poetic conventions. HisNosce Teipsum should be examined in relation to other long philosophical poems, such as Lucretius’s De rerum natura (c. 60 b.c.e.; On the Nature of Things, 1682), Aonio Paleario’s De immortalitate animae (1536), Samuel Daniel’s Musophilus: Or, A Defence of Poesie (1599, 1601, 1602, 1607, 1611, 1623), and Fulke Greville’s poetic treatises. Orchestra belongs to the genre of mythological wooing poems, which were later given the name epyllia, or minor epics. In writing Orchestra, Davies did not set out to write a poem about the Elizabethan worldview; he suggests that Orchestra relates a wooing episode that Homer forgot to include in the Odyssey (c. 725 b.c.e.; English translation, 1614) because he wants his readers to associate the poem with other amatory poems popular in England in the 1590’s. Of these, two of the most popular were Christopher Marlowe’s Hero and Leander (1598) and Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis (1593). Orchestra, however, lacks the sensuality of these two poems and seems to resemble the more philosophical efforts in the genre, such as Michael Drayton’s Endimion and Phoebe (1595) and George Chapman’s Ovid’s Banquet of Sense (1595). The Hymnes of Astraea belong to a genre treated with disdain by most modern scholars. They are acrostic lyrics intended as an Accession Day tribute to Queen Elizabeth. Like the many entertainments written to praise Elizabeth’s beauty or her purity, they are intended as courtly compliments and should be approached as artful “trifles,” excellent in their kind.

Finally, it is important to emphasize that Davies was a man of ideas. His poems are intended not only to delight but also to teach and to inform. Critics who associate poetry with the expression of feelings or the description of scenery may find his verse less immediately accessible. He thrived on formal restraints; to appreciate his poetry requires a sensitivity to the technical difficulties of writing verse. It also requires that the reader accept verse in which, in Eliot’s words, “thought is not exploited for the sake of feeling; it is pursued for its own sake.”

Epigrammes and Elegies

Davies’ Epigrammes and Elegies appeared without a date and with a title page reading “At Middleburgh.” No satisfactory explanation has been offered for the posthumous combination of Christopher Marlowe’s translation of Ovid’s Elegies with Davies’ Epigrammes and Elegies. It is unlikely that the first edition was a piracy because Epigrams 47 and 48, which balance 1 and 2 in the printed text, seem to have been written specifically for the printed edition; they are absent from all four of the most important manuscripts. Although some of the epigrams may have dated from his school days, the majority were probably written between 1594 and 1595.

The poems are obviously modeled on Martial’s epigrams, but Davies supplies details of sixteenth century English life. In “Meditations of a Gull,” he describes a young gentleman consumed by “melancholy,” a young man uninterested in politics who wears a cloak and a “great black feather.” He is clearly describing the type of young man who pretends to be an intellectual, rather than a specific caricature. Davies, in fact, claims that his epigrams tax under “a peculiar name,/ A generall vice, which merits publick blame.” In June, 1599, the bishop of London and the archbishop of Canterbury ordered that “Davyes Epigrams and Marlowe’s Elegyes” be burned. Since they seem less obscene than other works so condemned, it may be that one of the epigrams contained a libelous allusion unrecognizable today. Practice in this genre, which requires condensation and lucidity, assisted Davies in developing talents which he demonstrated more forcefully in Nosce Teipsum and Orchestra, but the Epigrammes and Elegies still have some interest because of the clever way in which they mirror life in sixteenth century London.

Nosce Teipsum

Nosce Teipsum was first printed in 1599, approximately one year after Davies was expelled from the Middle Temple. The poem has frequently been described as an attempt on Davies’ part to “repair his fortunes with his pen,” thus assuming that Davies wrote it to show that he repented his assault on Martin and that he had completed his reformation. The poem contains what could be interpreted as an autobiographical reference: Affliction is described as having taken the narrator by the ear to teach him a lesson. There is substantial evidence, however, that the poem was begun long before Davies attacked Martin and that it was revised over a period of several years.

