Prose 23
from Toxophilus
Toxophilus: For there is no one thing, in all shooting, so much to be looked on as the feather. For first a question may be asked, whether any other thing beside a feather be fit for a shaft or no? If a feather only be fit, whether a goose feather only or no? If a goose be best, then whether of an old goose or a young goose; a gander or a goose; a fenny goose or uplandish goose. Again which is best feather in any goose, the right wing or the left wing, the pinion feather or any other feather; a white, black or gray feather?........ (and so on!)
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Philologus: What if I come into a shop and spy out a bow, which shall both then please me very well when I buy him, and be also very fit and meet for me when I shoot in him: so that he be both weak enough for easy shooting, and also quick and speedy enough for far shooting, then I would think I shall need no more business with him, but be content with him, and use him well enough, and so by that means, avoid both great trouble, and also some cost which you cunning archers very often put your selves unto, being very English men, never ceasing piddling about your bow and shafts when they be well, but either with shortening and piking your bows, or else with new feathering, piecing and heading your shafts, can never have done until they be stark naught.
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Toxophilus; For the goose is man's comfort in war and peace, sleeping and waking. What praise so ever be given to shooting, the goose may challenge the best part in it. How well doth she make a man fare at his table? How easily doth she make a man lie in his bed? How fit even as her feathers be only for shooting, so be her quills fit only for writing
(Roger Ascham's [1515-1568] Toxophilus was published in 1545. It is a kind of Platonic dialogue between Toxophilus, the lover of archery, and Philologus, the lover of learning. It is an almost perversely detailed account, covering the making of a bow, the arrows (shafts), how to judge the wind, everything; as exemplified in the first extract. Philologus' understandable exasperation to this is seen in the second excerpt. But it is the incidental remarks which bring the book to life. For instance, Ascham's belief that music would 'entice men to naughtiness rather than stir them to honesty'. The final quote strikes a gentler less obsessive note.
Ascham is more famous for 'The Scholemaster', published posthumously, a way of teaching Latin, with an emphasis on humanity and not punishing for every mistake. He died due to a chill caught sitting up all night writing a New Year's poem to the Queen.