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RESTITUTA 


3Sit6titntai 

on, 

TITLES, 
EXTRACTS,  AND   CHARACTERS 


OP 


(Bib  3Boofes 

IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE, 
REVIVED. 


BY 

Sir  EGERTON  BRYDGES,  Bart.  K.J.  M.  P. 


»  •:•'.;     v_ 

VOL.   II. 

• 

«            u   >  u               JO                               » 

LONDON: 

PRINTED    BY    T.    BENSLEY, 
Bolt  Court,  Fleet  Street, 

FOR 

LONGMAN,  HURST,  REES,  ORME,  AND  BROJFN, 

PATERNOSTER    ROW. 


18LJ. 


1 1  ic^  4 ;.)  H 


RESTITUTA. 

*'  T'he  Cuckom  .  at  etiam  cuhat  Cuculus :  surge  amator, 
i  domum.  Richardus  Nicols  in  Artibus  Bnc.  Oxon. 
Aul(B  Mag.  At  London  printed  hrj  F.  K.  and  are 
to  be  sold  by  W.  C.  ICOT." 

4to.  5Q  pages, 

The  few  particulars  that  now  are  known  of  this  in- 
genious writer  have  been  printed  before  one  of  his 
poetical  productions  in  the  Harleian  Miscellany,  vol.  x. 
The  present  very  scarce,  and  probably  earliest  publi- 
cation of  Nicols,  is  inscribed  to  his  worshipful  good 
friend  Master  Thomas  Wroth,  "an  affecter  and  fa- 
vourer of  the  Muses,"  to  whom  he  expresses  a  hope 


•that  in  future  time. 


When  as  my  wit  with  riper  fiiiit  shall  grow. 
My  Muse  may  speake  to  thee  in  sweeter  ryme. 
And  for  thy  worth  some  graver  poem  show." 

In  an  advertisement,  the  writer  gives  notice  to  the 
world,  that  he  does  not  make  Poetry  the  chief  part  of 
his  profession,  but  rather  places  it  among  those  things 
of  accomplishment,  required  in  a  scholar  or  gentleman. 
This  would  not  seem  as  though  he  sought  any  employ- 
ment; though  Wood  tells  us  he  obtained  one,  suitable 
to  his  faculty.     Quere,    What  this /acM%  was?    In  a 

VOL.  II.  B 


2 


short  address  to  the  reader  he  says — "  I  submit  myself 
to  the  censure  [opinion  or  judgment]  of  him,  that  is 
more  than  a  metre  reader,  to  whom  I  do  impart  part 
of  my  poore  poeticall  skill,  upon  which  I  have  bestow- 
ed some  idle  houres :  idle  1  call  them,  not  in  disgrace 
of  so  famous  a  skill ;  but  to  give  the  world  notice  that 
I  make  it  not  the  chiefe  part  of  my  profession."  His 
profession  was  not,  and  therefore  his  faculty  could  not 
be  Poetry. 

His  present  performance  originated  perhaps  by 
Drayton's  Owl,  is  loosely  allegorical,  and  consists  of  a 
singing  contention  between  Dan  Cuckow  and  the  Ovi- 
dian  Philomel,  or  Casta,  which  somewhat  resembles  that 
between  Pan  and  Apollo:  while  Phoebe,  or  Cynthia, 
and  her  nymphs  (the  Midases)  are  made  umpires  in  the 
controversy.  Vanity,  the  usher,  or  esquire  to  Dan 
Cuckow,  conducts  the  rivals  within  a  rural  porch  to 
the  bower  of  bliss,  and  convenes  the  nymphs  to  sit  in 
judgment,  and  pronounce  which  they  should  esteem 
most  fit — 

for  chiefe  ih  words  to  sing. 


As  harbinger  unto  the  joy  full  Spring. 

Foremost  of  these  nymphs  came  "  Mechafasto 
bight,"  a  meretricious  dame,  and  in  her  syren  train  a 
set  of  wantons,  clad  in  habiliments  of  sundry  fashion, 
and  assuming  the  garb  of  different  sexes  and  nations, 
like  courtesans  at  a  masquerade. 

Some  in  the  antique  Roman  lord's  attire 
Did  shape  themselves,  as  seeming  to  aspire 
Some  Captaines  place ;  or,  as  if  they  had  been 
Semiramis,  that  man-like  monster-queene. 


3 

In  Persian  loose  aray  some  did  delight. 
Or  rather  disaray,  so  loosely  dight ; 
In  the  French  doublet  some  again  did  jet. 
Wanting  but  slops,  to  make  a  man  compleat. 
Some  on  their  heads  did  beare  the  fatall  signe, 
Which  of  fooles'  future  fortune  did  divine. 
Others  again  Morisko  caps  did  weare, 
Maid-Marian  like,  with  brooches  in  each  eaie  j 
And  Indian  like  did  paint  inch-thicke  in  view. 
Though  Nature's  red  and  white  were  angels'  hew. 
Thus,  with  their  fashions'  strange  varietie 
They  did  bewray  their  mind's  enormitie  : 
For  things  externall,  sought  with  strong  affect, 
Internall  thoughts  both  good  and  bad  detect. 

The  motley  appearance  of  these  chosen  arbitrators 
alarms  the  little  Casta,  and  makes  her  timid  heart  turn 
cold.  After  a  proclamation  for  silence,  however,  she 
perches  aloft  in  sight  of  her  auditors,  and  warbles  the 
mythological  history  of  her  cruel  fate.  Having  breathed 
this  forth,  in  the  sweetest  lays  that  ever  ear  did  hear, 

all  other  birds  about  the  place 


Did  tune  their  divers  notes  to  do  her  grace  ; 

As  in  approvance  of  her  worth  to  sing. 

As  chief  in  woods  to  welcome  in  the  Spring. 

Dan  Cuckovv,  though  somewhat  daunted  at  this 
result,  yet  knowing  that  he  had  "  friends  in  place," 
sets  forth  his  boastful  tale;  and  although  he  admits 
the  lays  of  his  rival  to  be  sweet,  yet  he  deems  them  too 
sadly  pathetical  to  welcome  in  the  Spring,  and  fitted 
rather  to  become  the  Winter's  chorister,  and,  with  the 
redbreast,  to  bemoan  the  Summer  past. 


4' 


This  said — he  chaunted  out  his  Cuckow's  song 
Which  laughter  bred  amongst  the  thickest  throng  : 
Nor  any  prittie  bird  about  the  place 
Would  in  their  song  vouchsafe  to  do  him  grace. 

Notwithstanding  this  discouraging  symptom,  the 
chief  of  the  nymphs  decrees  the  palm  to  Dan  Cuckovv, 
whose  voice  had  no  variety,  no  change,  no  choice,* 
and  proclaims  her  unjust  sentence  to  the  woodland 
quire  : 

and  thereupon. 


Such  murmur  as  we  heare  in  woods  that  grone. 

When  winds  rouz'd  up  through  hollow  grounds  do  break  ; 

Such  noise  was  heard  'mongst  those  that  heard  her  speake: 

And  aU  the  quier  of  birds  about  the  place 

Did  droope  and  hang  the  head,  for  such  disgrace 

To  wronged  Philomel,  and  for  her  sake 

A  mournfull  melodic  did  seeroe  to  make. 

Poor  Philomel,  deprived  of  future  hope,  and  over- 
come with  grief,  now  falls  into  a  sudden  swoon.  Her 
sister  Progne  raises  and  revives  her,  aided  by  the  gentle 
Redbreast,  the  Titmouse,  and  the  Wren,  with  whom 
she  takes  her  flight  (as  a  voluntary  exile)  to  desert 
woods  ;  where  her  sequestered  dwelling  is  thus  poeti- 
cally described : — - 

'Twas  in  a  rocke,  whose  head  itselfe  did  shroud 
In  mistie  cloake  of  many  a  wandring  cloud. 
And  whose  thicke  mossie  sides  and  hollow  wombe 
To  many  a  bird  did  yeeld  much  building  roome  : 

*  Greene  says,  in  bis  Quip  for  an  upstart  Courtier,  1C20,  "  The  Cuckold's 
Quirister  began  to  bewray  April-Gentlemen  with  bis  never  changed  notes." 


5 


It  seated  was  downe  in  a  valley  low. 

Where  many  a  silver  gliding  streame  did  flow  ; 

And  leavie  woods  in  arbor- wise  did  stand. 

As  made  by  art,  and  not  by  nature's  hand. 

From  right  side  of  this  rocke  there  issued  out 

A  crystall  spring,  which  flowed  round  about 

The  bottome  of  the  rock ;  whose  upper  brim. 

Thick  set  with  hearbs  and  flowers,  smelt  sweet  and  trim. 

[Here]  many  prettie  birds  did  seeme  to  sing. 

Hovering  about  the  rocke  with  painted  wing. 

This  was  the  place  of  Philomel's  abode. 

With  her  companions  in  the  desert  wood. 

Whereby  faire  Philomel  did  find  no  misse 

Of  wonted  pleasure  in  the  bower  of  blisse. 

This  '  wonted  pleasure/  however,  only  continued 
during  the  pleasant  Spring  and  gentle  Summer;  for 
when  *  raging  Hyems'  came,  (whose  personification  is 
depicted  with  much  appropriate  imagery,  and  who 
enters  into  an  elemental  conflict  with  7\uster,  Zephy- 
rus,  and  Eurus,)  poor  forlorn  Philomel,  who  now  '  in 
hollow  rocke  inconsolate  did  dwell,'  is  advised  by  the 
Redbreast,  aided  by  the  persuasive  speech  of  her  neigh- 
bours Wren  and  Titmouse,  to  take  their  gregarious 
flight  to  Troynobant,  where  Progne  dwelt,  and  to  drive 
Dan  Cuckow  out.  Progne  encounters  them  on  the 
way,  and  dissuades  most  eloquently  from  such  a  peri- 
lous enterprize.     The  Redbreast  thus  replies  : 

Certes,  dame  Progne,  you  have  wisely  said  : 
For  better  'tis  to  live,  we  all  agree. 
In  meane  estate  content,  from  danger  free. 
Then  in  the  blind  world's  deem'd  felicitie. 
In  trouble,  care,  and  mind's  perplexitie : 


But  we  to  Troynobant  not  only  cofne. 

For  that  we  grieve  at  Winter's  blasts  at  home ; 

But  seeing  many  a  bright  cheek'd  gentle  dame. 

Dwells  here  in  Troynobant,  we  hither  came. 

That  so  thy  sister  Philomel  might  trie 

If  they,  for  love  to  honor'd  chastitie. 

Would  drive  Dan  Cuckow  from  this  place  with  shame. 

And  raise  again  sad  Casta' s  dying  name. 

Progne  exposes  the  futility  of  such  an  expectation, 
by  representing  that  plenty,  pleasure,  ease,  and  idle- 
ness, had  produced  a  voluptuousness  of  sensual  indul- 
gence, a  degeneracy  of  mind,  and  a  sordid  profligacy, 
which  sets  shame  and  decorum  at  defiance.  The  gen- 
tle Philomel  laments  this  wanton  degradation  of  these 
fair  nymphs, — erewhile, 

-whose  beautie's  blaze 

Did  decke  the  world  with  like  to  Phoebus'  raies ; 
Who  with  the  flower  of  heavenly  chastitie. 
Their  beautie's  garland  did  so  dignifie. 

At  the  close  of  this  parley,  and  while  Philomel  was 
indeed  still  speaking, 


•  they  did  espie 


How  proud  Dan  Cuckow  to  and  fro  did  flie ; 
Who  vaunting  in  the  ayre,  with  outstretch'd  wing. 
His  bastard-note  triumphantly  did  sing. 

Enraged  by  this  assurance,  the  Swallow,  Robin 
Titmouse,  and  Wren,  assailed  him  in  the  air,  flew  after 
him  from  place  to  place,  flapt  him  with  their  pinions, 
and  peckt  him.  with  their  bills, 

Untill  from  out  of  sight  he  quite  was  fled. 
And  in  some  covert  place  had  hid  his  head. 


The  feathered  friends  then  return  to  comfort  Casta, 
and  the  Wren  happens  to  recollect  that  near  the  lowly 
bowers  where  she  builds,  to  shroud  herself  from  the 
Winter's  storms. 

There  wonnes  [dwells]  a  vertuous  nymph  of  goodly  grace, 

who  demeaned  herself  with  such  goodly  governance, 
that  Philomel  might  be  likely  in  her  humble  cottage 
to  meet  with  a  gracious  and  welcome  reception.  This 
gentle  nymph 

— hath  to  wit  hight  Virgina  to  name. 

Who  though  of  meane,  yet  of  exceeding  fame  : 

For  loe !  that  Squier  that  lives  in  deep  despaire 

Of  gaining  grace  of  Coluvilel  the  faire. 

Unto  an  endless  taske  by  her  being  tied 

To  wander  each  where  through  the  world  so  wide. 

To  prove  how  many  damsels  he  could  find 

That  chastely  did  retaine  a  constant  mind. 

Did  of  three  hundred  dames  find  but  this  one. 

Here  is  an  obvious  allusion  to  the  "  Squyre  of 
Dames,"  and  to  the  *'  Damzell  of  low  degree,"  in 
Spenser's  Faire  Queene,  book  iii.  canto  7-  (which  theme 
has  been  expanded  into  an  ingenious  episodic  canto 
by  Moses  Mendez.     See  Dodsley's  Collection.) 

Philomel  accedes  to  the  Wren's  proposal  of  retreat 
into  retirement,  bids  a  sad  farewell  to  her  sister  Progne, 
to  the  bower  of  bliss,  and  Troynobant;  and  in  the 
escorting  company 

Of  little  Redbreast,  Titmouse  and  the  Wren, 

Did  take  her  way,  far  from  the  abodes  of  men. 

Unto  that  place  where  dwelt  that  gentle  dame. 

Of  whom  the  Wren  did  speake  : — where  when  she  came. 


Of  that  faire  nymph  she  found  such  intertaine, 
That  never  more  she  thence  retm-n'd  againe. 

FINIS, 


Remarks  on  the  Poets  in  the  Reign  of  K.  James  1. 

