norant strange, and to the
judicial tedious." It is among the curiosities of literature that this
true poet, who had so exquisite a sense of form, and whose lyrics are
frequently triumphs of metrical skill, should have published a work
(entitled "Observations in the Art of English Poesy") to prove that the
use of rhyme ought to be discontinued, and that English metres should be
fashioned after classical models. "Poesy," he writes, "in all kind of
speaking is the chief beginner and maintainer of eloquence, not only
helping the ear with the acquaintance of sweet numbers, but also raising
the mind to a more high and lofty conceit. For this end have I studied
to induce a true form of versifying into our language; for the vulgar
and artificial custom of rhyming hath, I know, deterr'd many excellent
wits from the exercise of English poesy." The work was published in
1602, the year after he had issued the first collection of his charming
lyrics. It was in answer to Campion that Samuel Daniel wrote his
"Defence of Rhyme" (1603), one of the ablest critical treatises in the
English language. Daniel was puzzled, as well he might be, that an
attack on rhyme should have been made by one "whose commendable rhymes,
albeit now himself an enemy to rhyme, have given heretofore to the world
the best notice of his worth." It is pleasant to find Daniel testifying
to the fact that Campion was "a man of fair parts and good reputation."
Ben Jonson, as we are informed by Drummond of Hawthornden, wrote "a
Discourse of Poesy both against Campion and Daniel;" but the discourse
was never published. In his "Observations" Campion gives us a few
specimen-poems written in the unrhymed metres that he proposed to
introduce. The following verses are the least objectionable that I can
find:--

"Just beguiler,
Kindest love yet only chastest,
Royal in thy smooth denials,
Frowning or demurely smiling,
Still my pure delight.

Let me view thee
With thoughts and with eyes affected,
And if then the flames do murmur,
Quench them with thy virtue, charm them
With thy stormy brows.

Heaven so cheerful
Laughs not ever; hoary winter
Knows his season, even the freshest
Summer morns from angry thunder
Yet not still secure."

There is artful ease and the touch of a poet's hand in those verses; but
the Muses shield us from such innovations! Campion's second