_Cel._ I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along
And never stir assailants

_Ros._ Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh.
A boar spear in my hand; and in my heart,
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,--
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside.
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.[66]

The most brilliant and characteristic work of fiction belonging to the
Elizabethan era composed by a man who was himself regarded by his
contemporaries as the embodiment of all the qualities they most loved
and admired. During the three hundred years which have elapsed since
the death of Sir Philip Sidney, the same enthusiastic praise has
accompanied the mention of his name. Sir William Temple, writing in a
critical time, and when the effect of Sidney's personal character need
no longer have biassed a literary judgment, pronounced Sir Philip to be
"the greatest poet and the noblest genius of any that have left
writings behind them."[67] Such were the words of a man of genius, who
was acquainted with the works of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Spenser.
While all admirers of Sidney must regret a praise of his literary
abilities so exaggerated and mistaken, the eulogies which have been
lavished upon his personal character have never been thought to surpass