Old  Thomas  Churchyard  just  survived  the  acces- 
sion of  K.  James  to  the  English  throne ;  and  was  bu- 
ried in  the  church  of  St.  Margaret,  Westminster,  April 
A,  1604 — and  William  Warner,  the  author  of  Albion's 
England,  died  9  March,  I6O8-9.  The  illustrious  Sack- 
ville,  (Lord  Buckhurst)  whom  K.  James  created  Earl 
of  Dorset,  lived  till  I6O8:  but  he  had  deserted  for 
nearly  half  a  century  the  paths  of  poetry  for  the  more 
thorny  road  of  ambition.  Anthony  Mundy,  Gervase 
Markham,  Nicholas  Breton,  Thomas  Lodge,  Thomas 
Bastard,  Mattheu-^  Roydon,  Sam.  Daniel,  Michael 
Drayton,  Bishop  Joseph  Hall,  Sir  John  Davies,  Lord 
Brook,  Sir  John  Harington,  Edmund  Fairfax,  George 
Chapman,  Francis  Davison,  and  Sir  Walter  Kaleigh, 
and  Sir  Henry  Wotton  also  survived;  to  say  nothing 
of  dramatic  writers. 

It  would  be  curious  to  examine  whether  those  poets 
who  first  emerged  in  the  reign  of  K.  James,  originated 
the  new  character  which  was  given  to  the  productions 
of  that  reign,  or  whether  the  established  authors  com- 
menced it  by  a  conformity  to  the  taste  and  manners  of 
the  age.  The  Epigram,  in  its  familiar  and  doggerel 
style,  which  now  became  so  multitudinous,  had  been 


begun  before  the  death  of  Q.  Elizabeth.  The  printed 
fragment  of  Warton's  4th  volume  contains  a  very  labo- 
rious and  interesting  account  of  these.  While  we 
despise  and  wonder  at  the  execrable  style  in  which  most 
of  them  are  written,  we  search  them  with  eager  curio- 
sity for  coteiiiporary  notices  of  men  and  manners,  now 
almost  forgotten,  and  difficult  to  be  revived.  When 
we  find  an  obscure  versifier  registered  and  praised  by 
those,  who  have  themselves  enjoyed  some  fame,  we  are 
encouras;ed  to  be  more  confident  in  the  value  of  the 
discovery  of  a  volume,  that  has  been  buried  in  oblivion. 

Daniel  and  Drayton,  who  had  shewn  the  historical 
habits  of  their  minds,  under  the  sway  of  a  more  roman- 
tic monarch,  were  not  less  inclined  to  indulge  in  the 
same  track,  while  ruled  by  a  cold  and  philosophic 
king.  This,  with  the  legends  of  Christopher  Middleton, 
Sir  Francis  Hubart,  and  Richard  Niccols,  was  the  ex- 
piring voice  of  the  school  that  had  been  produced  by 
the  numerous  editions  of  the  Mirror  for  Magistrates : 
a  school  in  which,  with  the  exception  of  Sackville'a 
sublime  and  unimitated  portion,  there  was  but  little  of 
the  spirit  or  diction  of  true  poetry. 

But  how  can  we  expect  the  Historian  and  the  Poet 
to  be  leagued  in  so  close  an  union  ?  It  is  probable  that 
the  brilliant  and  ardent  character  of  Sackville's  mind 
would  have  made  but  a  doubtful  Historian  ! 

The  metaphysical  subtlety,  and  tasteless  and  un- 
feeling ingenuity  of  Donne,  produced  execrable  distor- 
tions in  him  and  his  imitators  so  opposite  to  all  that  is 
attractive  or  valuable  in  the  Muse,  that  more  than  half 
a  century  did  not  rid  the  common  versifiers  of  its  dis- 
gusting effects.     A  freedom  from  these  faults,  and  a 

VOL.  II.  C 


10 

strong  disapprobation  of  them  clearly  expressed  in 
many  of  his  Prefaces,  at  a  time  when  no  one  else  en- 
tirely escaped  the  infection,  and  when  fasliion  made 
the  cultivation  of  them  the  path  to  fame,  distinguishes 
George  Wither,  and  has  endeared  his  memory  to  me,  and 
convinced  me  of  the  strength  of  his  taste,  and  the 
original  powers  of  his  mind.  William  Browne,  though 
a  partaker  of  the  same  cast,  is,  in  my  opinion,  by  no 
means  equally  pure ;  nor,  though  he  has  had  the  good 
fortune  to  enjoy  a  better  fame,  is  he  by  many  degrees 
equally  entitled  to  it. 

The  two  Fletchers,  Giles  and  Phineas,  lived  in  this 
reign  ;  and  the  poem  of  the  former  was  now  published. 
They  were  both  men  of  genuine  poetical  endowments: 
but  to  characterize  them  properly,  and  to  shew  how  it 
has  happened  that  their  works  have  long  ceased  to  be 
popular,  would  require  a  minute  and  laborious  discus- 
sion. 

No  complete  list  of  the  verse-writers  of  King  James's 
reign  has  yet  appeared.  Ritson  has  given  us  those  who 
started  into  public  before  the  Queen's  death  ;  and  has 
constructed,  by  unexampled  attention  to  minutiae,  an 
useful  book  of  reference,  though  it  must  be  confessed 
to  be  the  driest  and  most  barren  volume  upon  an  en- 
tertaining subject  that  ever  was  produced. 

Perhaps  the  following  articles  may  not  be  either 
unentertaining  or  uninstructive,  as  they  bring  into  one 
view  many  obscure  poetical  authors  of  this  aera. 


11 


Twentt/'nine  Epigrams,  addressed  to  Cotemporart/  Poets f 
by  John  Davies  of  Hereford,  about  1611.* 

I. 

To  my  tuorlhily  much  esteemed  Friend,  Thomas  Hawkins,-^ 

Esq. 

Thou  lov'st  the  Muse ;  then  thee  she  needs  must  !v,ve^ 

Who  dost  converse  with  her  at  idle  times  ; 
Yet  all  thy  motions  do  but  chastely  move. 

Her  Grace  to  grace  thy  well-composed  rhymes  : 
Then  still  she  graceth  thee  as  thou  dost  her. 
These  lines  shall  stay  thy  name  while  Time  doth  stir. 

II. 

To  my  dear  frend  Mr.  J.  H.X  Epigrammatist,  for  a  farewell 
to  him  and  his  remembrance. 

Thou  lovd'st  thine  Epigrams  for  being  chaste  : 

No  marvel :  for  the  dead  are  ne'er  embrac'd ; 

And  penal  'twere  to  offer  light  abuse? 

'Mong  Hoctors,  Proctors,  and  grave  Heads  of  Houses. 

*  From  his  Scourge  of  Folly. 

t  Afterwards  knighted,  and  Translator  of  Horace. 

I  John  H^ath,  between  whom  and  the  author  several  squibs  passed. 


12 

III. 

To  mine  honest  as  loving  Friend,  Mr.  Michael  Drayton. 

Michael,  where  art  thou  ?  what's  become  of  thee  ? 

Have  the  Nine  Wenches  stol'n  thee  from  thyself? 
Or  from  their  conversation  dost  thou  flee, 

Sith  they  are  rich  in  science,  not  in  pelf? 
Be  not  unconstant,  Michael,  in  thy  love 

To  gu'ls  so  graceful  in  the  heart  and  face, 
Altho'  thereby  thou  mayst  a  poet  prove, 

(That's  poor  as  Job)  yet  ever  those  embrace. 
By  whom  thou  dost  enjoy  a  heaven  on  earth. 
And  in  this  vale  of  tears  a  mount  of  mirth. 

IV. 

To  the  truly  nolle  Lord,  deservedly  al-le-loved,  the  Lord  North. 

Most  noble  Lord,  that  truest  worthiness 

Which  in  thy  nature  and  thy  carriage  shines, 
Doth  press  me  now  to  make  them  pass  the  press. 

Led  thereto  by  these  too-slack-twisted  lines. 
Thou  art  a  subject  worthy  of  the  Muse, 

When  most  she  reigns  in  height  of  happiness ; 
Into  whose  noble  sprite  the  heavens  infuse 
All  gifts  and  graces,  gracing  nobleness. 
In  few  there  are  so  many  parts  in  thee. 
All  wholly  noble,  as  thus  fix'd  shall  be. 
On  Fame's  wings  when  she  past  herself  doth  flee. 


To  the  most  judicious  and  excellent  Lyric  Poet,  Doctor  Cam- 
pion.* 
Upon  myself  I  should  just  vengeance  take. 
Should  I  omit  thy  mention  in  my  rhymes, 

*  Tho.  Campion.    See  Excerpta  Tudoriana. 


13 

Whose  lines  and  notes  do  lullaby  awake 

In  heavens  of  pleasure,  these  unpleasant  times. 
Never  did  Lyrics  more  than  happy  strains, 

Strain'd  out  of  art  by  nature,  so  with  ease 
So  purely  hit  the  moods,  and  various  veins 

Of  music,  and  her  hearers,  as  do  these. 
So  thou  canst  cure  the  body  and  the  mind. 

Rare  Doctor,  with  thy  two-fold  soundest  art } 
Hippocrates  hath  taught  thee  the  one  kind  ; 

Apollo,  and  the  Muse  the  other  part : 

And  both  so  well,  tliat  thou  well  both  dost  please. 
The  mind  with  pleasure,  and  the  corpse  with  ease. 

VI. 

To  the  right  well  deserving  Mr.  Matthew  Hoyden. 

Matthew,  thou  hast  ta'en  custom  now  so  long 

Of  arts  abstruse,  that  I  do  inly  long 
To  call  thee  loudly  to  attend  on  grace. 

That  leads  to  glory  those  that  Art  do  grace. 
Thou  hadst  a  Muse  as  potent  in  her  power. 
As  those  in  which  the  heavens  all  graces  pour. 
Then  as  my  rhymes  equivocally  meet. 
So  double  fame  for  thy  like  art  is  meet. 

VII. 
To  my  kind  friend  Mr.  Charles  Best.* 

Charles,  thou  hast  law,  and  thou  hast  conscience  too } 

So  dost  in  conscience  what  some  others  do. 

That  thrive  not  b)'  it ;  but  be  rul'd  by  me  3 

Let  law  and  conscience  now  so  be  in  thee. 

That  thou  may'st  live  by  law,  in  lawful  wise, 

Sith  Time  now  silenceth  the  too  precise. 
But  if  thou  wilt  be  mute  among  thy  letters. 
Thou  shalt  be  lest,  but  worse  shall  be  thy  letters, 

*  The  same  probably  who  was  a  contributor  toDavison'sPoetical  Rhapsody 


u 

VIII. 

To  the  ivell-deserv'mg  Mr.  John  Fletcher. 

Love  lies  a  bleeding,  if  it  should  not  prove 
Her  utmost  art  to  shew  why  it  did  love. 
Thou  being  the  subject  now  it  reigns  upon, 
Reign'st  in  art,  judgment,  and  invention  : 
For  this  I  love  thee,  and  can  do  no  less. 
For  thine  as  fair,  as  faithful  Shepherdess. 

IX. 

To  the  wittily  pleasant  Sir  J.  H.* 

In  Martial's  time  a  pleasant  poet  hv'd. 

Height  Canius,  whose  spirit  doth  haunt  me  still : 
If  merry  Martial  be  from  death  repriev'd 
By  thy  mad  Muse,  Canius,  reprieve  I  will : 
If  thou  be  Martial,  and  I  Canius  be, 
Then  all  the  world  will  laugh  at  thee  and  me. 

X. 

To  our  English  Terence,  Mr.  William  Shake-spere. 

Some  say,  good  Will,  which  I  in  sport  do  sing, 

Hadst  thou  not  play'd  some  Kingly  parts  in  sport. 
Thou  hadst  been  a  companion  for  a  King ; 
And  been  a  King  among  the  meaner  sort. 
Some  others  rail :  but  rail,  as  they  think  fit. 
Thou  hast  no  railing,  but  a  reigning  wit. 

And  honesty  thou  sow'st,  which  they  do  reap  j 
So  to  increase  their  stock,  which  they  do  keep. 

*  Sir  John  Karington. 


13 


XI. 

To  my  well-accomplished  friend  Mr.  Ben  Jonson. 

I  love  thy  parts ;  so,  must  I  love  thy  whole  j 

Then  still  be  whole  in  thy  beloved  parts  : 
Thou,  art  sound  in  body  3  but  some  say  thy  soul 

Envy  doth  ulcer ;  yet  corrupted  hearts 
Such  censurers  may  have  :  but  if  thou  be 
An  envious  soul,  would  thou  couldst  envy  me  ! 

But  oh  !  I  fear  my  virtues  are  too  dark. 

For  Envy's  shadow  from  so  bright  a  spark. 

XII. 

To  my  honoured  friend,  John  Murray,'*'  Esq.   Irother  to  Sir 

James,  k^c. 

Murray,  I  muse  which  colours  I  should  use 

To  paint  thy  nature  out,  and  deck  thy  name : 
When  I  bethink  me  of  thy  Phoenix  Muse, 

I  fear  all  colours  will  be  found  to  blame. 
She,  like  that  rare  Arabian  Bird,  is  such. 

That  richest  words  by  rhetoricians  us'd. 
Will  be  but  shadows,  or  not  all  so  much ; 

These  need  her  painter's  skill  be  heaven-infus'd. 
Thy  mother-wit  and  science  are  of  power 

To  make  self-fairness  foul,  and  foulness  fair. 
Then  sith  my  Muse  too  heavy  is  to  tower, 

I'll  say  no  more  but  this ;  I  do  despair  : 
For  art  may  paint  the  coals,  or  flames  of  fire. 

But  light  and  heat  above  all  art  aspire. 

*  Cousia  to  the  Author  ol  Sophonitha  and  Catlia,  I6ij.  T.P. 


16 


XIII. 

To  mine  honoured  friend,  Sir  James  Murray,*  Kt. 

Thou  being  Brother  of  my  best-belov'd, 

I  must  for  that,  and  for  thyself  beside. 
Rank  thee  among  mine  honour'd  friends  approv'd. 

