Hoccleve, or Occleve, Thomas, poet, was born about 1368, was a clerk in the Exchequer, and was writing verse so late as 1448. His chief work is a free but tedious version of the “De Regimine Principum” of Ægidius Romanus, over five thousand lines in length, and written in Chaucer’s seven-line stanza. In the prologue (about one-third of the whole) the author tells us a good deal about himself, and speaks out his grief for the death of his great master Chaucer. The poem was edited by T. Wright for the Roxburghe Club in 1860. Many other poems are ascribed to Hoccleve, some still unprinted, and some of them stories from the “Gesta Romanorum.” His “Minor Poems” and “Compleint” were edited by Dr. Furnivall for the Early English Text Society in 1892, the first-fruits of a complete edition.

  We may suppose that he took his name from his birthplace, and was born in Bedfordshire, in the small parish of Hockliffe, about five miles from Dunstable. The only alternative would be Ockley, in Surrey. The old confusion with the aspirate has caused the name to be written both “Hoccleve” and “Occleve.” But in a copy of “The Governail of Princes,” which the poet wrote with his own hand, the name occurs in the text, and is written “Occleve.” Another day he might have written “Hoccleve.”… But the name is Occleve in the only place where we are sure, or nearly sure, that he himself has written it.

  A very famous English poet in his time which was the reign of king Henry the fourth, and Henry the fifth; to which last he dedicated his “Government of a Prince,” the chiefly remember’d of what he writ in poetry, and so much the more famous he is by being remembered to have been the disciple of the most famed Chaucer.

  Occleve is a feeble writer, considered as a poet: and his chief merit seems to be, that his writings contributed to propagate and establish those improvements in our language which were now beginning to take place…. The titles of Occleve’s pieces … indicate a coldness of genius.

  It is not easy to select a tolerable extract from this writer.

  Has not had his just share of reputation,… whose compositions greatly assisted the growth and diffused the popularity of our infant poetry.

  Occleve speaks of himself as Chaucer’s scholar. He has, at least, the merit of expressing the sincerest enthusiasm for his master. But it is difficult to controvert the character which has been generally assigned to him, that of a flat and feeble writer. Excepting the adoption of his story of Fortunatus, by William Browne, in his pastorals, and the modern republication of a few of his pieces, I know not of any public compliment which has ever been paid to his poetical memory.

  The poetry of Hoccleve is wretchedly bad, abounding with pedantry, and destitute of all grace or spirit.

  Was a shrewd observer of his own times…. To us he remains sufficiently uncouth.

  On the whole, Occleve’s verse must be judged rather by its quantity than its quality. His admission into the ranks of our English writers of note is owing to the circumstance of his writing in a barren age, when every versifier was a man of mark.

  The first important poetical writer of the fifteenth century, whose works have come down to us…. Most of his works exist only in manuscript, and those that have been printed are not of a character to inspire a very lively desire for the publication of the remainder.

  As to deficiency in fire and spirit, he is on a level with Gower; but he is rather more interesting.

  He is supposed to have been born in 1370, and he emerges at the Court of Richard II. in 1387. The luxurious extravagance of that Court found in him a congenial spirit. He could never pass the sign of Bacchus, with its invitation to thirsty passengers to moisten their clay, so long, at least, as he had anything in his purse; and he spent much money in the temples of a goddess of still more questionable character. He was a favourite among cooks and taverners, from the circumstance that he always paid them what they asked. Only two men of his acquaintance could equal him in drinking at night and lying in bed in the morning. The only thing that preserved his life from the brawls incident to such habits was an invincible cowardice: he never traduced men except in a whisper. All this we know from his own humorous confessions. He tells us also that his excesses exhausted his money, although he held a valuable office—and impaired his health, though nature had given him a strong constitution.

  When a man’s only merit is a fond idolatry of his master, let him be forgotten.

  A Chaucer “sans eyes, sans ears, sans teeth, sans everything.”

  Occleve is a good, harmless fellow, who has read with advantage many books, has observed correctly all sorts of things within the circle of his experience, and has thought much. To this must be added the gift of easy poetic composition, and a decided talent for form, which he happily modeled on Chaucer’s style. In the clearness of his diction, and occasionally in the excellent choice of his expressions in the construction of his verses and stanzas, he comes nearer to the great model than almost any of the poets of the fifteenth century. Everywhere we can trace the influence of the master, without being able to call it mere imitation. Direct reminiscences are very seldom used in a wrong place. Occleve has his own style; he does not attempt a rivalry with the style of his model, which is pithy, forcible, vivid, and significant in every line, but he knows how to ingratiate himself easily with his readers, both to their pleasure and profit. In the long run, indeed, the want of any strong colors in his broad descriptions becomes insipid.

  Occleve was a frivolous, tame-spirited creature, tainted with insanity.