“The Martiall Captaines ofte, do marche into the fielde, With Egles, or with Griphins fierce, or Dragons, in theire shielde. But Phœbus sacred birde, let Poëttes moste commende. Who, as it were by skill deuine, with songe forshowes his ende. And as his tune delightes: for rarenes of the same. So they with sweetenes of theire verse, shoulde winne a lasting name. And as his colour white: Sincerenes doth declare. So Poëttes must bee cleane, and pure, and must of crime beware. For which respectes the Swanne, should in their Ensigne stande. No forren fowle, and once suppos’de kinge of LIGVRIA Lande.” Inſignia Poëtarum. _Gentiles clypeos ſunt qui in Iouis alite geſtant, Sunt quibus aut Serpens, aut Leo ſigna ferunt. Dira ſed hæc Vatum fugiant animalia ceras, Doctaque, ſuſtineat ſtemmata pulcher Olor. Hic Phœbo ſacer, & nostræ regionis alumnus: Rex, olim veteres ſeruat adhuc titulos_. [Illustration: _Alciat, Lugd. 1551_, p. 197.] In the very spirit of these Emblems of the Swan, the great dramatist fashions some of his poetical images and most tender descriptions. Thus in _King John_ (act v. sc. 7, lines 1–24, vol. iv. p. 91), in the Orchard Scene at Swinstead Abbey, the king being in his mortal sickness, Prince Henry demands, “Doth he still rage?” And Pembroke replies,— “He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. _P. Hen._ O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes In their continuance will not feel themselves. Death, having prey’d upon the outward parts, Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies, Which in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. ’Tis strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.” To the same purport, in _Henry VIII._ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 77, vol. vi. p. 88), are the words of Queen Katharine, though she does not name the poet’s bird,— “I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to.” And in the Casket Scene, so often alluded to (_Merchant of Venice_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 41, vol. ii. p. 325), when Bassanio is about to try his fortune, Portia thus addresses him,—