History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death of 
 
 Queene Anne. London, 1875. 
 Marlowe's Faustus and Greene's. Friar Bacon. Oxford, 1901. 
 
 4th ed. Old English Drama. 
 Wilson, John Dover. L26rar?/, 1909, p. 361. NewSer., 10. Euphues 
 
 and the Prodigal Son. 
 WoLFF,f Samuel Lee. Eng. Stud. Vol. 37. Robert Greene and the 
 
 Itahan Renaissance. 
 The Greek Romances and Elizabethan Prose Fiction. New York, 1912. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Achilles Tatius, 35 
 
 Acolastus, 54, 55, 56 (summary), 
 
 58, 67, 72 
 Adventures of Master F. J., 120 
 yEthiopian History, The, 35 
 Alarum against Usurers, 91, 92 n. 
 Albions England, 40 
 Alcida, 25, 72 n., 167, 168 n., 176 
 AUott, Robert, 184, 185 
 Alphonsus, 174-177, 184, 190-193, 
 
 194, 196, 197 
 Anacreon, 137 
 
 Anatomie of Absurdiiie, 168 n. 
 Ann of Bohemia, 38 
 Arbasto, 27, 37, 39, 45, 59, 165 
 Arcadia, 6, 32 n., 34, 41 
 Ariosto, 193 
 
 Astrophel and Stella, 135 
 Audeley, John, 87 n. 
 
 Bacon, Francis, 48 
 Barnfield, Richard, 146, 162 
 Belleau, Remy, 137 
 Blacke Booke, 3, 103 n., 116 
 Blacke Bookes Messenger, 3, 82, 
 
 100, 104, 107-109, 115, 173 
 Breton, Nicholas, 146, 155, 162 
 Browne, William, 146 
 
 C. Mery Talys, 110 
 
 Carde of Fancie, 7, 37, 39, 48, 
 
 65-66, 165 
 Caveat or Warning for Commen 
 
 Cursetors, 85 n., 91, 92 
 
 Censure to Philautus, 23-24, 167 
 Chettle, Henry, 169 
 Chevalier du Soliel, Le, 38 n. 
 Cinthio, Giraldi, 31 n., 196 
 City Nightcap (Davenport's), 43 n. 
 Clitophon and Leucippe, 35 
 Cobler of Canterbury, The, 54, 70, 
 
 170 
 Complaints (Spenser's), 175, 186 
 
 Daniel, Samuel, 175 n. 
 
 Daphnis and Chloe, 35, 39, 189 
 
 Day, Angel, 35, 39 
 
 Debate between Pride and Lowli- 
 ness, 122, 124 
 
 Decameron, 21 
 
 Defence of Conny Catching, 82, 
 96-107, 109, 111, 120, 172, 
 179 
 
 Dekker, Thomas, 10, 92 n. 
 
 Deloney, Thomas, 10 
 
 Diary (Henslowe's), 178, 180 
 
 Disputation betweene a Hee and a 
 Shee Conny-Catcher, 82, 99, 100, 
 103 n., 105, 107, 115-121, 124, 
 172 
 
 Doctor Faustus, 195 
 
 Dowgate, The shoemaker of, 4 
 
 Drayton, Michael, 175 n. 
 
 El Relox de Principes, 11 
 Englands Helicon, 174 n. 
 Englands Parnassus, 184 
 Estienne, Henri, 137 
 
 227 
 
228 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Euphues, 10, 13-17, 35, 37, 45, 47, 
 
 55, 63, 76 n., 78 n., 189 
 Euphues Shadow, 16 n. 
 
 Faerie Queene, 186 
 Faire Em, 180, 181 
 Farewell to Follie, 23, 69, 70, 72, 
 
 80, 103 n., 166 n., 167, 171, 172, 
 
 181, 185 
 Fenton, Geoffrey, 11, 16, 127 
 Francescos Fortunes, 27, 59-62, 63, 
 
 65, 68, 71, 80, 103 n., 141, 154, 
 
 155, 169, 171, 172 
 Fraternitye of Vacahondes, The, 
 
 87 n. 
 Friar Bacon, 78 n., 180-181, 184, 
 
 188, 190, 195-196, 197, 199 
 
 Gaseoigne, George, 12 n., 20, 
 120, 127, 134 n., 146 n., 148, 
 178 n. 
 
