Apparently derived from a lyric poem by Martial on the subject of truth, written to his friend Gallicus, the
motto contains an etymology of the name de Vere from the Latin verus, -a, –um. We owe to Andrew
Hannas, an independent scholar and former classics teacher at Purdue University, the discovery of Martial
7.76 as the motto's most probable source: "Dic verum mihi, Marcus….nil est quod magis audiam
libenter….vero verius ergo quid sit audi: verum, Gallice, non libenter audis"¹. De Vere was by all
evidence fascinated by linguistic plays on both his name and his motto. His echo poem, written for Anne
Vavasour c. 1581, in which echo iterates his name four times in a single stanza, closes with an ironic play
on the motto which echoes the context in Martial: "O Lord how great a miracle/To hear this lady tell/A
truth as true as Phoebus oracle."
1
You always say, 'Tell me the truth, Marcus…there is nothing I would hear more gladly.' Very well then, I shall tell you what is more true than
truth itself: that truth, Gallicus, which you do not wish to hear."
Sitting alone upon my thought in melancholy mood,
In sight of sea, and at my back an ancient hoary wood,
I saw a fair young lady come, her secret fears to wail,
Clad all in colour of a nun, and covered with a veil;
Yet (for the day was calm and clear) I might discern her face,
As one might see a damask rose hid under crystal glass.
Three times, with her soft hand she knocks,
And sigh'd so sore as might have mov'd some pity in the rocks;
From sighs and shedding amber tears into sweet song she brake,
When thus the echo answer her to every word she spake:
O heavens! Who was the first that bred in me this fever?
Vere.
Who was the first that gave the wound whose fear I wear for ever?
Vere.
What tyrant, Cupid, to my harm usurps thy golden quiver?
Vere.
What wight first caught this heart and can from bondage it deliver?
Vere.
Yet who doth most adore this wight, oh hollow caves tell true?
You.
What nymph deserves his liking best, yet doth in sorrow rue?
You.
What makes him not reward good will with some reward or ruth? Youth.
What makes him show besides his birth, such pride and such untruth? Youth.
May I his favour match with love, if he my love will try?
Ay.
May I requite his birth with faith? Then faithful will I die?
Ay.
And I, that knew this lady well,
Said, Lord, how great a miracle,
To hear how Echo told the truth,
As true as Phoebus oracle.
Figure Ninety-five: De Vere's unpublished echo poem, extant in five (or
possibly six) manuscript copies, discussed by May (1980 79-81). I follow the
text of Sobran (1997).
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