In February 1597-8, Davies was disbarred for a breach of discipline. He quarrelled with Richard Martin (afterwards Recorder of London)--to whom he had dedicated _Orchestra_--and assaulted him at dinner in the Middle Temple Hall, breaking a cudgel over his head. Retiring to Oxford, he engaged in the more peaceful occupation of composing _Nosce Teipsum_, a poem on the immortality of the soul, which was published in 1599. It was an ambitious task that this young disbarred bencher took in hand, but he acquitted himself ably. Some of his modern admirers have exceeded all reasonable bounds in their praise of the poem. Rejecting these extravagant eulogies, we may claim that Davies, while he was leading the life of an inns-of-court man of fashion, had remained a steadfast lover of learning and letters; that he had stored his mind richly; and that his well-turned quatrains have had an inspiring influence on later poets. Young, in _Night Thoughts_, was under special obligation to Davies. Matthew Arnold had no enthusiasm for Elizabethan writers; but, unless I am greatly mistaken, he had glanced at _Nosce Teipsum_. In 'A Southern Night' Arnold wrote-- ... 'And see all things from pole to pole,[3] And glance, and nod, and bustle by, And never once possess our soul Before we die,' --a stanza that bears a very suspicious resemblance to Davies' quatrain-- 'We that acquaint ourselves with every zone, And pass both tropics, and behold both poles; When we come home, are to ourselves unknown And unacquainted still with our own souls.' All the arguments for and against the immortality of the soul were threshed out ages ago, and there is little or nothing new to say on the subject. A poet's skill lies in graciously attiring the old commonplaces; in searching out the right persuasive words and uttering them so melodiously that dull 'approved verities'--sparkling with sudden lustre--are transmuted into something rich and strange. It is idle to talk about Davies' 'deep and original thinking.' Many stanzas can be brushed aside as tiresome and uncouth; but something will be left. In his handling of the ten-syllabled quatrain (with alternate rhymes) Davies showed considerable deftness. The metre has weight and dignity, but is apt to become stiff and monotonous. Davies certainly succeeded in securing more freedom and variety than might have been anticipated. Inspired by his example, Davenant chose this metre for _Gondibert;_ and Davenant was followed by Dryden, who in the preface to _Annus Mirabilis_ says all that can be said in favour of the quatrain (which was seen to best advantage in Gray's _Elegy_).