The Essay on Agriculture by Abraham Cowley

OF AGRICULTURE.

The first wish of Virgil (as you will find anon by his verses), was to be a good philosopher; the second, a good husbandman; and God (whom he seemed to understand better than most of the most learned heathens) dealt with him just as he did with Solomon: because he prayed for wisdom in the first place, he added all things else which were subordinately to be desired.  He made him one of the best philosophers, and best husbandmen, and to adorn and communicate both those faculties, the best poet.  He made him, besides all this, a rich man, and a man who desired to be no richer, O fortunatas nimium et bona qui sua novit.  To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is Man’s—into the world, as it is God’s.  But since Nature denies to most men the capacity or appetite, and Fortune allows but to a very few the opportunities or possibility, of applying themselves wholly to philosophy, the best mixture of human affairs that we can make are the employments of a country life.  It is, as Columella calls it, Res sine dubitatione proxima et quasi consanguinea sapientiæ, the nearest neighbour, or rather next in kindred to Philosophy.  Varro says the principles of it are the same which Ennius made to be the principles of all nature; earth, water, air, and the sun.  It does certainly comprehend more parts of philosophy than any one profession, art, or science in the world besides; and, therefore, Cicero says, the pleasures of a husbandman, Mihi ad sapientis vitam proxime videntur accedere, come very nigh to those of a philosopher.  There is no other sort of life that affords so many branches of praise to a panegyrist: The utility of it to a man’s self; the usefulness, or, rather, necessity of it to all the rest of mankind; the innocence, the pleasure, the antiquity, the dignity.  The utility (I mean plainly the lucre of it) is not so great now in our nation as arises from merchandise and the trading of the city, from whence many of the best estates and chief honours of the kingdom are derived; we have no men now fetched from the plough to be made lords, as they were in Rome to be made consuls and dictators, the reason of which I conceive to be from an evil custom now grown as strong among us as if it were a law, which is, that no men put their children to be bred up apprentices in agriculture, as in other trades, but such who are so poor, that when they come to be men they have not wherewithal to set up in it, and so can only farm some small parcel of ground, the rent of which devours all but the bare subsistence of the tenant; whilst they who are proprietors of the land are either too proud or, for want of that kind of education, too ignorant to improve their estates, though the means of doing it be as easy and certain in this as in any other track of commerce.  If there were always two or three thousand youths, for seven or eight years bound to this profession, that they might learn the whole art of it, and afterwards be enabled to be masters in it, by a moderate stock, I cannot doubt but that we should see as many aldermen’s estates made in the country as now we do out of all kind of merchandising in the city.  There are as many ways to be rich; and, which is better, there is no possibility to be poor, without such negligence as can neither have excuse nor pity; for a little ground will, without question, feed a little family, and the superfluities of life (which are now in some cases by custom made almost necessary) must be supplied out of the superabundance of art and industry, or contemned by as great a degree of philosophy.  As for the necessity of this art, it is evident enough, since this can live without all others, and no one other without this.  This is like speech, without which the society of men cannot be preserved; the others like figures and tropes of speech which serve only to adorn it.  Many nations have lived, and some do still, without any art but this; not so elegantly, I confess, but still they have; and almost all the other arts which are here practised are beholding to them for most of their materials.  The innocence of this life is in the next thing for which I commend it, and if husbandmen preserve not that, they are much to blame, for no men are so free from the temptations of iniquity.  They live by what they can get by industry from the earth, and others by what they can catch by craft from men.  They live upon an estate given them by their mother, and others upon an estate cheated from their brethren.  They live like sheep and kine, by the allowances of Nature, and others like wolves and foxes by the acquisitions of rapine; and, I hope, I may affirm (without any offence to the great) that sheep and kine are very useful, and that wolves and foxes are pernicious creatures.  They are, without dispute, of all men the most quiet and least apt to be inflamed to the disturbance of the commonwealth; their manner of life inclines them, and interest binds them, to love peace.  In our late mad and miserable civil wars, all other trades, even to the meanest, set forth whole troops, and raised up some great commanders, who became famous and mighty for the mischiefs they had done.  But I do not remember the name of any one husbandman who had so considerable a share in the twenty years’ ruin of his country, as to deserve the curses of his countrymen; and if great delights be joined with so much innocence, I think it is ill done of men not to take them here where they are so tame and ready at hand, rather than hunt for them in courts and cities, where they are so wild and the chase so troublesome and dangerous.