Wherein  I  range  the  power  of  all  my  pride. 
Ye  brothers  were  within  your  mother's  womb 

Made  Muses'  minions  :  for,  from  thence  ye  drew 
Pure  Helicon  to  that  yet  empty  room 

Your  brain-pan,  fiU'd  with  air,  ere  art  ye  knew. 
There  virtually  ye  both  rare  poets  were. 

Here  actually  ye  rarely  shew  the  same ; 
That's  seld,  but  bright  j  as  that  star  did  appear 

To  light  the  wise,  to  find  out  wisdom's  aim  : 
Then  sith  the  laurel's  yours  by  right  of  birth. 
My  Muse  must  laurel-crown  your  fames  on  earth. 

XIV. 
To  my  worthily  disposed  friend.  Air.  Sa7n.  Dmiiell. 
I  hear  thy  Muse  in  Court  doth  travell  now : 

Art  speed  her  feet,  and  grace  there  speed  her  plough. 
If  they  come  short,  then  gain  by  other  drifts. 
The  more  thou  getst,  the  more  it's  like  thy  gifts. 
If  yet  too  short,  to  add  another  size. 
Get  one  foot's  length,  thou  by  thy  feet  shalt  rise. 
With  Pegasus,  from  Parnass  to  the  skies. 

XV. 

To  my  worthily  leloved  Mr.  William  Alexander-^  of  Menstrie. 
Great  Alexander,  whose  successful  sword 
Made  him  a  God  with  men,  achiev'd  no  more 

•  Author  of  a  Poem  on  Prince  Henry, 
t  Kd.  1613.    Afterwards  Earl  of  Stirling. 


17 

Than  thy  as  happy  pen  hath  well  assur'd 

Unto  thy  name,  which  glory  doth  decora. 
I  know  thee  not ;  but  know  I  should  do  ill. 
Not  to  take  knowledge  of  what  is  in  thee. 
When  thou  hast  publish'd  it  with  so  great  skill. 
Which  makes  thee  o'er  thy  Monarchs  sovereign  be. 
For  they  being  happy,  prov'd  unhappy  men, 
Whom  thou  hast  made  most  happy  with  thy  pen. 

XVI. 

To  the  ingenious  Mr.  Joseph  Hall* 

Thy  vows  hath  made  me  vow  to  honour  thee. 
And  here  they  shall  in  part  performed  be. 
Thy  scourge  of  Vice,  thy  sin-afflicting  Muse 
Erst  plagued  them  thoroughly,  who  the  world  abuse. 
And  made  them  groan  between  thy  Satire's  fangs. 
As  if  for  sin  of  hell  they  felt  the  pangs. 
For  that  and  for  the  wit,  the  grace,  the  art. 
Thou  shew'st  in  all  that  from  thy  pen  doth  part. 
My  pen  thus  dimly  tricks  thee ;  wherein  thou 
May  see  thy  substance,  shadow' d  by  a  shew. 
That  scarce  is  seen ;  the  reason  is,  thine  All 
For  my  slight  lines  is  too  substantial. 

XVII. 
To  my  dear  friend,  Mr.  Charles  Fitz-jeffery. 

Great  little  Charles,  great  in  thine  art  and  wit. 

But  ever  little  in  thine  own  esteem. 
To  thee,  that  now  dost  mind  but  holy  writ. 

These  lines,  tho'  loving,  wiU  but  loathsome  seem. 
Yet  sith  in  Latin  you  on  such  didst  fall. 

In  British  now,  for  now  we  Britons  be, 

*  Afterwards  Bishop  of  Norwich. 
VOL.   11.  D 


18 


I  send  In  such :  what  ?  nothing  but  mine  All : 
That's  less  than  nothing  in  respect  of  thee : 

But,  if  thou  tak'st  in  worth  my  less  than  nought, 
I'll  give  thee  more  than  all,  when  I  am  ought. 

xvni. 

To  most  ingenious  Mr.  Francis  Beaumont. 

Some,  that  thy  name  abbreviate,  call  thee  Frank  j 

So  may  they  well,  if  they  respect  thy  wit : 
For  like  rich  corn,  that  some  fools  call  too  rank. 
All  clean  wit- reapers  still  are  griping  it : 
And  could  I  sow  for  thee  to  reap  and  use, 
I  should  esteem  it  manna  for  the  Muse. 

XIX. 

To  viy  highly  valued  Mr.  George  Chapman,  Father  of  our  En- 
glish Poets. 

I  know  thee  not,  good  George,  but  by  thy  pen. 

For  which  I  rank  thee  witli  the  rarest  men. 

And  in  that  rank  I  put  thee  in  tlie  front. 

Especially  of  poets  of  account. 

Who  art  the  treasurer  of  that  company ; 

But  in  thy  hand  too  little  coin  doth  lie. 

For  of  all  arts  that  now  in  London  are. 

Poets  get  least  in  uttering  of  their  ware. 

But  thou  hast  in  thy  liead,  and  heart,  and  hand. 

Treasures  of  art,  that  treasure  can  command. 

Ah,  would  they  covild  !  Then  should  thy  wealth  and  wit 

Be  equal ;  and  a  lofty  fortune  lit. 

But  George,  thou  wert  accurst ;  and  so  was  I 

To  be  of  that  most  blessed  company. 

For,  if  they  most  are  blest,  tliat  most  are  crost, 

Then^  Poets  I  am  sure  aie  blessed  most. 


19 


Yet  we  with  rhyme  and  reason  trim  the  times. 
Though  they  give  httle  reason  for  our  rhymes. 
The  reason  is  3  else  error  Winds  my  wits. 
They  Reason  want,  to  do  what  Honour  fits. 
But  let  them  do,  as  please  them,  we  must  do. 
What  Phoebus,  Sire  of  Art,  moves  Nature  to. 

XX. 

To  Mr.  Thomas  Bastard,  and  the  Reader. 

Bastard,  thine  Epigrams*  to  sport  inclines. 

Yet  I  protest,  that  one  delights  me  best. 
Which  saith  the  Reader  soon  devours  thy  lines. 

Which  thou  in  many  hours  couldst  scarce,  digest. 
So  fares  it  'twixt  the  reader,  and  my  Muss : 

For  that,  which  she  compiles  with  pain.  Got  wot. 
This  word  she  chooseth,  that  she  doth  refuse ; 

This  line  she  interhnes  ;  that  she  doth  blot : 
Here's  too  much  ornament,  and  there  it  lacks ; 

This  figure's  far-fetcht,  out  with  it  again  j 
That  phrase  of  affectation  too  much  smacks  j 

This  reason  rhyme  doth  rack,  and  too  much  strain  ; 
That  simile's  improper,  mend  the  same ; 

This  application's  harsh ;  harmonious  make  it : 
Fie,  out  upon't,  this  verse's  foot  is  lame. 

Let  it  go  upright,  or  a  mischief  take  it : 
Yet  it  runs  ill,  the  cadence  crabbed  is ; 

Away  with  it  for  shame ;  it  mars  the  rest : 
Give  it  sweet  accent ;  fie,  fie,  yet  I  miss  : 

Store  makes  me  scarce,  I  know  not  which  is  best. 
Here  is  a  bodge  ;  bot's  on't  5  Farewell  my  pen  ; 

My  Muse  is  duU'd  ;  another  time  shall  serve; 
To-morrow,  she  perhaps,  shall  to  it  again ; 

And  yet  to-morrow  she  perhaps  may  swerve. 

•  His  Christoloros,  printed  1595. 


20 


Well  yet  at  last  the  Poem  being  penn'd. 

The  Printer  it  presents  to  Reader's  view. 
Some  foul-mouth' d  Readers  then,  which  God  amend. 

So  slop  them  up,  that  it  would  make  one  spew 
To  see  how  inidely  they  devour  at  once 

More  wit  than  e'er  their  head-piece  held  perchance  j 
As  if  my  wit  were  minced  for  the  nonce. 

For  them  with  ease  to  swallow  with  a  vengeance. 
Yet  prithee.  Reader,  be  not  so  unkind. 

Though  I  am  bold  with  thee,  to  eat  me  too : 
I  beg,  being  thy  poor  Cook,  but  thy  best  wind : 

If  thou  wilt  not  do  this,  thou'lt  little  do  : 
But  if  I  shall  not  be  beholden  to  thee, 
A  rough  rhyme  choak  thee ;  eat,  and  much  good  do  thee, 

XXI. 

To  mine  ingenious  and  learnedly  gamesome  friend,  Mr.  John 
Owen,  the  short  and  sweet  Epigrammatist. 

Lend  me  thine  hand  j  thine  head  I  would  have  said. 

For  my  hands  firmer,  though  thy  head's  more  staid. 

To  add  some  merry  measures  unto  mine  ; 

Then  shall  my  book  be  prais'd  at  least  for  thine. 

Thou  in  the  tongue  that  scholars  most  approve. 

About  wit's  centre  dost  so  sweetly  move ; 

Thine  orbs  of  art,  that  wits,  which  them  observe. 

Make  them  for  pleasure  and  for  profit  serve, 
Pleasur'd  by  wit,  and  profited  by  skill. 
So  thine  Art's  heaven  revolves  thy  glory  still. 


21 

XXII. 

To  the  right  worthily  beloved  Sir  John  Davies/^  Knight,  At" 
torney  General  of  Ireland. 

Good  sir,  your  nature  so  affects  my  name. 

That  both  your  name  and  nature  are  mine  own ; 
And  in  their  love  to  both  affect  your  fame. 

Yet  having  not  like  fortunes,  live  unknow^n. 
And,  load-stone-like,  did  not  your  nature  draw 

Mine  to  the  point,  which  yours  did  once  project. 
These  hard  rhymes  to  digest,  as  rude  as  raw. 

No  cause  should  ere  have  brought  to  this  effect. 
But  yet  to  imitate  our  friends  in  ill. 

Is  much  more  ill,  and  too  unkind  accord. 
Of  ill  you  wrote  too  well,  and  so  I  will. 

If  so  I  can,  to  make  iU  more  abhorr'd. 

Then  if  you  like  these  purgings  of  my  brain, 
I'll  ne'er  believe  that  ought  it  yields  is  vain. 

XXIII. 

To  my  much  honoured  Lord,  worthy  of  all  honouralle  Titles, 
for  courage,  wit,  and  learning,  William  Earlof  Pemlrokr. 

Learn'd  and  judicious  Lord,  if  I  should  balk 

Thine  honour'd  name,  it  being  in  my  way. 
My  Muse  unworthy  were  of  such  a  walk. 

Where  Honour's  branches  make  it  ever  May. 
O  could  my  might  with  May  proportion  hold, 

My  May  should  be  so  glorious  in  effect. 
That  it  should  work  what  might  and  glory  could. 

Wherewith  thy  glory's  style  should  still  be  deckt 
But  tho'  I  may,  I  cannot,  wanting  might. 

Which  makes  my  May  to  work  as  cold  as  bare, 

•  Author  of  Nosce  Teipium,  &f. 


22 

So  then,  like  Winter,  I  must  pinch  thy  right,' 
Altho'  to  right  thee  be  my  Muse's  care. 
But  when  the  Sun  of  Honour  shines  on  me. 
My  May  may  then  have  might  to  flourish  thee. 

XXIV. 

To  the  immortal  memory  and  deserved  honour  of  the  Writer  oj 
the  Tragedy  of  Mustapha  {as  it  is  written,  not  printed)  by 
Sir  Fulk  Greville,*  Kt. 

Swell  proudly  numbers,  on  words'  windy  seas. 

To  raise  this  buskin-poet  to  the  skies ; 
And  fix  him  there  among  the  Pleiades, 

To  light  the  Muse  in  gloomy  Tragedies. 
Upon  Time's  scowling  brow  he  hath  indors'd 

A  Tragedy  that  shall  that  brow  out- wear ; 
Wherein  the  Muse  beyond  the  mind  is  forc'd 

In  rarest  raptures  to  Art's  highest  sphere. 
No  line  but  reaches  to  the  firmament 

Of  highest  sense,  from  surest  ground  of  wit. 
No  word  but  is  like  Phoebus  luculent ; 

Then  all  yield  lustre  well-near  infinite. 

So  shine,  bright  Scenes,  till  on  the  starry  stage. 
The  Gods  re-act  you  in  their  equipage. 

XXV. 

To  the  most  nolle,  and  ail-worthily -commended  Lady,  the  Lady 

Wroth. 

« 
A  letter  in  your  name,  dear  Dame's,  misplac'd. 

By  fortune  else  it  had  your  nature  hit : 
The  R,  where  now  it  stands,  it  would  have  raz'd ; 

And  put  past  O,  your  genius  so  to  fit. 

For  in  the  abstract  you  are  Worth,  not  Wroth  } 
By  nature,  blood,  and  by  your  nature's  name. 

*  Afterwards  Lord  Brook,  the  friend  and  biographer  of  Sydney. 


S3 

XXVI. 

To  the  right  nolle,  judicious,  and  ingenious  Sister  of  the  nevev' 
too-much  renowned  Sir  Philip  Sidney ,  Mary  Countess  Dow^ 
ager  of  Pembroke. 

Gods  me  !  how  now  !  what  present  have  we  here  ? 

A  Book  that  stood  in  peril  of  the  press : 
But  now  it's  pass'd  those  pikeSj  and  doth  appear 

To  keep  tlie  lookers-on  from  heaviness. 
What  stuff  contains  it  ?  Fustian,  perfect  spruce. 

Wit's  gallimalfry,  or  wit  fried  in  steaks. 
From  whom  came  it,  a  God's  name  ?    From  his  Muse, 

0  do  not  tell,  that  still  your  favour  seeks. 
And  who  is  that  ?  Faith,  that  is  I. — What  I  ? 

1  per  se,  T,  great  I,  you  would  say.     No  : 
Great  I  indeed,  you  well  may  say  5  but  I 

Am  little  i,  the  least  of  all  the  row. 
You  cannot  choose,  but  know  me  now  :  no,  do  ! 

I  am  the  least  in  yours,  and  world's  esteem : 
I  am  the  same  :  Madam,  go  to,  go  to. 

You  know  me  now,  I  know,  though  strange  you  seera. 
Not  yet  ?  why  then,  gi-eat  Lady,  I  am  he. 
That  raaugre  fate  was,  is,  and  still  will  be 

The  Triton  of  your  praise, 
J.  D. 

