"That wreath which, in Eliza's golden days,
My master dear, divinist Spenser, wore;
That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays,
Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel wore...."

But history traces the Laureateship, as an office, no further back
than Jonson, and we need not follow Southey into the mists. It is
certain, however, that Daniel was a favorite at Elizabeth's Court, and
in some way partook of her bounty. In 1600 he was appointed tutor to
the Lady Anne Clifford, a little girl of about eleven, daughter of
Margaret, Countess of Cumberland; and his services were gratefully
remembered by mother and daughter during his life and after. But
Daniel seems to have tired of living in great houses as private tutor
to the young. The next year, when presenting his works to Sir Thomas
Egerton, he writes:--"Such hath been my misery that whilst I should
have written the actions of men, I have been constrained to bide with
children, and, contrary to mine own spirit, put out of that sense
which nature had made my part."


Self-distrust.

Now there is but one answer to this--that a man of really strong
spirit does not suffer himself to be "put out of that sense which
nature had made my part." Daniel's words indicate the weakness that
in the end made futile all his powers: they indicate a certain
"donnish" timidity (if I may use the epithet), a certain distrust of
his own genius. Such a timidity and such a distrust often accompany
very exquisite faculties: indeed, they may be said to imply a certain
exquisiteness of feeling. But they explain why, of the two