We are here among the vast and noble scenes of Nature; we are there among the pitiful shifts of policy.  We walk here in the light and open ways of the divine bounty; we grope there in the dark and confused labyrinths of human malice.  Our senses are here feasted with the clear and genuine taste of their objects, which are all sophisticated there, and for the most part overwhelmed with their contraries.  Here Pleasure looks, methinks, like a beautiful, constant, and modest wife; it is there an impudent, fickle, and painted harlot.  Here is harmless and cheap plenty, there guilty and expenseful luxury.

I shall only instance in one delight more, the most natural and best natured of all others, a perpetual companion of the husbandman: and that is, the satisfaction of looking round about him, and seeing nothing but the effects and improvements of his own art and diligence; to be always gathering of some fruits of it, and at the same time to behold others ripening, and others budding; to see all his fields and gardens covered with the beauteous creatures of his own industry; and to see, like God, that all his works are good.

Hinc atque hinc glomerantur Oreades; ipsi
Agricolæ tacitum pertentant gaudia pectus.

On his heart-strings a secret joy does strike.

The antiquity of his art is certainly not to be contested by any other.  The three first men in the world were a gardener, a ploughman, and a grazier; and if any man object that the second of these was a murderer, I desire he would consider, that as soon as he was so, he quitted our profession and turned builder.  It is for this reason, I suppose, that Ecclesiasticus forbids us to hate husbandry; because, says he, the Most High has created it.  We were all born to this art, and taught by nature to nourish our bodies by the same earth out of which they were made, and to which they must return and pay at last for their sustenance.

Behold the original and primitive nobility of all those great persons who are too proud now not only to till the ground, but almost to tread upon it.  We may talk what we please of lilies and lions rampant, and spread eagles in fields d’or or d’argent; but if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms.

All these considerations make me fall into the wonder and complaint of Columella, how it should come to pass that all arts or Sciences (for the dispute, which is an art and which is a science, does not belong to the curiosity of us husbandmen), metaphysic, physic, morality, mathematics, logic, rhetoric, etc., which are all, I grant, good and useful faculties, except only metaphysic, which I do not know whether it be anything or no, but even vaulting, fencing, dancing, attiring, cookery, carving, and such like vanities, should all have public schools and masters; and yet that we should never see or hear of any man who took upon him the profession of teaching this so pleasant, so virtuous, so profitable, so honourable, so necessary art.

A man would think, when he’s in serious humour, that it were but a vain, irrational, and ridiculous thing for a great company of men and women to run up and down in a room together, in a hundred several postures and figures, to no purpose, and with no design; and therefore dancing was invented first, and only practised anciently, in the ceremonies of the heathen religion, which consisted all in mummery and madness; the latter being the chief glory of the worship, and accounted divine inspiration.  This, I say, a severe man would think, though I dare not determine so far against so customary a part now of good breeding.  And yet, who is there among our gentry that does not entertain a dancing master for his children as soon as they are able to walk?  But did ever any father provide a tutor for his son to instruct him betimes in the nature and improvements of that land which he intended to leave him?  That is at least a superfluity, and this a defect in our manner of education; and therefore I could wish, but cannot in these times much hope to see it, that one college in each university were erected, and appropriated to this study, as well as there are to medicine and the civil law.  There would be no need of making a body of scholars and fellows, with certain endowments, as in other colleges; it would suffice if, after the manner of Halls in Oxford, there were only four professors constituted (for it would be too much work for only one master, or Principal, as they call him there) to teach these four parts of it.  First, aration, and all things relating to it.  Secondly, pasturage; thirdly, gardens, orchards, vineyards, and woods; fourthly, all parts of rural economy, which would contain the government of bees, swine, poultry, decoys, ponds, etc., and all that which Varro calls Villaticas Pastiones, together with the sports of the field, which ought not to be looked upon only as pleasures, but as parts of housekeeping, and the domestical conservation and uses of all that is brought in by industry abroad.  The business of these professors should not be, as is commonly practised in other arts, only to read pompous and superficial lectures out of Virgil’s Georgics, Pliny, Varro, or Columella, but to instruct their pupils in the whole method and course of this study, which might be run through perhaps with diligence in a year or two; and the continual succession of scholars upon a moderate taxation for their diet, lodging, and learning, would be a sufficient constant revenue for maintenance of the house and the professors, who should be men not chosen for the ostentation of critical literature, but for solid and experimental knowledge of the things they teach such men; so industrious and public spirited as I conceive Mr. Hartlib to be, if the gentleman be yet alive.  But it is needless to speak further of my thoughts of this design, unless the present disposition of the age allowed more probability of bringing it into execution.  What I have further to say of the country life shall be borrowed from the poets, who were always the most faithful and affectionate friends to it.  Poetry was born among the shepherds.

Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine musas
Ducit, et immemores non sinit esse sui.

The Muses still love their own native place,
’T has secret charms which nothing can deface.

The truth is, no other place is proper for their work.  One might as well undertake to dance in a crowd, as to make good verses in the midst of noise and tumult.

As well might corn as verse in cities grow;
In vain the thankless glebe we plough and sow,
Against th’ unnatural soil in vain we strive,
’Tis not a ground in which these plants will thrive.

It will bear nothing but the nettles or thorns of satire, which grow most naturally in the worst earth; and therefore almost all poets, except those who were not able to eat bread without the bounty of great men, that is, without what they could get by flattering of them, have not only withdrawn themselves from the vices and vanities of the grand world (pariter vitiisque jocisque altius humanis exeruere caput) into the innocent happiness of a retired life; but have commended and adorned nothing so much by their ever-living poems.  Hesiod was the first or second poet in the world that remains yet extant (if Homer, as some think, preceded him, but I rather believe they were contemporaries), and he is the first writer, too, of the art of husbandry.  He has contributed, says Columella, not a little to our profession; I suppose he means not a little honour, for the matter of his instructions is not very important.  His great antiquity is visible through the gravity and simplicity of his style.  The most acute of all his sayings concerns our purpose very much, and is couched in the reverend obscurity of an oracle.  Πλέν ἥμισυ παντός.  The half is more than the whole.  The occasion of the speech is this: his brother Perses had by corrupting some great men (Βασιλῆας Δωροφάγους, great bribe-eaters he calls them) gotten from him the half of his estate.  It is no matter, says he, they have not done me so much prejudice as they imagine.

Νήπιοι, οὐδ’ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ᾕμισυ παντὸς
Οὐδ’ ὅσον ἐν μαλάχη τε καὶ ἀσφοδέλῳ μεγ’ ὔνειας,
Κρύψαντες γὰρ ἔχουσι θεοὶ Βίον ἀνθρώποισι.

Unhappy they to whom God has not revealed
By a strong light which must their sense control,
That half a great estate’s more than the whole.
Unhappy, from whom still concealed does lie
Of roots and herbs the wholesome luxury.