XXVII. 

To  the  ingenious  Mr.  John  Marston, 

Thy  Male-Content,  or  Male-contentedness, 

Hath  made  thee  change  thy  Muse,  as  some  do  guess : 

If  time  misspent  made  her  a  male-content. 

Thou  need'st  not  then  her  timely  change  repent. 

The  end  will  shew  it :  meanwhile  do  but  please 

With  virtuous  pains,  as  erst  thou  didst  with  ease  : 


24 


Thou  shalt  be  prais'd,  and  kept  from  want  and  woe. 
So  blest  are  crosses,  that  do  bless  us  so. 

XXVIII* 

To  the  right  worshipful  and  most  worthy  Knight,  Sir  Edward 

Dyer. 

Though  Saturn  now  with  Jupiter  doth  sit. 

Where  erst  Minerva  and  the  Muse  did  reign. 
Ruling  the  commonwealth  of  will,  and  wit, 

Plac'd  in  the  kingdoms  of  thy  heart  and  brain ; 
Those  planets  I  adore,  whose  influence 

Infuseth  wisdom,  counsel,  gravity  5 
Minerva,  and  the  Muse,  joys  my  soul's  sense, 

Sith  soul- delighting  lines  they  multiply. 
In  both  respects  for  that  that  was  and  is, 

I  tender  thee  the  service  of  my  Muse, 
Which  shall  not  mar  thy  fame,  tho'  it  may  miss 

To  give  the  same  that  which  to  it  accrues. 
Yet  this  gift  thro'  thy  gifts  she  gives  to  thee. 
Time's  future.  Dyer,  die  shall  never  see. 

XXIX. 

Of  Myself. 

Lord !  my  poor  brains  how  busily  I  beat. 

My  temples  toil  with  chafing  of  my  hand  j 
My  sleeps  disturb  j  my  meals  cut  short  at  meat ; 

My  time  consume  :  Why  ?  not  to  purchase  land  j 
Nor  soul  to  save,  nor  goods  to  gain,  do  I 

Indure  this  toil ;  but  merely  for  the  meed 
Of  Fame's  frail  blast,  which  with  myself  must  die  3 

Or  after  death  can  stand  in  little  stead. 
When  from  my  wits  I  draw  the  quintessence. 

Subliming  that  too,  to  the  highest  height, 

*  This  is  from  Davies's  Microcosmos,  l6os. 


l25 


An  airy  word  is  all  the  recompence. 

That  to  ray  lot  for  all  my  pains  shall  light. 
Perhaps  some  Gull,  as  witty  as  a  Goose, 

Says  with  a  coy  skew  look,  its  pretty,  pretty  ; 
But  yet  that  so  much  wit  he  should  dispose 

For  so  small  purpose,  faith,  saith  he,  it's  pity. 
Some  fool  else  shoots  his  bolt,  and  hath  his  but; 

He  hath  a  pretty  wit ;  but  yet,  saith  he. 
Herein  methinks  he  is  much  overshut ; 
And  then  perhaps  he  cavils  with  a  T, 
That  was  misplac'd,  or  at  the  most  mis-suited. 

T  ordur'd  in  his  teeth,  where  it's  well  plac'd  j 
Fain  would  he  flout,  if  ought  were  to  be  flouted ; 
And  all  but  his  own  wit  would  have  disgrac'd. 
But  if  some  other,  better  far  affected. 

Commend  my  lines,  and  relish  my  conceit. 
Here's  the  reward,  that  all  in  all's  expected ; 
And  what  is  this  but  wind  of  mere  deceit  ? 
When  Fame's  fat  fools  of  Fame  have  had  their  fill. 
They  stand  on  tiptoe,  proud  of  praised  skill  3 
Yet  with  one  stroke  Death  both  at  once  doth  spill." 

The  Editor  has  little  fear,  that  the  number  of  Poets 
here  commemorated  will  render  these  Extracts  from  a 
rare  book  not  a  little  interesting  to  the  curious. 


■VOL.   11. 


26 


Epigrams^  8fc.  hy  and  to  Poets  in  the  Eeign  of 
K.  James  1.  and  K.  Charles  /. 


>»«00@00«*c 


EPIGRAM*   BY  SIR  JOHN   HARINGTON. 

To  Master  Bastard,  a  Minister,  that  made  a  pleasant  Book  of 

English  Epigrams. 

Though  dusty  wits  of  this  ungrateful  time 
Carp  at  thy  Book  of  Epigrams,  and  scoff  it ; 
Yet  wise  men  know,  to  mix  the  sweet  with  profit 

Is  worthy  praise ;  not  only  void  of  crime. 

Then  let  not  envy  stop  thy  vein  of  rhyme  : 
Nor  let  thy  function  make  thee  shamed  of  it ; 
A  poet  is  one  step  unto  a  prophet : 

And  such  a  step  as  'tis  no  shame  to  climb. 
You  must  in  pulpit  treat  of  matters  serious ; 

As  best  beseems  the  person  and  the  place : 

There  preach  of  Faith,  Repentance,  Hope,  and  Grace  ; 
Of  Sacraments,  and  such  high  things  mysterious. 

That  unto  honest  sports  will  grant  no  space : 
For  these  our  minds  refresh,  when  tliose  weary  us. 

And  spur  our  doubled  spirit  to  swifter  pace. 
The  wholesom'st  meats  that  are  will  breed  satiety. 
Except  we  should  admit  of  some  variety. 

In  music,  notes  must  be,  some  high,  some  base. 
And  this  I  note,  your  verses  have  intendment. 

Still  kept  within  the  lists  of  good  sobriety. 
To  work  in  men's  ill  manners  good  amendment. 
•  Wherefore  if  any  think  such  verse  unseasonable. 
Their  stoic  minds  are  foes  to  good  society, 

•  From  his  Wittj'  Epigrams,  1625. 


'11 


And  men  of  reason  may  think  them  unreasonable. 
It  is  an  act  of  virtue  and  of  piety. 
To  warn  us  of  our  sins  in  any  sort. 
In  prose,  in  verse,  in  earnest,  or  in  sport. 


Of  Master  John  Bavies's*  Book  of  Dancing.     To  himself, 

BY  THE   SAME. 

While  you  the  planets  all  do  set  to  dancing. 

Beware  such  hap,  as  to  the  Friar  was  chancing. 

Who  preaching  in  a  pulpit  old  and  rotten. 

Among  some  notes  most  fit  to  be  forgotten. 

Unto  his  auditory  thus  he  vaunts. 

To  make  all  saints  after  his  pipe  to  dance  : 

It  speaking,  which  as  he  himself  advances. 

To  act  his  speech  with  gestures,  lo,  it  chances, 

Down  falls  the  pulpit ;  sore  the  man  is  bruised. 

Never  was  Friar  and  Pulpit  more  abused. 

Then  bear  with  me,  though  yet  to  you  a  stranger. 

To  warn  you  of  the  like,  nay,  greater  danger. 

For  though  none  fear  the  falling  of  those  sparks ; 

(And  when  they  fall,  'twill  be  good  catching  larks,) 

Yet  this  may  fall ;   that  while  you  dance  and  skip 

With  female  planets,  so  your  foot  may  trip. 

That  in  their  lofty  capriol  and  turn. 

Their  motion  may  make  your  dimension  burn. 


Of  old  Heyu'ood's  Sons. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

Old  Heywood's  sons  did  wax  so  wild  and  youthful. 
It  made  their  aged  father  sad  and  wrathful. 

*  Sir  John  Davis,  author  of  Nosce  Teipsum. 


28 

^  friend  one  day  the  elder  did  admonish 

With  threats,  as  did  his  courage  half  astonish  : 

How  that  except  he  would  begin  to  thrive. 

His  sire  of  all  his  goods  would  him  deprive. 

"  For  whom?"  quoth  he — "  E'en  for  youi"  younger  brother  !" 

^'  Nay  then,"  said  he ;   "  no  fear,  if't  be  none  other. 

My  brother's  worse  tlian  I ;  and  till  he  mends, 

I  know  my  father  no  such  wrong  intends  j 

Sith  both  are  bad,  to  shew  so  partial  wrath. 

To  give  the  younger  un thrift  that  he  hath." 

Those  that  have  greatest  estates  are  not  always  the  richest  men. 

BY  SIR  THOMAS  URCHARD,  KNIGHT.* 

They're  richer  who  diminish  their  desires. 
Though  their  possessions  be  not  amplified. 

Than  monarchs,  who  in  owning  large  empires. 
Have  minds  that  never  will  be  satisfied  : 

For  he  is  poor  that  wants  what  he  would  have  j 

And  rich,  who  having  nought,  doth  nothing  crave. 

IVhen  a  true  friend  may  be  best  known, 

BY  THE  SAME. 

As  the  glow-worm  shines  brightest  in  the  dark. 
And  frankinsense  smells  sweetest  in  the  fire. 

So  cross  adventtires  make  us  best  remark 
A  sincere  friend  from  a  dissembled  lyar  : 

For  some,  being  friends  to  our  prosperity. 

And  not  to  us,  when  it  fails  they  decay. 

*  From  Epigrams  Divine  and  Moral :  London,  1646.  4^t». 


29 

How  to  support  the  contumely  of  defamatory  speeches, 

BY  THE  SAME. 

If  men  desetTedly  speak  ill  of  you. 

Be  angry  not  at  them,  but  at  the  cause. 
Which  you  to  them  did  furnish  so  to  do  : 

But  if  they  still  continue,  'gainst  the  laws 
Of  truth  and  modesty,  their  bad  report. 

While  with  a  valiant  heart,  and  testimony 
Of  a  good  conscience  you  j'ourself  comfort,         , 

Contemn  those  rascals  that  insult  upon  ye  : 
For  a  reproach  by  honest  means  obtain' d. 
Doth  full  of  glory  to  the  heavens  ascend. 

BY  RICHARD  TURNER,   iGO?.* 

What  give  ten  pounds  for  counsel  ?  give  a  straw. 
Do  you  think  there's  any  so  basely  low-pric'd  law  ? 
Well :  yet  I'll  take  it,  and  somewhat  I  will  do; 
But  'twill  not  be  above  a  word  or  two. 
So  foul  a  case  as  this  has  never  pass' d. 
Nay,  I'm  as  sure  as  can  be,  you'll  be  cast. 
With  that  the  discontented  client  frowns. 
And  makes  a  rustling  consort  'mongst  his  crowns  j 
The  which  no  sooner  (laugh  not)  Conscience  hears. 
But  presently  the  case  is  chang'd,  he  swears. 
Pardon  me.  Sir,  I  did  mistake  the  course : 
Assure  yourself,  the  land  is  firmly  yours, 

Lines  before  Christopher  Midd/eton's  Legend  of  Humphrey 
Duke  of  Glocester. 

BY  MICHAEL  DRAYTON. 

Like  as  a  man  on  some  adventure  bound. 

His  honest  friends,  their  kindness  to  express, 

*  From  Nosce  Te.  (Humors)  1607,    The  writer  is  recorded  for  this  poem 
in  Phillips's  Theatmm,  15?. 


30 


T'  encourage  him,  of  whom  the  main  is  own'd. 

Some  venture  more,  and  some  adventure  less ; 
That  if  the  voyage  happily  be  good. 

They  his  good  fortune  freely  may  partake ; 
If  otherwise  it  perish  in  the  flood. 

Yet  like  good  friends,  theirs  perish' d  for  his  sake. 
On  thy  return  I  put  this  httle  forth. 

My  chance  with  thine  indifferently  to  prove. 
Which  though  T  know  not  fitting  with  thy  worth. 

Accept  it  yet  since  it  proceeds  from  love  j 
And  if  this  prosper,  I  may  see 
I  have  some  share,  though  most  return  to  thee. 

To  George  Chapman,*  from  Freeman's  Epigrams,  l6l4.f 

George,  it  is  thy  genius  innated  j 

Thou  pick'st  not  flowers  from  another's  field  : 
Stol'n  similes,  or  sentences  translated ; 

Nor  seekest  but  what  thine  own  soil  doth  yield  ! 
Let  barren  wits  go  borrow  what  to  write, 

'Tis  bred  and  born  with  thee  what  tliou  inditest ; 
And  our  comedians  thou  outstrippest  quite ; 

And  all  the  hearers'  voice  thou  all  delightest 
With  unaffected  stile  and  sweetest  strain. 

Thy  unambitious  pen  keeps  on  her  pace. 
And  Cometh  near'st  the  ancient  comic  vein  ; 

Thou  hast  beguil'd  us  aU  of  that  sweet  grace  j 
And  were  Thalia  to  be  sold  and  bought. 
No  Chapman  but  thyself  were  to  be  sought. 

*  01d}'S,  in  his  MS.  notes  to  Langbaine,  says,  "  Chapman  was  much  re- 
sorted to  latterly  by  young  persons  of  parts,  as  a  Poetical  Chronicle  :  but  was 
very  choice  whom  he  admitted  to  him  ;  and  preserved  in  his  own  person  the 
dignity  ol  Poetry,  which  he  compared  to  a  flower  of  the  sun,  which  disdains 
to  open  its  leaves  to  the  eye  of  a  smoakuig  taper."— Steeuens's  Copy  of  Lang- 
baine, at  Lee  Priory, 

t  From  a  MS.  Note  by  T.  P. 