 George-a-Greene, The Pinner of 
 Wakefield, 182, 184, 187-189 
 
 Gli Asolani, 20 
 
 Glasse of Government, 55 n. 
 
 Gnaepheus, 54 
 
 Governor (Elyot's), 11 
 
 Greene, Robert, brief summary of 
 his life, 1-2; personal appear- 
 ance and character, 2-3; last 
 illness and death, 3^; letter to 
 his wife, 3-4; general attitude 
 toward literature, 5; general 
 Uterary quaUties, 5-8; his mot- 
 toes, 9; his Mamillia, 14-19; 
 his Morando, 21-22; his Fare- 
 well to Follie, 23; his Censure to 
 Philautus, 23-24; his Penelopes 
 Weh, 25; his Alcida, 25; his 
 Planetomachia, 25; his Pery- 
 
 medes, 26; his Orpharion, 26; as 
 an introducer of ItaUan thought, 
 27; his Tompkins the Wheel- 
 wright, 28; his story of Val- 
 dracko, 29; the narrative art 
 of his frame-work tales, 28-34; 
 his relations with Greek Ro- 
 mance, 34 seq.; his Second Part 
 of Mamillia, 37 ; his Arbasto, 37; 
 his Pandosto, 37-39; his Mena- 
 phon, 39-42; his Philomela, 43; 
 his Ciceronis Amor, 43; his 
 attitude toward Fortune, 43; 
 conventionality of his style in 
 fiction, 45-49; his character- 
 ization, 49-52; his Spanish 
 Masquerado, 53; his Royal Ex- 
 change, 53; his adoption of the 
 motto, sero sed serio, 53-54; 
 influence of the prodigal son 
 story upon him, 55 seq.; his 
 Mourning Garment, 56-59; his 
 Never too Late, and Francescos 
 Fortunes, 59-62; his Mirrour of 
 Modestie, 61; his Groatsworth of 
 Wit, 62-65, 72-76; his Carde 
 of Fancie, 65-66; interpreta- 
 tion of his prodigal son pam- 
 phlets, 66-72; Gabriel Harvey's 
 account of his death, 74; 
 purity of his writings, 75; 
 his Repentance, 76-79; his 
 travel on the continent, 77 n.; 
 a Ust of his social pamphlets, 82; 
 his Notable Discovery of Coos- 
 nage, 82-83; his Second Part 
 and his Thirde Part, 83; his 
 adoption of the motto, nascimur 
 pro patria, 84 seq.; his de- 
 fence of the style of the social 
 pamphlets, 85 n.; the serious- 
 
INDEX 
 
 229 
 
 ness of his social pamphlets, 
 87 seq.; his use of the Manifest 
 Detection of Dyce Play, 89-91; 
 his accuracy in the social 
 pamphlets, 91-96; the Defence of 
 Conny Catching, and his author- 
 ship of it, 96-107; a new step in 
 the Greene-Harvey-Nashe quar- 
 rel, 105-106; his Blacke Bookes 
 Messenger, 107-109; signifi- 
 cance of his social pamphlets as 
 narrative, 109-114; his Disputa- 
 tion, 115-121; his Quippefor an 
 Upstart Courtier, 121-126; his 
 lost ballad, 127; relation of his 
 poems to his romances, 127-129; 
 his poetic themes, 129-144; 
 his Maidens Dreame, 142; his 
 metres, 144-155; merit of his 
 verse, with selections from 
 his poetry, 155-163; his Al- 
 phonsus, 174-177, 190-193; his 
 Looking Glasse for London and 
 Englande, 177-179; his Orlando 
 Furioso, 179-180, 193-195; his 
 Friar Bacon, 180-181, 195-196; 
 his James IV., 181-182, 196- 
 197; summary of the dates of 
 his plays, 182; his character- 
 istics as a dramatist, 189-200; 
 summary of Greene's character- 
 istics as a man and as an author, 
 201-205 
 
 Greenes Ghost Haunting Coni- 
 catchers, 90 n., 100 n. 
 