This I conceive to have been honest Hesiod’s meaning.  From Homer we must not expect much concerning our affairs.  He was blind, and could neither work in the country nor enjoy the pleasures of it; his helpless poverty was likeliest to be sustained in the richest places, he was to delight the Grecians with fine tales of the wars and adventures of their ancestors; his subject removed him from all commerce with us, and yet, methinks, he made a shift to show his goodwill a little.  For though he could do us no honour in the person of his hero Ulysses (much less of Achilles), because his whole time was consumed in wars and voyages, yet he makes his father Laertes a gardener all that while, and seeking his consolation for the absence of his son in the pleasure of planting and even dunging his own grounds.  Yet, see, he did not contemn us peasants; nay, so far was he from that insolence, that he always styles Eumæus, who kept the hogs with wonderful respect, Δῖον ὔφυρβυν, the divine swine-herd; he could have done no more for Menelaus or Agamemnon.  And Theocritus (a very ancient poet, but he was one of our own tribe, for he wrote nothing but pastorals) gave the same epithet to a husbandman Εμέιβετο Δῖος ἀγρώτης.  The divine husbandman replied to Hercules, who was but Δῖος himself.  These were civil Greeks, and who understood the dignity of our calling.  Among the Romans, we have in the first place our truly divine Virgil, who, though by the favour of Mæcenas and Augustus he might have been one of the chief men of Rome, yet chose rather to employ much of his time in the exercise, and much of his immortal wit in the praise and instructions of a rustic life; who, though he had written before whole books of Pastorals and Georgics, could not abstain in his great and imperial poem from describing Evander, one of his best princes, as living just after the homely manner of an ordinary countryman.  He seats him in a throne of maple, and lays him but upon a bear’s skin, the kine and oxen are lowing in his courtyard, the birds’ under the eaves of his window call him up in the morning; and when he goes abroad only two dogs go along, with him for his guard.  At last, when he brings Æneas into his royal cottage, he makes him say this memorable compliment, greater than ever yet was spoken at the Escurial, the Louvre, or our Whitehall.

         Hæc, inquit, limina victor
Alcides subiit, hæc illum Regia cepit,
Aude, Hospes, contemnere opes, et te quoque dignum
Finge Deo, rebusque veni non asper egenis.

This humble roof, this rustic court, said he,
Received Alcides crowned with victory.
Scorn not, great guest, the steps where he has trod,
But contemn wealth, and imitate a god.

The next man whom we are much obliged to, both for his doctrine and example, is the next best poet in the world to Virgil: his dear friend Horace, who, when Augustus had desired Mecænas to persuade him to come and live domestically and at the same table with him, and to be Secretary of State of the whole world under him, or rather jointly with him (for he says, “ut nos in Epistolis scribendis adjuvet,”) could not be tempted to forsake his Sabine or Tiburtine Manor, for so rich and so glorious a trouble.  There was never, I think, such an example as this in the world, that he should have so much moderation and courage as to refuse an offer of such greatness, and the Emperor so much generosity and good nature as not to be at all offended with his refusal, but to retain still the same kindness, and express it often to him in most friendly and familiar letters, part of which are still extant.  If I should produce all the passages of this excellent author upon the several subjects which I treat of in this book, I must be obliged to translate half his works; of which I may say more truly than, in my opinion, he did of Homer, “Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, plenius, et melius Chrysippo, et Crantore dicit.”  I shall content myself upon this particular theme with three only, one out of his Odes, the other out of his Satires, the third out of his Epistles, and shall forbear to collect the suffrages of all other poets, which may be found scattered up and down through all their writings, and especially in Martial’s.  But I must not omit to make some excuse for the bold undertaking of my own unskilful pencil upon the beauties of a face that has been drawn before by so many great masters, especially that I should dare to do it in Latin verses (though of another kind) and have the confidence to translate them.  I can only say that I love the matter, and that ought to cover, many faults; and that I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them.

Continued in verse. 

Other  works by Abraham Cowley:

Some works by other baroque authors

• Sonnet 3: Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 39: O, how thy worth with manners may I sing by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 37: As a decrepit father takes delight by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 36: Let me confess that we two must be twain by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 35: No more be grieved at that which thou hast done by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 34: Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 33: Full many a glorious morning have I seen by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 72: O, lest the world should task you to recite by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 6: Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 58: That god forbid, that made me first your slave by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 94: They that have power to hurt and will do none by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 93: So shall I live, supposing thou art true by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 92: But do thy worst to steal thy self away by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 91: Some glory in their birth, some in their skill by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 90: Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 89: Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 88: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 82: I grant thou wert not married to my Muse by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 80: O, how I faint when I of you do write by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 7: Lo, in the orient when the gracious light by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse by William Shakespeare