31 

••->'^}^^.-^ 

Epigrams,  by  Sir  Aston  Cokaine,  1608.* 

To  my  Cousin,  Mr.  Charles  Cotton. 
I  wonder.  Cousin,  that  you  would  permit 
So  great  an  injury  to  Fletchers  wit. 
Your  friend  and  old  companion,  that  his  fame 
Should  be  divided  to  another's  name. 
If  Beaumont  had  writ  those  plays,  it  had  been 
Against  his  merits  a  detracting  sin. 
Had  they  been  attributed  also  to 
Fletcher.   They  were  two  wits,  and  friends,  and  who 
Robs  fiom  the  one  to  glorify  the  other 
Of  these  great  memories  is  a  partial  lover. 
Had  Beaumont  liv'd  when  this  Edition  came 
Forth,  and  beheld  his  ever  living  name 
Before  Plays  that  he  never  writ,  how  he 
Had  frown'd  and  blush'd  at  such  impiety  ! 
His  own  renown  no  such  addition  needs. 
To  have  a  fame  sprung  from  another's  deeds. 
And  my  good  friend,  old  Philip  Massinger, 
With  Fletcher,  writ  in  some  that  we  see  there. 
But  you  may  blame  the  Printers  j  yet  you  might 
Perhaps  have  won  them  to  do  Fletcher  right. 
Would  you  have  took  the  pains  :  For  what  a  foul 
And  unexcusable  fault  it  Is  (that  whole 
Volumes  of  Plays,  being  almost  every  one 
After  the  death  of  Beaumont,  writ)  that  none 
Would  certify  them  so  much !   I  wish  as  free 
Y'  had  told  the  Printers  this,  as  you  did  me. 
Surely  you  was  to  blame ;  a  foreign  wit. 
Owns  in  such  manner  what  an  English  viTit : 
Joseph  of  Exeter's  heroic  piece. 
Of  the  long  fatal  war  'twixt  Troy  and  Greece, 

*  From  Poems  of  diverse  sorts.  1658.  8vo. 


3S 


Was  printed  in  Cornelius  Nepos'  name^ 
And  robs  ovir  countrymen  of  much  of 's  fame. 
'Tls  true,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  both  were  such 
Sublime  wits,  none  could  them  admire  too  much ; 
They  were  our  English  pole-stars,  and  did  bear 
Between  them  all  the  world  of  fancy  clear  ; 
But  as  two  suns  when  they  do  shine  to  us. 
The  air  is  lighter,  they  prodigious. 
So  while  they  liv'd  and  writ  together,  we 
Had  Plays  exceeded  what  we  hop'd  to  see. 
But  they  writ  few ;  for  youthful  Beaumont  soon 
By  death  eclipsed  was  at  his  high  noon. 
Surviving  Fletcher  then  did  pen  alone. 
Equal  to  both  (pardon  comparison  : ) 
And  suffer'd  not  the  Globe  and  Blackfriars  stage 
To  envy  the  glories  of  a  former  age. 
As  we  in  human  bodies  see  that  lose 
An  eye  or  limb,  the  virtue  and  the  use 
Retreats  into  the  other  eye  or  limb. 
And  makes  it  double  ;  so  I  say  of  him  : 
Fletcher  was  Beaumont's  heir,  and  did  inherit 
His  searching  judgment,  and  unbounded  spirit. 
His  plays  are  printed  therefore  as  they  were  j 
Of  Beaumont  too,  because  his  spirit's  there. 


To  my  Cousin,  Mr.  Charles  Cotton  the  younger. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

In  how  few  years  have  you  rais'd  up  an  high 
Column  of  learning  by  your  industry, 
More  glorious  than  those  pyramids,  that  old 
Canopus  view'd,  or  Cair  doth  yet  behold  ! 
Your  noble  Father,  that,  for  able  parts 
Hath  won  an  high  opinion  in  ail  hearts. 


33 


May  like  the  elder  Scaliger  look  down 
With  admiration  on  his  worthy  son. 
Proceed,  fair  Plant  of  Exc'Uencies,  and  grovr 
So  high,  to  shadow  all  that  are  below. 


BY  THE  SAME. 

D'Avila,  Bentivoglio,  Guicciardine, 

And  Machiavil  the  subtle  Florentine, 

In  their  originals  I  have  read  through. 

Thanks  to  your  library,  and  unto  you. 

The  prime  historians  of  late  times ;  at  least 

In  the  Italian  tongue  allow'd  the  best. 

When  you  have  more  such  books,  I  pray  vouchsaf« 

Me  their  perusal.     I'll  return  them  safe. 

Yet,  for  the  courtesy,  the  recompence 

That  I  can  make  you  will  be  only  thanks. 

But  you  are  noble-soul' d,  and  had  much  rather 

Bestow  a  benefit,  than  receive  a  favour. 


Another  to  the  Same. 

BY  THE  S.1ME. 

Donne,  Suckling,  Randolph,  Drayton,  Massinger, 
Habington,  Sandys,  May,  my  acquaintance  were  : 
Jonson,  Chapman,  and  Holland  I  have  seen. 
And  with  them  too  should  have  acquainted  been. 
What  needs  this  catalogue  ?   They  are  dead  and  gone ) 
And  to  me  you  are  all  of  them  in  one. 

VOL.  II.  F 


34 

To  his  honoured  Cousin,  Sir  Ffancis  Burdetj*  Bart. 

BY  THE   SAME. 

The  honest  poet,  Michael  Drayton,  I 

Must  ever  honour  for  your  amity. 

He  brought  us  first  acquainted  ;  which  good  turns 

Made  me  to  fix  an  El  eg}'  on  his  urn. 

Else  I  might  well  have  spar'd  my  humble  stuff  j 

His  own  sweet  Muse  renowning  him  enough. 

In  Warwickshire  your  house  and  mine  stand  near  j 

I  therefore  wish  we  both  were  settled  there ; 

So  we  might  often  meet,  and  I  thereby 

Your  excellent  conversation  oft  enjoy. 

What  good  should  you  get  by  it  ?  Truly  none  I 

The  profit  would  accrue  to  me  alone. 


,^. 


To  Mr.  Thomas  Bancroft. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

Sir,  in  your  Epigrams  you  did  me  grace 

T'  allow  me  'mong  your  many  friends  a  place. 

T'  express  my  gratitude,  if  time  will  be 

After  my  death  so  courteous  to  me. 

As  to  vouchsafe  some  few  years  to  my  name,. 

Freely  enjoy  with  me  my  utmost  fame. 


•^• 


To  Mr.  Francis  Lenton,  refusing  vAne. 

BY  THE   SAME. 

Dost  thou  endeavour,  Frank,  to  leave  thy  drink. 
That  made  thee  such  hig.h  raptures  write  and  think  ? 

»  Ancestor  of  the  present  M.  P.  for  Westminstfir. 


85 


Or  art  a  weary  of  the  Muses  ?    For 

"What  else  could  make  thee  Phcebus'  sack  abhor  ? 

It  is  our  grief,  our  mourning,  and  thy  shame. 

That  the  Queen's  poet,  and  a  man  of  name. 

Should  drive  Apollo  from  his  breast  with  a 

Fine  glass  of  six  shillings,  or  a  dish  of  whey. 

Redress  our  sorrows,  and  return  again 

To  wine,  and  make  tliy  head  like  Charles  his  wain. 

To  the  truly  nolle  Sir  Arthur  Gorges. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

Those  worthy  Romans,  that  scorn'd  humble  things. 

Created,  and  obliged  after-Kings, 

Amidst  their  thoughts  of  highest  honour,  ne'er 

Conceiv'd  imaginations  'bove  your  sphere. 

The  Babylonian  Euphrates  may 

For  ever  run,  and  Tybris  never  stay ; 

The  plenteous  Rhine  continually  speed  on. 

And  Danubie,  each  to  its  ocean. 

And  not  outgo  your  fair  and  high  repute. 

Which  doth  amaze  the  world,  and  strikes  me  mute. 


^ 

To  his  ingenuous  Friend,  Mr.  Alexander  Brome,  on  his  Essay 
to  translate  Lucretius, 

BY  THE  SAME. 

I  know  a  Lady  that  hath  been  about 
The  same  design,  but  she  must  needs  give  out : 
Your  poet  strikes  too  boldly  home,  sometimes. 
In  genial  things,  t'  appear  in  women's  rhymes. 


66 


The  task  is  masculine^  and  he,  that  can 
Translate  Lucretius,  is  an  able  man  : 
And  such  are  you  ;  whose  rich  poetic  vein. 
And  general  learning  perfectly  can  plain. 
And  smooth  your  author's  roughnesses,  and  give 
Him  such  a  robe  of  English  as  will  live. 
Out- wear,  and  all  such  works  exceed,  and  prove 
This  nation's  wonder,  and  this  nation's  love. 
Therefore  proceed,  my  friend,  and  soon  erect 
This  piramid  of  our  h^A  dialect. 


To  Mr.  Humphrey  Mosely  and  Mr.  Humphrey  Holinson. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

In  the  large  Book  of  Plays  you  late  did  print 

In  Beaumont  and  in  Fletcher's  name,  why  in't 

Did  you  not  justice  ?  Give  to  each  his  due  ? 

For  Beaumont  of  those  many  writ  in  few  : 

And  Massinger  in  other  few  :   the  main 

Being  sole  issues  of  sweet  Fletcher's  brain. 

But  how  came  I,  you  ask,  so  much  to  know  ? 

Fletcher's  chief  bosom-friend  inform'd  me  so. 

In  th'  next  impression  therefore  justice  do. 

And  print  their  old  ones  in  one  volume  too  : 

For  Beaumont's  works,  and  Fletcher's  should  come  forth 

With  all  the  right  belonging  to  their  worth. 


«•>»»•»..».•>•■>  ^4i  «••«.. «.i4>i4i« 


FUNERAL  ELEGY 

On  the  Death  of  his  very  good  Friend,  Mr.  Michael  Drayton. 
JJY  SIR  ASTON  COKAYNE. 

Phoebus,  art  thou  a  God,  and  can'st  not  give 

A  privilege  unto  thine  own  to  live  ? 

Thou  can'st :  But  if  that  Poets  ne'er  should  die. 

In  Heaven  who  should  praise  thy  deity  ? 

Else  still,  my  Drayton,  thou  hadst  liv'd  and  writ; 

Thy  life  had  been  immortal,  as  thy  wit. 

But  Spenser  is  grown  hoarse ;  he,  that  of  late 

Sung  Gloriana  in  her  infant  state ; 

And  so  is  Sydney,  whom  we  yet  admire. 

Lighting  our  little  torches  at  his  fire. 

These  have  so  long  before  Apollo's  throne 

Caroll'd  encomiums,  that  they  now  are  grown 

Weary  and  faint ;  and  therefore  thou  didst  die. 

Their  sweet  unfinish'd  ditty  to  supply. 

So  was  the  Iliad- writer  rapt  away. 

Before  his  lov'd  Achilles'  fatal  day ; 

And  when  his  voice  began  to  fail,  the  great 

Unequal' d  Maro  did  assume  his  seat : 

Therefore  we  must  not  mourn,  unless  it  be 

'Cause  none  is  left  worthy  to  follow  thee* 

It  is  in  vain  to  say,  thy  lines  are  such 

As  neither  Time  nor  Envy's  rage  can  touch : 

For  they  must  live,  and  will,  while  there's  an  eye 

To  read,  or  wit  to  judge  of  poetry. 

You,  Swans  of  Avon,  change  your  fates,  and  all 

Sing,  and  then  die  at  Drayton's  funeral ! 

Sure  shortly  there  will  not  a  drop  be  seen. 

And  the  smooth-pebbled  bottom  be  tum'd  green^     . 


Jl   L  h^   'JL  <}  ■J 


58 


When  the  Nymj^hs  that  inhabit  m  it,  have, 
As  they  did  Shakespeare,  wept  thee  to  thy  grave. 
But  I  molest  thy  quiet !   Sleep,  wliilst  we. 
That  live,  would  leave  our  lives  to  die  like  thee  ! 


.^. 


ENCOMIASTIC  VERSES  ON  SEVERAL  BOOKS. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

To  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Randolph,  on  his  Play  called  the 
Entertainment,  printed  ly  the  name  o/"'' The  Muses'  Looking 
Glass." 

Sonie  austere  Cato's  be,  that  do  not  stick 

To  term  all  poetry  base  that's  dramatic  : 

These  contradict  themselves  :  For  bid  them  tell 

How  they  like  Poesy,  and  they'll  answer  well. 

But  as  a  stately  fabric  raised  by 

The  curious  science  of  Geometry, 

If  one  side  of  the  machine  perish,  all 

Participates  with  it  a  ruinous  fall : 

So  they  are  enemies  to  Helicon, 

That  vow  they  love  all  Muses  saving  one. 

Some  supercilious  humours  I  despise. 

And  like  Thalia's  harmless  comedies. 

Thy  entertainment  h-id  so  good  a  fate. 

That  whosoe'er  doth  not  admire  thereat 

Discloseth  iiis  own  ignorance  ;  for  no 

True  moralist  would  be  suppos'd  thy  foe. 

In  the  pure  Thespian  Spring  thou  hast  refin'd 

Those  harsh  rude  i-ules  thy  author  hath  deslgn'd  \ 

Andi  made  those  precepts  which  he  did  rehearse 

In  heavy  prose,  to  run  in  humble  verse. 

The  Stagirite  will  be  slighted ;  who  doth  list. 

To  read  or  see't  becomes  a  moralist : 

And  if  his  eyes  and  ears  are  worth  thine  ore, 

Learn  more  in  two  hours  than  two  years  before. 


59 


Thou  hast  my  suffrage,  friend  ;  and  I  would  fain 
Be  a  spectator  of  thy  scenes  again. 


To  my  fi  lend,  Mr  Philip  Massinger,  on  his  Tragi- Comedy^ 
called  the  "  Emperor  of  the  East." 

Suffer  (my  friend)  these  lines  to  have  the  grace 

That  they  may  be  a  mole  on  Venus'  face  : 

There  is  no  fault  about  tliy  Book  but  this. 

And  it  will  shew  how  fair  thine  Emperor  is. 

Thou  more  than  Poet  (our  Mercury)  that  art 

Apollo's  messenger,  and  dost  impart 

His  best  expressions  to  our  ears,  live  long 

To  purify  the  slighted  English  Tongue  ! 

That  both  the  Nymphs  of  Tagus  and  of  Po 

May  not  henceforth  despise  our  language  so  '. 

Nor  could  they  do  it  if  they  e'er  had  seen 

The  matchless  features  of  the  Fairy  Queen. 

Read  Jonson,  Shakespear,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  or 

Thy  neat-lin'd  pieces  skilful  Massinger  ! 

Thou  known,  all  the  Castellians  must  confess 

De  Vega,  Carpio  thy  foil,  and  bless 

His  language  can  translate  thee,  and  the  fine 

Italian  wits  yield  to  this  work  of  thine. 