 Greenes Vision, 26, 71, 88, 94 n., 
 132, 169, 170-172 
 
 Grimald, Nicholas, 134, 148 
 
 Groatsworth of Wit, 48, 59 n., 62- 
 65, 72, 73, 80, 139, 145, 170, 
 171, 173, 177, 183 
 
 Harman, Thomas, 85 n., 86 n., 
 
 87 n., 91, 92, 93 n. 
 Harvey, Gabriel, 2, 74, 79, 105, 
 
 106 
 Harvey, Richard, 105, 106 
 Heliodorus, 35, 38 
 Henry VL, 182 
 
 Henslowe, Philip, 178, 179, 188 
 Heptameron, 21 
 Howard, Phihp, Earl of Arundel, 
 
 166 
 Howell, Thomas, 139 n. 
 Hunting of Cupid, 181 
 
 n Cortegiano, 11, 12, 20 
 Isam, Mrs., 4, 79 
 
 James IV., 181-182, 188, 189, 
 
 196-197 
 Jamyn, Amadis, 136 
 
 Kind-Harts Dreame, 169 
 
 King Lear, 194 
 
 Knack to Know a Knave, A, 75 n., 
 
 182, 183 
 Kyd, Thomas, 32, 189, 190, 201 
 
 La Burza Reale, 169 
 
 Lamb of God, 105 
 
 Laneham's Letter, 23 n. 
 
 Locrine, 186 
 
 Lodge, Thomas, 75 n.,91, 127, 125, 
 
 156, 162; 178, 183, 185 
 Longus, 35, 38 
 Looking Glasse for London and 
 
 Englande, 177-179, 183 
 Love's Metamorphosis, 25 n. 
 Lyly, John, 9, 10, 13, 16, 17, 35, 
 
 45, 46, 64, 69, 75, 138, 189, 
 
 201 
 
230 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Macbeth, 190 
 
 Maidens Dreame, 142, 149 n., 
 
 172 
 Mamillia, 14-19, 25 n,, 33, 66, 
 
 102 n., 164, 189 
 Mamillia, The Second Part, 37, 
 
 102 n., 127, 164 
 Manifest Detection of Dyce Play, 
 
 89-91, 93 n. 
 Marlowe, Christopher, 32, 52, 75, 
 
 133, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 
 
 196, 200 
 Martin Marprelate, 167 n. 
 Menaphon, 36, 39-42, 45, 48, 53, 
 
 128, 149 n., 155, 156, 168, 176, 
 
 177, 189, 197 
 Merrie Conceited Jests of George 
 
 Peele, 110 
 Milton, John, 190 
 Mirrour of Modestie, 61, 165 
 Morando, 21-22, 103 n., 166 
 Most Rare and Excellent Dreame, A, 
 
 142, 143, 149 n. 
 Mourning Garment, 56-59, 67, 69, 
 
 80, 167, 169, 171, 172, 181 
 Mucedorus, 185 
 
 Nashe, Thomas, 2, 4 n., 6, 75, 105, 
 
 168 n., 176, 177, 183 
 Never too Late, 27, 59-62, 68, 69, 
 
 71, 77 n., 80, 103 n., 133, 140 n., 
 
 169, 171, 172 
 News out of Purgatory, 152 
 Notable Discovery of Conny-Catch- 
 
 ing, 78 n., 82-83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 
 
 90, 92, 102, 115 
 Noyes, Alfred, 151 n. 
 