The question of literary form has received little attention in discussions of Nosce Teipsum, but an understanding of the nature of the poem’s form and structure is crucial. First, the argument, or organization of ideas, does not define the form. It is impossible to outline Nosce Teipsum thematically without reaching the conclusion that the poem is a loosely organized compendium of Elizabethan knowledge. The second elegy, for example, defines the soul in relation to the body, but then discusses the origin of the soul, the Fall of Man, and free will, before considering the way in which the powers of the soul are actually exercised in the body. The Fall of Man is discussed at the beginning of the first elegy and then examined again in stanzas 138-186 of the second elegy. Second, the poem is divided into two elegies of very different lengths, 45 stanzas in the first and 436 in the second. In the second elegy, a description of the soul requires 273 stanzas with arguments for immortality requiring another 163 stanzas. Davies could have divided the second elegy into two separate sections; that he did not do so requires some consideration.

The relationship between the two elegies is suggested by the general title of the work, not by the separate titles of the two elegies: Nosce Teipsum: This Oracle Expounded in Two Elegies. The emphasis should be upon “oracle,” not upon the broad tradition of self-knowledge. The first elegy, “Of Humane Knowledge,” is a riddle that presents the dilemmas that individuals experience in attempting to acquire self-knowledge. Both biblical and classical illustrations are used because the riddle of self-knowledge puzzles Christians as well as pagans. The second elegy represents a solution to the riddle, and it is structured as a classical oration. Davies’ structure reverses the procedure of the classical oracle in which a relatively clear question led to an enigmatic answer. Influenced by the Renaissance concept of the “oracle” as an obscure riddle, Davies intends the first elegy to represent the question put to the deity in the ancient oracles; it concludes with an enigmatic statement of human nature. The second elegy presents a clear and straightforward answer to that enigmatic statement. The relationship between the two elegies explains why the form of Nosce Teipsum required a break between the two poems.

The second elegy uses the seven-part format of a classical oration, following the divisions of Thomas Wilson, the sixteenth century rhetorician, rather than the six sections recommended by Cicero. The “entrance” (stanzas 1-21) invokes divine light, showing the poet’s need for divine assistance by summarizing the diversity of opinions about the soul (7-15). The “narration” (22-174) consists of two parts: a definition (22-100) and a history (101-174). The soul is defined as a spirit separate from the body; then, the history of how the soul and body were created is summarized. The “proposition” (175-189) answers the questions: why the soul is related to the body, in what manner it is related to the body, and how the soul exercises its powers in the body. The answers summarize the major themes of the “history,” “definition,” and “division.” Davies uses the “division” (190-269) literally to divide the faculties of the soul and their functions; traditionally, the division explained the disposition of the material. The arguments for the immortality of the soul are presented as the “confirmation” (274-357); the refutation of arguments against the immortality of the soul follows in the “confutation” (358-420). In the “conclusion” (421-436), Davies links the two main subjects, the soul and immortality, and then admonishes his own soul to be humble. This admonition parallels the invocation to divine light presented in the entrance.

Brilliantly using the resources of rhetoric, Davies takes the reader from darkness and ambiguity in the first elegy to light and clarity as the answer to the riddle is discovered. The vision of man as a “proud and yet a wretched thing” at the end of the first elegy is corrected in the Acclamation which precedes the arguments for immortality in the second elegy:

O! What a lively life, what heavenly poer,What spreading vertue, what a sparkling fire!How great, how plentifull, how rich a dowerDost Thou within this dying flesh inspire!

Orchestra

Davies’ most engaging poem, and probably his most interesting for the modern reader, is Orchestra, an encomium of dancing set within a Homeric frame. The poem is supposed to relate a dialogue between Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, and Antinous, one of the disorderly suitors who wants to marry Penelope. Antinous invites Penelope to dance, but she refuses, calling dancing “this new rage.” He responds with a lengthy defense of dancing, its antiquity and order.

Davies successfully achieves an exuberant combination of fancy and learning by using the structure, imagery, and setting to suggest multiple levels of meaning. These levels overlap and reinforce one another, but they can be generally distinguished as philosophical, political, and aesthetic. On a philosophical level, the poem is an extended hyperbole which views the macrocosm and microcosm united in the universal dance of life. Davies, however, treats this traditional idea playfully as well as seriously. When he extends the central image of a dancing cosmos to include the description of the veins of the earth as dancing “saphire streames,” and to include the personification of Echo, the “prattling” daughter of the air, as an imperfect dancer, the reader becomes keenly aware of the poet’s artifice. One is amused by these unconventional extensions of the traditional metaphor, but one does not question its basic validity. The aesthetic effect that Davies achieves is to render the tone playful without undercutting the seriousness of the message.