Were  old  Pythagoras  alive  again. 

In  thee  we  might  find  some  reason  to  maintain 

His  Paradox,  that  souls  by- transmigration 

In  divers  bodies  make  their  habitation  : 

And  more ;  that  all  poetic  souls  yet  known 

Are  met  in  ihee  contracted  into  one. 

This  is  a  truth,  not  an  applause  j  I  am 

One  that  at  farthest  distance  view  thy  flame. 

Yet  dare  pronounce,  that  were  Apollo  dead. 

In  d:eu  his  Poetry  might  all  be  read.  • 


40 


Forbear  thy  modesty  :  Thy  Emperor's  vein 

Shall  live  admir'd,  when  Poets  shall  complain. 

It  is  a  pattern  of  too  high  a  reach. 

And  wfhat  great  Phoebus  might  the  Muses  teach. 

Let  it  live  therefore,  and  I  dare  be  bold 

To  say,  it  with  the  wojld  shall  not  grow  old. 


To  mi/  friend,  Mr.  Philip  Massinger,  on  his  Tragi- Comedy, 
called  the  "  Maid  of  Honour." 

Was  not  thine  Emperor  enough  before 

For  thee  to  give,  that  thou  dost  give  us  more  ? 

I  would  be  just  but  cannot ;  that  I  know 

I  did  not  slander,  this  I  fear  I  do. 

But  pardon  me  if  I  offend ;  thy  fire 

Let  equal  Poets  praise  whilst  I  admire. 

If  any  say  that  I  enough  have  writ. 

They  are  thy  foes,  and  envy  at  thy  wit. 

Believe  not  them,  nor  me  :  they  know  thy  lines 

Deserve  applause,  and  speak  against  their  minds. 

I  out  of  justice  would  commend  thy  Play : 

But  friend  forgive  me,  'tis  above  my  way. 

One  word,  and  I  have  done :  and  (from  my  heart) 

Would  I  could  speak  the  whole  tnxth,  not  the  part : 

Because  'tis  thine,  it  henceforth  shall  be  said. 

Not  the  Maid  of  Honour,  but  the  honour' d  maid. 


Of  Mr.  John  Fletcher  his  Plays,  and  especially  the  "Mad  Lover." 

Whilst  his  well  organ' d  body  doth  retreat 
To  it's  first  matter,  and  the  formal  heat 
Triumphant  sits  in  judgment  to  approve 
Pieces  above  our  candor  and  our  love  j 


41 


Such  as  dare  boldly  venture  to  appear 

Unto  the  curious  eye,  and  critic  ear  : 

So  the  Mad  Lover,  in  these  various  times. 

Is  prest  to  life  f  accuse  us  of  our  crimes. 

Whil'st  Fletcher  liv'd J  vv^ho  equal  to  him  writ 

Such  lasting  monuments  of  natural  wit  ? 

Others  might  draw  their  lines  with  sweat,  like  those 

That  with  much  pains  a  garrison  enclose, 

Whil'st  his  sweet  fluent  vein  did  gently  run. 

As  uncontroul'd  and  smoothly  as  the  sun. 

After  his  death  our  Theatres  did  make 

Him  in  his  own  unequal'd  language  speak  : 

And  now  (when  all  the  Muses  out  of  their 

Approved  modesty  silent  appear) 

This  Play  of  Fletcher's  braves  the  envious  light. 

As  wonder  of  our  ears  once,  now  our  sight. 

Three  and  fourfold  best  Poet,  who  the  lives 

Of  Poets  and  of  Theatres  survi'st ! 

A  groom  or  hostler  of  some  wit,  may  bring 

His  Pegasus  to  the  Castalian  spring ; 

Boast  he  a  race  o'er  the  Pharsalian  plain. 

Or  happy  Tempe  valley  dares  maintain  ; 

Brag  at  one  leap  upon  the  double  cliff 

(Were  it  as  high  as  monstrous  TcnerifF) 

Of  far  renown' d  Parnassus  he  will  get. 

And  there  t'  amaze  the  world,  confirm  his  seat : 

When  our  admired  Fletcher  vaunts  not  ought. 

And  slighted  every  thing  he  writ  as  nought : 

Whil'st  all  our  English  wondering  world,  in's  cause. 

Made  this  great  city  echo  with  applause  : 

Read  him  therefore  all  that  can  read,  and  those 

That  cannot  learn,  if  y're  not  Learning's  foes. 

And  wilfully  resolved  to  refuse 

The  gentle  raptures  of  his  happy  Muse  ! 

VOL.   II.  C 


42 


From  thy  great  Constellation,  noble  soul. 

Look  on  this  kingdom,  suffer  not  the  whole 

Spirit  of  Poesy  retire  to  Heaven, 

But  make  us  entertain  what  thou  hast  given. 

Earthquakes  and  thunder  diapasons  make. 

The  seas'  vast  roar,  and  iiresistless  shake 

Of  horrid  winds,  a  sympathy  compose  j 

So  that  in  these  there's  music  in  the  close  : 

And  (though  they  seem  great  discords  in  our  ears) 

The  cause  is  not  in  them,  but  in  our  fears. 

Granting  them  music,  how  much  sweeter's  that 
Mnemosyne's  daughter's  voices  do  create  ? 

Since  heaven,  and  earth,  and  seas,  and  air  consent 
,  To  make  an  harmony  (the  instrument 

Their  own  agreeing  selves)  shall  we  refuse 

The  music  that  the  Deities  do  use  ? 

Troy's  ravish' t  Ganymede  doth  sing  to  Jove; 

And  Phoebus'  self  plays  on  his  lyre  above. 

The  Cretan  Gods,  or  glorious  men  who  will 

Imitate  right,  must  wonder  at  thy  skill, 

Best  Poet  of  thy  time  !  or  he  will  prove 

As  mad,  as  thy  brave  Memnon  was  with  love. 


.<.. 


To  iny  very  good  Friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Bancroft,  on  his  Worh, 

Adone,  my  friend,  lay  pen  and  paper  by, 
Y'ave  writ  enough  to  reach  eternity  : 
In  soft  repose  assume  thy  happy  seat 
Among  the  Laureats  to  judge  of  wit : 
Apollo  now  hath  call'd  you  to  tlie  bench. 
For  your  sweet  vein,  and  fluent  eloquence  ; 
Whose  many  works  will  all  rare  patterns  stand. 
And  deathless  ornaments  vinto  our  land. 


43 

Belov'd  admir'd,  and  imitated  by- 
All  those  great  souls  that  honour  poesy. 
Against  th'  approach  of  thy  last  hour,  when 
He  thee  shall  call  from  the  abodes  of  men. 
In  his  own  choir,  for  thy  exceeding  art 
Among  renowned  wits  to  sing  apart. 
Nor  you,  nor  any  fi-iend  need  to  prepare 
Marble  or  brass  a  pyramid  to  rear. 
To  thy  continual  memory,  nor  with 
A  Mausoleum  hope  to  make  thee  live : 
All  such  materials  time  may  devour. 
But  o'er  thy  works  shall  never  have  a  power. 
While  humble  Derwen  Trent  augments,  and  while 
The  streams  of  Thames  do  glorify  our  Isle, 
And  th'  English  tongue  whiles  any  understand. 
Thy  lines  shall  be  a  grace  unto  this  land. 
Our  Derbyshire  (that  never  as  I  knew 
Afforded  us  a  Poet  until  you) 
You  have  redeem'd  from  obloquy,  that  it 
Might  boast  of  wool,  and  lead,  but  not  of  wit. 

Virgil  by's  birth  to  Mantua  gave  renown. 
And  sweet-tongued  Ovid  unto  Sulmo  town  ; 
CatuUus  to  Verona  was  a  fame. 
And  you  to  Swarton  will  become  the  same. 
Live  then,  my  friend,  immortally,  and  prove 
Their  envy  that  will  not  afford  thee  love. 


A  Prceludium  to  Mr.  Richard  Brome's  Plays. 

Then  we  shall  still  have  Plays,  and  though  tliey  may 
Not  them  in  their  full  glories  yet  display ; 
Yet  we  may  please  ourselves  by  reading  them 
Till  a  more  noble  act  this  act  condemn. 


44 


Happy  will  that  day  be,  which  will  advance 

This  land  from  dirt  of  precise  ignorance  j 

Distinguish  moral  virtue,  and  rich  wit. 

And  graceful  action,  from  an  unfit 

Parenthesis  of  Coughs  and  Hums  and  Haes, 

Threshing  of  Cushions  and  Tautologies  : 

Then  the  dull  zealots  shall  give  way,  and  fly. 

Or  be  converted  by  bright  Poesy  j 

Apollo  may  enlighten  them,  or  else 

In  Scottish  Grots  they  may  conceal  themselves. 

Then  shall  learn' d  Jonson  reassume  his  seat. 

Revive  the  Phoenix  by  a  second  heat ; 

Create  the  Glol-e  anew,  and  people  it 

By  those  that  flock  to  surfeit  on  his  wit. 

Judicious  Beaumont,  and  th'  ingenious  soul 
Of  Fletcher  too  may  move  without  controul. 

Shakespeare  (most  rich  in  humours)  entertain 

The  crowded  theatres  with  his  happy  vein. 

D'avenant  and  Massinger,  and  Shirley  then 

Shall  be  cried  up  again  for  famous  men  : 

And  the  Dramatic  Muse  no  longer  prove 

The  people's  i-nalice,  but  the  people's  love. 

Black  and  White- Friars  too  shall  flourish  again. 

Though  here  have  been  none  since  Queen  Mary's  reign  : 

Our  theatres  of  lower  note  in  those 

More  happy  days,  shall  scorn  the  rustic  prose 

Of  a  Jack-Pudding,  and  will  please  the  rout 

With  wit  enough  to  bear  their  credit  out. 

The  Fortune  will  be  lucky,  see  no  more 

Her  benches  bare  as  they  have  stood  before  : 

The  Bull  take  courage  from  applauses  given. 

To  echo  to  tlie  Taurus  in  the  Heaven, 

Lastly,  Saint  James  may  no  aversion  show 

That  Socks  and  Buskins  tread  his  stage  below, 


45 


May  this  time  quickly  comCj  these  days  of  bliss 
Drive  Ignorance  down  to  the  dark  abyss  : 
Then,  with  a  justly  attributed  praise. 
We'll  change  our  faded  Brome  to  deathless  Bays. 


To  my  learned  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Bancroft,  upon  his  Book  of 

Satires. 

After  a  many  works  of  divers  kinds. 

Your  Muse  to  tread  th'  Aruncan  path  designs  j 

'Tis  hard  to  write  but  Satires  in  these  days. 

And  yet  to  write  good  Satires  merits  praise  : 

And  such  are  yours,  and  such  they  will  be  found 

By  all  clear  hearts,  or  penitent  by  their  wound. 

May  you  but  understanding  Readers  meet. 

And  they  will  find  your  mai'ch  on  stedfast  feet. 

Although  your  honest  hand  seems  not  to  stick 

To  search  this  Nation's  ulcers  to  the  quick. 

Yet  your  intent  (with  your  invective  strain) 

Is  but  to  lance,  and  then  to  cure  again. 

When  all  tlie  putiid  matter  is  drawn  forth. 

That  poisons  precious  souls,  and  clouds  their  worth. 

So  old  Petronius  Arbiter  appli'd 

Corsives  unto  the  age  he  did  deride  : 

So  Horace,  Persius,  Juvenal,  (among 

Those  ancient  Romans)  scourg'd  the  impious  throng: 

So  Ariosto  (in  these  later  times) 

Reprov'd  his  Italy  for  many  crimes  ; 

So  learned  Barclay  let  his  lashes  fall 

Heavy  on  some,  to  bring  a  cure  to  all. 

Sol  ately  Withers  (whom  your  Muse  doth  far 

Transcend)  did  strike  at  things  irregular. 

(But  all  in  one  t'  include)  So  our  prime  wit, 

III  the  too  few  short  Satires  he  hath  writ) 


45 


Renowned  Donne  hath  so  rebuk'd  his  crimes. 

Attended  by  your  Satires  mounted  on 

Your  Muses'  Pegasus,  my  friend,  be  gone, 

(As  erst  the  Lie  tors  of  the  Romans  went. 

With  rods  and  axes  for  the  punishment 

Of  all  born  with  them  that  all  vice  may  fly. 

That  dares  not  stand  the  cure  when  you  draw  nigh. 


To  my  learned  Friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Bancroft,  on  his  Poem, 
entitled  the  "  Heroic  Lover." 

From  your  retir'd  abode  in  Bradley  town. 
Welcome,  my  friend,  abroad  to  fair  renown. 

Nova  Atlantis  and  Utopia,  you 

Again  repose  unto  the  public  view. 
By  your  Heroic  piece,  unknown  before 

To  all  mankind,  but  Bacon  and  to  More. 

To  the  tripartite  world  Columbus  erst 

The  Western  India  discover'd  first : 

Yet  after  his  more  curious  survey, 

Vesputius  much  on's  glory  took  away. 

By  giving  it  his  name  :   So  (though  those  two 

Most  learned  Lords  did  first  those  countries  shew) 

You  by  your  Antheon  and  his  fair  delight 

Far  sought  Fidelta,  skilfully  unite 

Utopia  and  Atlantis  ;  what  they  two 

Owed  singly  to  their  pens,  they  both  owe  you. 

Nor  Belgium,  Italy,  nor  France,  nor  Spain, 

Nor  Grecia,  nor  Sicilia  could  constrain 

With  their  most  tempting  objects  your  brave  knight 

To  yield  submission  to  a  false  delight. 

Although  Sir  Antheon  did  refrain  to  run 

The  monstrous  courses  of  the  Knight  o'  th*  Sun^ 


47 


(WTiose  fablers  so  strange  tales  of  him  rehearse. 
That  such  untruths  never  appear'd  in  verse) 

Those  country  Beauties  he  despis'd  and  pelf  j 
Others  o'ercome  others,  but  he  himself: 
And  of  all  victories  it  is  the  best 
To  keep  our  own  wild  appetites  supprest. 
Hereby  his  prowess  he  did  most  discover. 
And  hence  you  term  him  the  Heroic  Lover. 
Your  fair  Fidelta  did  not  range  about 
Utopian  cities  to  find  suitors  out ; 
A  free  well  order'd  house  she  kept,  and  there 
Sir  Antheon  met  with  her,  and  married  her, 
Joy  or  long  life,  I  need  not  wish  them  either  ; 
They  in  your  hues  shall  happy  live  for  ever. 
And  you  for  penning  their  high  Epic  Song 
With  laurel  crown'd  shall  live  i'  th'  Poets'  thi-ong. 