 Opheltes, 60, 65 
 
 Orlando Furioso, 100, 179-180, 
 188, 193-195, 196, 197 
 
 Orpharion, 26, 53, 70, 103 n,, 168, 
 170, 172 
 
 Painter, WHUam, 11, 16, 108 n. 
 Pandosto, 36, 37-39, 45, 48, 66, 
 
 168, 197 
 Paradise of Daintie Devices, 140 n., 
 
 146 
 Passionate Century of Love, 134 
 Paulus Jovius, 185 
 Peele, George, 76, 138, 180, 181 
 Penelopes Web, 25, 103 n, 167 
 Perymedes, 26, 92, 103 n., 167, 168, 
 
 176 
 Petite Pallace of Pettie His Pleas- 
 ure, A, 88 n. 
 Pettie, George, 11, 46, 88 n. 
 Philomela, 43, 140 n., 172 
 Phoenix Nest, 142, 149 n. 
 Planetomachia, 25, 29, 88 n., 104, 
 
 166 
 Poetical Rhapsody (Davison's), 
 
 137 n. 
 Pontano, his Aegidius, 26 n. 
 Primaudaye, his Academy, 22 n., 
 
 23 n., 25 n., 167 n., 185 
 Printemps d'lver, 180 
 Pseudo-Anacreon, 137 
 
 Quippe for an Upstart Courtier, A, 
 82, 99, 100 n., 101, 106, 121-126, 
 173, 193 
 
 Repentance, 3, 66, 72, 76-79, 80, 
 
 170, 171, 173 
 Richard IIL, 190 
 Riche, Barnabe, 11, 12 n., 46, 
 
 59 n., 65 n., 127 
 Rosalynde, 6, 152 
 Rowlands, Samuel, 10, 90 n., 92 n., 
 
 100 n. 
 Royal Exchange, 53, 168, 185 
 
 I 
 
INDEX 
 
 231 
 
 Sannazaro, 127 
 Schoolmaster (Ascham's), 11 
 Scillaes Metamorphosis, 178 
 Second Part of Conny-catching, 82, 
 
 83, 85, 86, 87, 89, 91 n., 101, 
 
 102, 172 
 Selimus, 182, 184-186, 187 
 Shakespeare, William, 32, 76, 136, 
 
 146, 152, 162, 199 
 Shepherd's Calendar, 130 
 Sidney, Sir Philip, 75 n., 127, 135, 
 
 152, 156 
 Siemowitsch (or Zeimowit), 38 
 Spanish Masquerado, 53,88 n., 168, 
 
 178 
 Spanish Tragedy, 32, 194 
 Spenser, Edmund, 148 n., 175, 185 
 Steel Glas, 148 
 
 Studentes (of Stymmelius), 55, 72 
 Summers Last Will and Testament, 
 
 183 
 Surrey, Earl of, 134, 148 
 
 Tamburlaine, 167 n., 174 n., 175, 
 176, 177, 189, 190, 191, 192, 
 193, 194 
 
 Tancred and Gismond, 186 
 
 Tarlton, Richard, 152 
 Teares of the Muses, The, 175 
 Thirde and Last Part of Conny- 
 catching, 82, 83, 92, 99, 100, 
 109, 111, 172 
 Tompkins the Wheelwright, 28 
 Tottel's Miscellany, 134, 148 
 Turberville, George, 134, 146 
 Tusser, Thomas, 146 
 
 Underdowne, Thomas, 35 
 
 Visions of Bellay, 148 n. 
 
 Warner, William, 40, 60, 62 n., 65 
 Watson, Thomas, 134, 138 n. 
 Watteau, 42 
 Whetstone, George, 46 
 Whittington College, 96 
 Whittington, Richard, 96 n. 
 Winter's Tale, 39 n. 
 Wither, George, 146 
 Woman in the Moon, 26 
 Wounds of Civill War, 185 
 Wyatt, Sir Thomas, 134 
 
 "Young Juvenall," 75 n., 183 
 
a/8yox^ph^-6 
 
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 Froissart and the English Chronicle Play. By Robert M. Smith, 
 
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