Similarly, Davies interweaves the themes of love and beauty in ways that enrich the philosophical and aesthetic overtones of the poem. Love is described as the father of dancing and also functions as a major figure in the poem. Stanzas 28-76 are devoted to Antinous’s description of Love’s speeches and actions, and Love, disguised as a page, presents Antinous with the magic mirror which reflects an idealized view of Elizabeth and her court (stanzas 109-126). In stanzas 98-108, love also becomes the central issue in the dialogue between Penelope and Antinous. She attacks Love as “of every ill the hatefull Father vile” (stanza 98), supporting this charge with mythological examples (stanzas 99-100). She concludes with a rejection of both dancing and love in stanza 101: “Unhappy may they prove,/ That sitting free, will either daunce or love.” Antinous replies by distinguishing mischievous Lust from that “true Love” who invented dancing, tuned the world’s harmony, and linked men in “sweet societie.” In stanzas 105-108, Antinous argues that Love dances in Penelope: Her beauty is “but a daunce where Love hath us’d/ His finer cunning, and more curious art.” As E. M. W. Tillyard has suggested, these stanzas allude to the Platonic ladder in which the lover is first attracted to the physical beauty of his mistress and then to her spiritual beauty and virtue; he is led up the ladder to the point at which he values virtue for its own sake. In stanza 108, the imagined vision of Penelope’s virtues dancing a round dance in her soul almost puts Antinous into a trance.

The philosophical and aesthetic levels are closely related. Not only is Penelope’s beauty described as a dance in which Love has used his “more curious art” but also Love’s dance in Penelope is developed by artistic illustrations: Love dances in her fingers when she weaves her web (stanza 106) or when she plays “any silver-sounding instrument” (stanza 107). This type of aesthetic statement is set forth quite overtly in the poem, but there are also two digressions from the central action which function aesthetically to symbolize the entire poem: First, Antinous reports a long speech which the god Love delivered to disorderly men and women to persuade them to dance. This persuasion to dance, stanzas 29-60, is a rhetorical set piece; it is unrelated to the main action, Antinous’s persuasion of Penelope to dance, and yet it mirrors it. Love’s speech is a macrocosmic parallel to the microcosm in which Antinous is wooing Penelope. Second, near the conclusion of the poem (stanzas 109-126), in the second digression, Antinous summons Love disguised as a page boy to bring a magic mirror which reflects a vision of Elizabeth’s court in which the sovereign moon is surrounded by dancing stars. The heavenly bodies and the court, or body politic, are united in harmonious order. Each of the above digressions comments upon the poem and underlines Davies’ political intentions.

Queen Elizabeth was in her sixties when Orchestra was written, but she was surrounded by suitors who wished to be named as her successor. The contemporary political situation offered a close parallel to the Homeric setting, but Davies could not afford to make the comparisons too explicit. He merely hints that his own Queen Elizabeth, like Queen Penelope, is reluctant to participate in the orderly movement of the universe by assuring for a transfer of power (stanzas 60, 57-58). In the first digression, Antinous parallels Love, the god, who is attempting to persuade the disorderly men and women to learn to dance; by implication, Penelope parallels them.

The mirror, like the rhetorical set piece, symbolizes in miniature the poem. Davies’ Orchestra, like the mirror, has displayed the timeless and ideal forms of order in the macrocosm and the microcosm. It has shown the past by describing Antinous’s wooing of Penelope and hinted at the rejection of order in Penelope’s refusal. The poem, like the mirror, also shows the present by describing the Queen surrounded by her courtiers as the moon surrounded by the stars, but there is no provision for the future. At the end of the poem, the reader does not know whether Queen Penelope will finally accept the invitation to dance and in so doing assure order throughout the macrocosm and microcosm. The invocation to Urania in stanza 127 is addressed to a “Prophetesse divine,” not to the muse of heavenly love. This invocation, which follows the invocation in stanza 123 so closely, emphasizes that the poet cannot prophesy the future. He has shown the past, present, and the timeless ideal, but it is up to the Queen to provide for the future.