An  Epitaph  on  Mr.  John  Fletcher  and  Mr.  Philip  Massinger, 
who  lie  buried  loth  in  one  Grave,  in  St.  Mary  Overie's 
Church,  Southwaik. 

In  the  same  grave  Fletcher  was  buried,  here 
Lies  the  stage  Poet,  Philip  Massinger : 
Plays  they  did  write  together,  were  great  friends, 
And  now  one  grave  includes  them  at  their  ends. 
So  whom  on  earth  nothing  did  part,  beneath. 
Here  in  their  fames  they  He  in  spight  of  death. 


To  his  honoured  Cousin,  Mr  Charles  Cotton  the  younger,  upon 

his  excellent  Poems. 

Bear  back,  you  crowd  of  wits,  that  have  so  long 
Been  the  prime  glory  of  our  EngHsh  tongue  3 


48 


And  room  for  our  arch -poet  make,  and  follow 

His  steps,  as  you  would  do  your  great  Apollo. 

Nor  is  his  inferior,  for  see 

His  picture,  and  you'll  say  that  this  is  he ; 

So  young  and  handsome  both,  so  dress'd  alike^ 

That  curious  Lely,  or  most  skill'd  Vandyke 

Would  prefer  neither  :  Only  here's  the  odds. 

This  gives  us  better  verse,  than  that  the  Gods. 

Beware,  you  Poets,  that  at  distance  you 

The  reverence  afford  him,  that  is  due 

Unto  his  mighty  merit,  and  not  dare 

Your  puny  threads  with  his  lines  to  compare } 

Lest  for  so  impious  a  pride,  a  worse 

Than  was  Arachne's  fate,  or  Midas'  curse. 

Posterity  inflicts  upon  your  fames. 

For  vent'ring  to  approach  too  near  his  flames ; 

Whose  all-commanding  Muse  disdains  to  be 

Equall'd  by  any,  in  all  Poesy. 

As  the  presumptuous  son  of  Clymene 

The  sun's  command  importun'd  for  a  day, 

Of  his  unwilling  father,  and  for  so 

Rash  an  attempt  fell  headlong  into  Po  ; 

So  you  shall  fall  or  worse ;  nor  leave  so  much 

A  s  empty  names,  to  shew  there  once  were  such. 

The  Greek  and  Latin  language  he  commands. 

So  all  that  then  was  writ  in  both  those  lands. 

The  French  and  the  Italian  he  hath  gain'd. 

And  all  the  wit  that  in  them  is  contain'd  : 

So,  if  he  pleases  to  translate  a  piece 

From  France  or  Italy,  old  Rome  or  Greece, 

The  understanding  reader  soon  will  find 

It  is  the  best  of  any  of  that  kind. 

But  when  he  lets  his  own  rare  fancy  loose. 

There  is  no  flight  so  noble  as  his  Muse. 


49 

Treats  he  of  war  ?  Bellona  doth  advance. 
And  leads  his  march  with  her  refulgent  lance. 
Sings  he  of  Love  ?  Cupid  about  him  lurks ; 
And  Venus  in  her  chariot  draws  his  works.* 
Whate'er  his  subject  be,  he'U  make  it  fit 
To  live  hereafter  Emperor  of  wit. 
He  is  the  Muses'  darling ;  aU  the  Nine 
Phoebus  disclaim,  and  term  him  more  divine. 
The  wondrous  Tasso  that  so  long  hath  borne 
The  sacred  laurel,  shall  remain  forlorn : 
Alonso  de  Ercilla,  that  in  strong 
And  mighty  lines  hath  Araucana  sung ; 
And  Salust  that  the  ancient  Hebrew  story- 
Hath  poetiz'd,  submit  unto  your  glory. 
So  the  chief  swans  of  Tagus,  Arne,  and  Seine, 
Must  yield  to  Thames,  and  veil  unto  your  strain. 

Hail,  generous  Magazine  of  Wit !    You  bright 
Planet  of  Learning,  dissipate  the  night 
Of  Dulness,  ■wherein  us  this  age  involves. 
And  from  our  ignorance  redeem  our  souls  ! 

A  word  at  parting.  Sir ;  I  could  not  choose 
Thus  to  congratulate  your  happy  Muse  : 
And  though  I  vilify  your  worth,  my  zeal. 
And  so  in  mercy  think,  intended  well ; 
The  world  will  find  your  lines  are  great  and  strong ; 
The  nihil  ultra  of  the  English  tongue. 

This  poem  has  much  greater  merit  than  most  of 
Cokayne's.  The  topics  of  encomium,  though  exagge- 
rated, are  well  chosen,  and  elegantly  and  vigorously 
expressed,  Charles  Cotton,  though  often  hasty  and 
uncertain,  was  in  truth  a  delightful  writer,  full  of  sim- 
ple and  affecting  sentiment  and  natural  imagery ;  and 

*  There  is  much  spirit  and  harmony  in  these  four  line*, 
VOL.  II.  H 


50 

endowed  with  those  unsought,  unlaboured,  and  genuine 
powers,  which  make  amends  for  a  thousand  faults. — 
Of  his  father.  Lord  Clarendon  has  given  a  curious  and 
lively  character  in  his  Ozmi  Life.  And  of  the  son,  a 
memoir  by  Sir  John  Hawkins  (accompanied  by  a  por- 
trait) may  be  found  in  the  Tract  ap[)ended  to  old  Isaac 
Walton's  Angler, 


SONNET.    By  A.M.* 

To  his  loving  and  approved  good  Friend,  Mr.  John  Bodenham, 
lefore  his  *'  Garden  of  the  Muses,"  I61O. 

To  thee  that  art  Art's  lover,  Learning's  friend. 

First  causer  and  collector  of  these  flowers. 
Thy  pain's  just  merit  I  in  right  commend. 

Casting  whole  years,  months,  weeks  and  daily  hours ! 
Like  to  the  bee,  thou  every  where  didst  roam. 

Spending  thy  spirits  in  laborious  care ; 
And  nightly  brought' st  thy  gather'd  honey  home. 

As  a  true  workman  in  so  great  affair. 
First  of  thine  own  deserving  take  the  fame ; 

Next  of  thy  friend,  his  due  he  gives  to  thee. 
That  love  of  learning  may  renown  thy  name. 

And  leave  it  richly  to  posterity. 
When  others,  who  might  better,  yet  forshow  it. 
May  see  their  shame,  and  times  hereafter  know  it. 

A.  M 

♦  Suppssed  to  be  Anthony  Mundj. 


51  *, 

Notices  of  Matthew  Roydon, 

The  following  is  the  Dedication  to  George  Chap- 
man's  %ym  vu-aIos.     The  Shadow  of  Night,  1594.  4to. 

*'  To  my  deare  and  most  worthy  Friend,  Master  Mathcw 

Boy  don. 

It  is  an  exceeding  rapture  of  delight  in  the  deepe  search  of 
knowledge,  none  knoweth  better  than  thyselfej  sweet  Mathew, 
that  maketh  men  raanfuUy  indure  th'  extremes  incident  to  that 
Herculean  labour.  From  flints  must  the  Gorgonian  fount  be 
smitten.  Men  must  be  shod  by  Mercurie,  girt  with  Saturne's 
adamantine  sword,  take  the  shield  from  Pallas,  the  helme  from 
Pluto,  and  have  the  eyes  of  Graea,  as  Hesiodus  armes  Perseus 
against  Medusa,  before  they  can  cut  off  the  viperous  head  of 
benumming  ignorance,  or  subdue  their  monstrous  affections  to 
most  beaut  ifuU  judgement. 

How  then  may  a  man  stay  his  maraailing  to  see  passion- 
driven  men,  reading  but  to  curtoll  a  tedious  houre,  and  altoge- 
ther hidebound  with  affection  to  great  men's  fancies,  take  upon 
them  as  killing  censures  as  if  they  were  judgement's  butchers, 
or  as  if  the  life  of  tratli  lay  tottering  in  their  verdicts. 

Now  what  a  supererogation  in  wit  this  is,  to  thinke  skil  so 
mightilie  pierst  with  their  loves,  that  she  should  prostitutely 
shew  them  her  secrets,  when  she  will  scarcely  be  lookt  vpon 
by  others  but  with  inuocation,  fasting,  watching ;  yea,  not 
without  hauing  drops  of  their  soules  like  an  heauenly  familiar. 
Why  then  should  our  intonsi  Catones  with  their  profit-rauish  t 
grauitie  esteeme  her  true  fauours  such  questionless  vanities  as 
with  what  part  soeuer  thereof  they  seeme  to  be  something  de- 
lighted, they  queimishlie  commende  it  for  a  pretie  toy  ?  Good 
Lord,  how  serious  and  eternall  are  their  idolatrous  platts  for 


52 

riches !  no  marualle  sure  they  here  do  so  much  good  with  them! 
And  heauen  no  doubt  will  grouill  on  the  earth,  as  they  do,  to 
imbrace  them.  But  I  stay  this  spleen  when  I  remember,  my 
good  Mat,  how  joyfully  oftentimes  you  reported  unto  me,  that 
most  ingenious  Darhie,*  deep-searching  Northumberland,  and 
skill-imbracing  heire  of  Hunsdon,  had  most  profitably  enter- 
tained learning  in  themselves,  to  the  vitall  warmth  of  freezing 
science,  and  to  the  admirable  luster  of  their  true  nobilitie,  whose 
high  deseruing  vertues  may  cause  me  hereafter  strike  that  fire 
out  of  darknesse,  which  the  brightest  day  shall  envie  for  beau- 
tie.  I  should  write  more,  but  my  hasting  out  of  toune  taketh 
me  from  the  paper,  so  preserving  thy  allowance  in  this  poore 
and  strange  trifle  to  the  pasport  of  a  whole  cittie  of  others,  I  rest 
as  resolute  as  Seneca,  satisfying  myselfe  if  but  a  few,  if  one,  or 
if  none  Hke  it. 

By  the  true  admirour  of  thy  vertues 

and  perfectly  vowed  friend, 

G.  Chapman." 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  be  pleased  with  a  specimen 
from  the  commencement  of  the 

Hymn  to  Night. 

Great  Goddess,  to  whose  throne  in  Cynthian  fires 
This  earthly  altai*  endless  fiimes  expires. 
Therefore  in  fiimes  of  sighs  and  fires  of  grief 
To  fearful  chances  thou  sendst  bold  relief, 
Happy,  tlirice  happy  type,  and  nurse  of  death. 
Who  breathless  feeds  on  nothing  but  our  breath. 
To  whom  must  virtue  and  her  virtue  live 
Or  die  for  ever,  now  let  humour  give 
Seas  to  mine  eyes,  that  I  may  quickly  weep 
The  shimvreck  of  the  world ;  or  let  soft  sleep. 
Binding  my  senses,  lose  my  working  soul. 
That  in  her  highest  pitch  she  may  controul 
*  Earl  Ferdiiiando. 


,53 


The  court  of  skill,  compact  of  mystery. 
Wanting  but  franchisement  and  memory 
To  reach  all  secrets  :   then  in  blissfiil  trance 
Raise  her,  dear  Night,  to  that  perseverance. 
That  in  my  torture  she  all  earths  may  sing. 
And  some  to  tremble  in  her  trumpeting 
Heaven's  christal  temples  :  in  her  powers  implant 
Skill  of  my  griefs,  and  she  can  nothing  want."* 


Dedication  to  Chapman's  Ovid's  Banquet  of  Sence. 

1595.  4to. 

"  To  the  trulie  learned  and  my  worlhie  friend.  Ma.  Mathew 

Eoyden. 

Such  is  the  wilfull  pouertie  of  judgements,  (sweet  Ma.) 
wandring  like  paspordes  men,  in  contempt  of  the  diuine  disci- 
pline of  Poesie,  that  a  man  may  well  feare  to  frequent  their 
walks.  The  prophane  multitude  I  hate,  and  onelie  consecrate 
my  strange  poems  to  these  seaiching  sphits^  whom  learning  hath 
made  noble,  and  nobilitie  sacred  j  endeauouring  that  materiall 
Oration,  which  you  call  Schema ;  varying  in  some  rare  fiction, 
from  popular  custome,  euen  for  the  pure  sakes  of  ornament  and 
utilitie ;  This  of  Euripides  exceeding  sweetly  relishing  with 
me,  Lentem  coquens  ne  quicquam  dentis  addito. 

But  that  Poesie  should  be  as  peruiall  as  Oratorie,  and  plainnes 
her  speciall  ornament,  were  the  plaine  way  to  barbarisme  :  and 
to  make  the  asse  runne  proude  of  liis  eares ;  to  take  away 
strength  from  lyons,  and  give  cammels  homes. 

That  Enargia,  or  clearness  of  representation,  required  in 
absolute  Poems,  is  not  the  perspicuous  deliuery  of  a  lows 
inuention  j  but  high  and  hasty  inuention  exprest  in  most  signi- 

*  This  poem  is  not  mentioned  by  Chalmers,  Biog.  Diet,  ix,  124. 


54 

ficant  and  unaffected  phrase ;  it  serves  not  a  skilfull  Painter's 

tume,  to  draw  the  figure  of  a  face  only  to  make  knowne  who 

it  represents,  but  hee  must  lymn,  giue  luster,  shadow,  and 

heightning ;  which  though  ignorants  will  esteeme  spic'd,  and 

too  curious,  yet  such  as  haue  the  judiciall  perspectiue,  will  see 
it  hath  motion,  spirit  and  life. 

There  is  no  confection  made  to  last,  but  it  is  admitted  more 
cost  and  skill  then  presently  to  be  used  simples ;  and  in  my 
opinion  that  which  being  with  a  Httle  endeuour  serched,  ads  a 
kinde  of  majestic  to  Poesie,  is  better  then  that  which  every 
cobler  may  sing  to  his  patch. 

