The foule Toade hath a fayre stone in his head, the fine golde is found in the filthy earth; the sweet kernell lyeth in the hard shell; vertue is harboured in the heart of him that most men esteeme misshappen. Contrarywise, if we respect more the outward shape, then the inward habit, good God, into how many mischiefs do wee fall? into what blindnesse are we ledde? Due we not commonly see that in painted pottes is hidden the deadlyest poyson? that in the greenest grasse is ye greatest serpent? in the cleerest water the vgliest Toade? Doth not experience teach vs, that in the most curious sepulcher are enclosed rotten bones? That the Cypresse tree beareth a faire leafe, but no fruite? That the Estridge carrieth faire feathers, but ranke flesh? How frantick are those louers which are carried away with the gaye glistering of the fine face?

"In the coldest flint," says Lucilla, "there is hot fire, the Bee that hath hunny in hir mouth, hath a sting in hir tayle; the tree that beareth the sweetest fruite, hath a sower sap; yea, the wordes of men though they seeme smooth as oyle: yet their heartes are as crooked as the stalke of luie."

A History of English Prose Fiction — Part 45

Lyly's antithetical style is well illustrated by the following passage, in which he means to be particularly serious and impressive:

A History of English Prose Fiction — Part 45

If I should talke in words of those things which I haue to conferre with thee in writings, certes thou would blush for shame, and I weepe for sorrowe: neither could my tongue vtter yat with patience, which my hand can scarse write with modesty, neither could thy ears heare that without glowing, which thine eyes can hardly vewe without griefe. Ah, Alcius, I cannot tell whether I should most lament in thee thy want of learning, or thy wanton lyvinge, in the on thou art inferiour to all men, in the other superiour to al beasts. Insomuch as who seeth thy dul wit, and marketh thy froward will, may well say that he neuer saw smacke of learning in thy dooings, nor sparke of relygion in thy life. Thou onely vauntest of thy gentry: truely thou wast made a gentleman before thou knewest what honesty meant, and no more hast thou to boast of thy stocke, than he, who being left rich by his father, dyeth a beggar by his folly. Nobilitie began in thine auncestors and endeth in thee, and the generositie that they gayned by vertue, thou hast blotted with vice.[62]

A History of English Prose Fiction — Part 45