The epic trappings, in which the disorderly Antinous of the Odyssey becomes a spokesperson for order, invite the reader to make parallels, but they are handled so playfully that Orchestra could, if need arose, masquerade as a simple wooing poem. The poem invites but does not require a political interpretation. Orchestra is constructed so that it could pass as a jeu d’esprit or as a celebration of honor climaxing in a compliment to the Queen, but it was intended as Davies’ “pithie exhortation” to Elizabeth to settle the succession so that an orderly transfer of power would be assured after her death.

Three versions of Orchestra have survived, and in each, Davies’ handling of the conclusion reflects his views about the contemporary political situation. The only surviving manuscript of the poem (LF) is preserved in Leweston Fitzjames’s commonplace book (Bodleian Library Add. MS. B. 97. fols. 258-38). LF contains only some stanzas of the first printed version: 1-108 plus 131. An entry in the Stationers’ Register in 1594 suggests that LF preserves an early version composed in 1593-1594, a time when the publication of Father Robert Parsons’s Conference About the Next Succession to the Crown of England had made the subject of the succession dangerous to discuss. The LF version omits the magic mirror sequence so that no celebration of order in the body politic is included in the poem.

The first printed version is titled Orchestra: Or, A Poeme of Dauncing. Iudicially Prooving the True Observation of Time and Measure, in the Authenticall and Laudable Use of Dauncing. This version consists of stanzas 1-131. Probably to render the political implications less explicit, Davies added stanzas 109-126, the mirror sequence, to the already complete manuscript version before he published the poem in 1596.

The final version of the poem appeared in 1622, nearly twenty years after the succession had been peacefully settled. The 1622 version substitutes a dedication to Prince Charles for the earlier one to Richard Martin, who had died a few years earlier. Stanzas 127-131, which contain veiled allusions to poets popular in the 1590’s, are omitted. Following stanza 126 there is the curious note: “Here are wanting some stanzas describing Queen Elizabeth. Then follow these.” Ironically, the five new stanzas (132-136) contain a description of Queen Elizabeth. The printer seems to have confused these stanzas in manuscript and not known where to insert them; to conceal his confusion he added a note suggesting that something had been left out and merely printed the stanzas at the end of the text. When the stanzas are reordered and inserted in the appropriate places, it is clear that in this version Davies did intend to suggest that Queen Penelope accepted the invitation to dance. The invocation to Urania is omitted, and the poem concludes with stanza 126. Davies, looking back nostalgically on the Elizabethan court of his youth, suggests that Elizabeth’s reign was indeed England’s Golden Age.

Hymnes of Astraea

Hymnes of Astraea, twenty-six acrostic lyrics, celebrates Queen Elizabeth as Astraea, the just virgin, who left the earth after the end of the Golden Age; these hymns suggest that the English Virgin Queen is an embodiment of Astraea, who has returned to usher in the golden age of England. The number twenty-six was associated with the astrological sign of the constellation Virgo, and Virgo, in turn, was associated with Astraea, the just virgin. In Orchestra, Davies indicated that “the fairest sight that ever shall be seene” would occur when “sixe and twenty hundreth yeeres are past” (stanza 121). This reference demonstrates his awareness of the Virgo-Astraea tradition and his desire to associate it with Elizabeth, who, by deciding the succession question, could bring a new golden age to England.

Hymnes of Astraea is an artful and brilliantly sustained tour de force. Each of the twenty-six acrostic lyrics contains sixteen lines divided into stanzas of five, five, and six. In all twenty-six lyrics, Davies follows a regular rhyme pattern of aabab ccdcd in the first two stanzas, with occasional variations from the dominant pattern of eefggf in the third stanzas. The meter is predominantly iambic tetrameter. Hymnes of Astraea was entered in the Stationers’ Register on November 17, 1599, the Queen’s Accession Day. Intended as an Accession Day tribute, the initial letters of the lines read downward spell the royal name: ELISABETHA REGINA.