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But now when PITT, the all-perfect, sways,
No such vain lures the tempter lays,

Too poor to be the purchase twice,
Of Eden lost.

The Dev'l grown wiser, to the gaze
Six thousand pounds a year displays,
And finds success from the device;
Finds this fair fruit too well suffice

To pay the peace and honest praise,

Of Eden lost.

"A mere affair of trade to embrace,
"Wines, brandies, gloves, fans, cambricks, lace;
"For this on me my Sovereign laid
"His high commands and I obeyed;
"Nor think, my lord, this conduct base.

"Party were guilt in such a case,
"When thus my country, for a space,
"Calls my poor skill to Dorset's aid
"A mere affair of trade!"

Thus Eden with unblushing face,

To North would palliate his disgrace;

When North, with smiles, this answer made:
"You might have spared what you have said;
"I thought the business of your place
"A mere affair of trade!"

These rondeaus attacking North, Eden, Pitt and Dorset are attributed to Dr. Laurence, a friend of Burke's.

XII

THE VILLANELLE

The word villanelle, or villenesque, was used toward the end of the sixteenth century to describe literary imitations of rustic songs. Such villanelles were alike in exhibiting a refrain which testified to their ultimate popular origin. The villanelle was, in a sense, invented by

Jean Passerat (1534-1602). It is a poem of six stanzas of not more than two rhymes, the first five of which are composed of three lines, the last of four, the first line and the third line of the first stanza alternating as refrains. The tercets rhyme a b a, the quatrain usually a ba a. Passerat's villanelle about the turtle-dove and Wyndham's translation show all of these characteristics.

J'ai perdu ma tourterelle;
Est-ce point celle que j'oy?
Je veux aller après elle.

Tu regrettes ta femelle,
Hélas! aussi fais-je moi,
J'ai perdu ma tourterelle.

Si ton amour est fidelle,
Aussi est ferme ma foy;
Je veux aller après elle.

Ta plainte se renouvelle,
Toujours plaindre je me doy;
J'ai perdu ma tourterelle.

En ne voyant plus la belle,
Plus rien de beau je ne voy;
Je veux aller après elle.

Mort, que tant de fois j'appelle,
Prends ce qui se donne à toy!
J'ai perdu ma tourterelle;

Je veux aller après elle.

I have lost my turtle-dove;

Is not that her call to me?

To be with her were enough.

You mourn for your mate in love,

I chant in the same sad key,

I have lost my turtle-dove.

If your faith is not to move,

Fast is my fidelity;

To be with her were enough.

Grief renews your song thereof,
Endless mine of misery;

I have lost my turtle-dove,

Seeing no more in the grove
Hers, no beauty can I see;
To be with her were enough.

Death, besought all life above,
Take one self-assigned to thee!
I have lost my turtle-dove;
To be with her were enough.

Passerat had written other villanelles, so-called, that did not conform to this model at all. The great Hellenist was undoubtedly unaware of the innovation that he had introduced, but the form caught the attention of his contemporaries and became fixed in his lifetime. Pierre Richelet and other writers on the theory of poetry designated as villanelles only those poems that conformed to Passerat's classic example. L. E. Kastner, the eminent authority on French versification, mentions the fact that "Philoxène Boyer (1827-67) has left one well-known example of this form, La Marquise Aurore (which differs slightly from Passerat's model in that the third line of the first tercet is repeated before the first line. ..)"

XIII

THE SESTINA

The sestina is also in a sense an invention, the first one being the work of Arnaut Daniel (died 1199), who was ranked by Dante highest amongst Provençal poets. Dante himself wrote sestinas in Italian, his most famous one beginning with the words "Al poco giorno ed al gran cerchio d'ombra." In the De Vulgari Eloquio he says that he copied the structure of his sestinas from Arnaut Daniel. The sestina in its pure medieval form

is independent of rhyme. It is composed of six stanzas of six lines. The final words of the first stanza appear in inverted order in all the others. If we let the letters of the alphabet represent the six final words of the first stanza, we have the following graphic illustration of the order in which these words reappear in the five following stanzas:

a b c d e f

faebdc

cfdabe

ecbfad

deacfb

bdfeca

These six stanzas are followed by a tornada, or envoy,
of three lines, in which all the final words are repeated
in this order: b e, d C, fa.
The stanza of the sestina
was a climax in the development of the Provençal lyric
called the chanso redonda, in which the last rhyme of
one stanza corresponded with the first rhyme of the
following stanza, but with the additional complication
that every rhyme started a stanza in turn.
The poets
of the Pléiade, notably Pontus de Tyard (1521-1605),
revived and adapted the sestina. Barnabe Barnes
(1569?-1609), who had lived in France both in his
boyhood and in his early manhood and had come into
contact with the writings of the Pléiade in various ways,
wrote five sestinas which are contained in his Parthenophil
and Parthenope. The first one that is here given pre-
sents no singularities of form.

When I waked out of dreaming,
Looking all about the garden,
Sweet PARTHENOPE was walking:
O what fortune brought her hither!
She much fairer than that Nymph,
Which was beat with rose and lilies.

Her cheeks exceed the rose and lilies.
I was fortunate in dreaming
Of so beautiful a Nymph.

To this happy blessed garden,

Come, you Nymphs! come, Fairies! hither.
Wonder Nature's Wonder walking!

So She seemed, in her walking,
As she would make rose and lilies
Ever flourish. O, but hither
Hark! (for I beheld it dreaming)
Lilies blushed within the garden,
Stained with beauties of that Nymph.

The Rose for anger at that Nymph
Was pale! and, as She went on walking,
When She gathered in the garden,

Tears came from the Rose and Lilies!
As they sighed, their breath, in dreaming
I could well perceive hither.

When PARTHENOPE came hither,
At the presence of that Nymph,

(That hill was heaven! where I lay dreaming)
But when I had espied her walking,

And in her hand her Rose and Lilies

As sacrifice given by that garden;

(To Love, stood sacred that fair garden!)
I dared the Nymphs to hasten hither.
Make homage to the Rose and Lilies!
Which are sacred to my Nymph.
Wonder, when you see her walking!
(Might I see her, but in dreaming!)
Even the fancy of that Nymph

Would make me, night and day, come hither,
To sleep in this thrice happy garden.

Another one of his sestinas invokes the assistance of Echo, with what results the first stanza of the poem shows.

Echo! What shall I do to my Nymph when I go to

behold her?

ECHO, Hold her!

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