That
imitation whereof poetry is, hath the most conveniency to nature of
all other; insomuch that, as Aristotle saith, those things which in
themselves are horrible, as cruel battles, unnatural monsters, are
made, in poetical imitation, delightful. Truly, I have known men,
that even with reading Amadis de Gaule, which, God knoweth, wanteth
much of a perfect poesy, have found their hearts moved to the
exercise of courtesy, liberality, and especially courage. Who
readeth AEneas carrying old Anchises on his back, that wisheth not
it were his fortune to perform so excellent an act? Whom doth not
those words of Turnus move (the tale of Turnus having planted his
image in the imagination)
"--fugientem haec terra videbit?
Usque adeone mori miserum est?" {42}
Where the philosophers (as they think) scorn to delight, so much
they be content little to move, saving wrangling whether "virtus" be
the chief or the only good; whether the contemplative or the active
life do excel; which Plato and Boetius well knew; and therefore made
mistress Philosophy very often borrow the masking raiment of poesy.
For even those hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school-
name, and know no other good but "indulgere genio," and therefore
despise the austere admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not the
inward reason they stand upon; yet will be content to be delighted,
which is all the good-fellow poet seems to promise; and so steal to
see the form of goodness, which seen, they cannot but love, ere
themselves be aware, as if they took a medicine of cherries.
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