Obscuritie  in  affection  of  words,  and  indigested  conceits,  is 
pedanticall  and  childish ;  but  where  it  shroudeth  itselfe  in  the 
hart  of  his  subject,  uttered  with  fitnes  of  figure,  and  expressiue 
epethites ;  with  that  darknes  wii  I  still  labour  to  be  shaddowed. 
Rich  minerals  are  dig'd  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  not 
found  in  thesuperfices  and  dust  of  it ;  charms  made  of  unlerned 
characters  are  not  consecrate  by  the  Muses,  which  are  divine 
artists,  but  by  Euippe's  daughters,  that  challenged  them  with 
meere  nature,  whose  brests,  I  doubt  not,  had  beene  well  wortliy 
commendation,  if  their  comparison  had  not  turned  them  into 
pyes. 

Thus  not  affecting  glory  for  mine  own  shght  labors,  but 
desirous  other  should  be  move  worthely  glorious,  nor  professing 
sacred  Poesie  in  any  degree,  I  thought  good  to  submit  to  your 
apt  judgement.  Acquainted  long  since  with  the  true  habit  of 
Poesie,  and  now  since  your  labouring  wits  endeuour  heaven-high 
thoughts  of  nature,  you  haue  actual  meanes  to  sound  the  philo- 
sophical conceits,  that  my  new  pen  so  seriously  courteth.  I 
know  that  empty  and  dark  spirits  will  complaine  of  palpable 
night :  but  those  that  before  hand  have  a  radiant,  and  light- 
bearing  intellect,  will  say  they  can  passe  through  Corynna's 
Garden  without  the  helpe  of  a  lanterne. 

Your  owne  most  worthily 

and  sincerely  affected 

George  Chapman." 


63 


"  Teares  on  the  Death  of  Moeliades.  Bj/  William 
Drummond  of  Haxathornden.  The  Third  Edition, 
Edinburgh y  printed  b^  Andro  Hart,  1614." 

pp.  16  in  all,  not  numbered,  in  4to. 

The  title  and  size  of  the  above,  which  is  one  of  the 
first  productions  of  that  celebrated  Poet,  is  sufficient; 
as  the  poein  itself  is  well  known,  and  contained  in  all 
the  collections  of  Drumniond's  poems,  or  of  his  works. 

On  the  back  of  the  title,  are  fourteen  lines  "  To  the 
Author,"  signed  "  Sir  W.  Alexander,"  these  have  been 
also  frequently  reprinted.  The  three  last  leaves  con- 
tain some  of  Drummond's  other  verses,  likewise  incor- 
porated with  his  other  poems. 

On  the  title  page  of  the  above,  it  is  specified  to  be 
the  third  edition ;  I  am  not  aware  when  the  two  pre- 
ceding ones  appeared  :  as  the  poem  was  written  in  the 
year  l6l2,  it  is  probable  that  the  first  was  in  l6l2,  the 
second  in  1613,  and  both  in  4to.  from  the  same  press. 


*'  Queene  Elizabeths  -^  Teares:  -^  or  -^  her  resolute 
bearing  the  Christian  <►  Crosse,  inflicted  on  her  by 
the  persecuting  -^  hands  of  Steuen  Gardner,  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  -<>■  in  the  bloodie  time  of  Queene  -^ 
Marie.  -^  Written  <>■  bj/  Christopher  Leuer.  ■<> 

Nocet  indulgentia  nobis. 


56 


Printed  at  London  hy  V.  S.  for  Matthew  Lownes,  -^ 
dwelling  in  Paules  Churchy arde.^^  -^ 

In  4to.  in  all  31  leaves,  not  numbered. 

Dedicated  by  Christopher  Leuer  "  To  the  right 
honorable  Lord,  Robert  Erie  of  Salisburie,  &c."  The 
dale  to  this  copy  appears  to  be  cutoff,  but  as  it  appears 
from  the  dedication  it  was  not  printed  till  after  Queen 
Elizabeth's  death,  which  happened  in  the  year  l603,  it 
was  probably  printed  shortly  afterwards. 

Prefixed  6  lines  in  Latin,  and  13  in  English,  signed 
"  R.  K."  "  My  loue  to  the  argument,  and  the  author. 
Robert  Posket."  26  lines.  "Ad  foelicem  hiiius  Eli- 
zabethae  progressuni — L  C."  12  lines.  Then  com- 
mences the  poem,  which  runs  through  two  hundred 
and  two  stanzas,  of  seven  lines. 

The  following  are  the  two  last  stanzas  of  this  dull 
and  tedious  poem : 

"  Where  (like  the  Sunne)  she  was  most  glorious  bright. 
Casting  her  beames  of  mercie  euery  where ; 
And  euery  where  she  giues  a  glorious  light ; 
All  other  lights  to  her  but  little  were : 
So  matchlesse  was  she,  and  so  wondrous  rare. 

As  for  to  verse  her  glories  I  refuse, 

Leauing  that  labour  for  a  better  Muse. 

I  neuer  toucht  Parnassus  with  my  sight : 

Nor  did  the  Muses  euer  teach  me  rhyme. 

Only  in  humble  verse  I  take  delight : 

Nor  do  I  loue  the  higher  straines  to  clime  : 

This  plainenesse  makes  me  to  vnfit  the  time  : 
But  if  that  Arte  vnto  my  verse  was  giuen. 
She  then  should  live  in  verse,  that  Hues  in  heauen." 


57 

^^  Eugenia:  0  or  ^  true  nobilities  <3>  Trance;  For  the 
most  0  memorable  death,  of  O  the  Thrice  Noble  and 
<S>  Beligiovs  ;  <&  William  Lord  <&  Bvssel,  Sfc.  0  Di' 
uided  i?ito  foure  Vigils  of  O  the  Night.  <&  Bi/ 
George  Chapman.  0  Anno  Domini j  1614."* 

In  4to;  in  all  pp.  44,  not  numbered. 

This   work  of  a  very  voluminous  yet  ingenious 
author,  has  now  become  very  uncommon. 

As  a  short  specimen  the  following  may  be  extract- 
ed. 

Inductio  Vigiliae 

"  Now  to  the  nestfull  woods,  the  Broode  of  Flight 
Had  in  their  black  wings  brought  the  zealous  Night, 
When  Fame's  friends  op't  the  windowes  they  shut  in. 
To  barre  Daies  worldly  light ;  and  mens'  rude  din. 
In  tumults  rais'd  about  their  fierce  affaires. 
That  deafen  heauen  to  their  distracted  praiers. 
With  all  the  vertues ;  Graue  Religion 
That  slept  with  them  all  day  to  ope  begun 
Her  Fares,  and  red  Eyes,"  &c. 

The  following  the  first  of  some  Hymns  which  are 
.subjoined  at  the  end. 

"  Rising  and  setting,  let  the  sunne 
Grace  whom  we  honor  j 
And  euer  at  her  full,  the  moone 

Assume  upon  her. 
The  form  his  Noblesse  did  put  on ; 
In  whose  orb  all  the  vertues  shone. 
With  beames  decreasins:  neuer ; 
Till  faith,  in  her  firme  rocke  repos'd  .- 

*  Not  mentioned  by  Ritson. 
VOL.  II.  I 


58 

Religion,  his  life's  circle  clos'd. 

And  open'd  life  for  euer. 
Earth,  seas,  the  aire,  and  Heauen,  O  heare 
These  Rites  of  ours,  that  euery  yeare. 

We  vow  thy  Herse, 
And  breath  the  flames  of  souls  entire. 
Thrice  het,  with  heauens  creating  fire. 

In  deathlesse  verse" 


^      ^ 


AA-i-NIE  m,  nOATSTE$AN02.  M 

An  Eclog  treating  ^  of  Crownes  and  Garlandes,  ^  and 
to  whom  of  right  they  ap-  "^  pertaine.  H  Addressed 
and  consecrated  to  the  M  Kings  Maiestie.  ^  By  G. 
B*  Knight. 

Quod  maximum  et  optimum  esse  dicitur   opdrlet  esse  Verum, 
ex  Arist.  Top.  li.  7. 

At  London,  Printed  by  G,  Eld  for  Thomas  Adams ^ 
1605. 

4to.  G  3.  in  fours.     57  eight  liae  stanzas. 

Cant.  Ded.  and  Pref,  as  a 

*'  L" Envoy  au  Roy. 

Lo  now  (great  BRITON)  by  decree  divine. 
This  fowre-fold  Diademe  devol'd  to  thee. 
Great  Edgars  heyre  by  fortunes,  and  by  line. 
But  greater  by  thy  wisdome,  and  thy  witt. 
Thy  minde  inuict,  thy  bountee,  pietee. 
And  aU  the  vertues  for  a  Caesar  fit. 
Wherefore  on  thee  all  happiues  attend. 
Whom  heav'ns  to  vs  so  happily  did  send." 


* 


Buc. 


59 


"  ApophtJiegmes^  that  is  to  saie,  prompte,  quiche,  witite 
and  sentencious  saij/uges,  of  certain  Emperoursy 
Ki/nges^  Capitaincs,  Philosophiers  and  Oratours, 
aszce/l  Grele<t,  as  Romaims,  bathe  veraye  plea saunt 
and  profitable  to  reade,  partely  for  all  maner  of  per' 
sonesy  and  especiaUj/  Gentlemen.  First  gathered  and 
compiled  in  Latine  by  the  ryght  famous  clerhe^ 
Maister  Erasmus  of  Roteradame.  And  now  trans' 
lated  into  Englj/she  by  Niiolas  Vdall.  Excusam 
typis  Ricardi  Grafton,  1542.  Cu)n  priuilegio  ad 
imprimenduin  solmn. 

[Colophon  under  the  printer's  device]  Londini. 
In  officina  Richardi  Grafloni.  Anno  post  natum  ChriS' 
tarn.  M.D.XLii.  Mense  Seplembri.'*'' 

8vo.  fo.  345.  besides  42  Jeaves  of  introduction  and 
index. 

]]Second  edition]  Imprinted  at  Landon^  by  Ihon 
Kingston.  Mens.  Februarij.  156i.  [Col.]  Imprinted 
at  London,  by  Ihon  Kingston.  Mense  Martij.  Anno 
salutis.  1564.  These  bookes  are  to  bee  solde  at  his  shoppe, 
at  the  Weste  doore  of  Panics.* 

Notwithstanding  the  fame  of  Erasmus  and  the 
reputation  of  his  translator,  this  manual  of  the  wise 
and  witty  sayings  of  the  ancients,  has  not  obtained  that 
notice  which  either  from  its  date  or  value  mi^ht  be 

*  The  second  edition  has  no  other  variance  than  in  the  orthography,  and 
has  been  used  for  the  present  article. 


60 

justly  expected.  Were  its  claim  only  founded  on  the 
colloquial  notes  of  Udall,  it  is  entitled  to  consideration, 
as  therein  may  be  traced  several  of  the  familiar  phrases 
and  common -place  idioms,,  which  have  occasioned 
many  conjectural  speculations  among  the  annotators 
upon  our  early  drama. 

The  work  is  only  two  books  of  the  original,  com- 
prising the  apophthegmes  of  Socrates,  Aristippus, 
Diogenes,  Philippus,  Alexander,  Antigonus,  Augustus 
Caesar,  Julius  Csesar,  Pompey,  Piiocion,  Cicero  and 
Demosthenes.  The  view  of  the  translator  his  own 
Epistle  can  best  explain  which  precedes  the  preface  of 
Erasmus. 

"  Nicholas  fdall  vnto  the  gentle  and  honeste  harted 
readers  well  to  fare. 

"  FoRASMocHE  as  the  aucthour  self  in  his  preface  here 
ensuyng,  dooeth  at  large  declare  the  nature,  the  purpose,  and 
the  vse  of  Apophthegmes,  to  make  of  the  same  matter  double 
inculcacion,  should  bee  (as  me  semeth)  bothe  on  my  parte  and 
behalfe  a  thing  superfluous  and  also  a  tedious  dullyng  to  the 
reader.  It  shall  therefore  at  this  presente  tyme  bee  sufficiente, 
to  admonishe  you  gentle  readers,  that  of  the  whole  werke  of 
Apophthegmes,  by  the  right  excellcnte  clerke  Erasmus :  for  the 
moste  pleasaunt  and  the  same  moste  honeste,  profitable,  and 
holsome  readyng  of  all  nianer  persones  and  in  especial!  of 
noble  men,  collected  and  digested  into  eighte  volumes,  I  haue 
thought  better  with  twoo  of  the  eight  to  minister  vnto  you  a 
taste  of  this,  bothe  delectable  and  fruitefiill  recreacion,  then  by 
suppressyng  it,  vntill  the  whole  werke  might  be  perfectly 
absolued  and  finished,   to  defraude  you  of  so   many  goodly 


6l 


histoi'ies,  so  many  high  poinctes  of  counsaill,  so  many  notable 
preceptes  of  wisedome,  so  greate  a  nomber  of  philosophical! 
lessons,  soche  vnestimable  treasure  of  morall  doctrine^  as  maie 
of  this  little  porcio~  in  the  meane  time,  with  smal  labour  and 
incomparable  delite,  comforte  and  solace  of  mind,  be  perceiued, 
gathered,  and  acquired.  And  although  vpon  consideracions 
(at  a  more  propice  tyme  hereafter  by  gods  grace  to  be  declared) 
I  haue  been  so  bold  with  mine  aucthour,  as  to  make  the  first 
booke  and  seconde,  whiche  he  maketh  third  and  fowerth. 
Yet  in  these  twoo  present  volumes,  whiche  ye  see  here  set 
foorthe,  I  haue  laboured  to  discharge  the  duetee  of  a  translatour, 
that  is,  keping  and  folowing  the  sense  of  my  booke,  to  in- 
terprete  and  tourne  the  Latine  into  Englishe,  with  as  moche 
grace  of  our  vulgare  toung  as  in  my  slender  power  and  know- 
lege  hath  lien  :  not  omittyng  ne  lettyng  passe,  either  any  one  of 
al  the  Apophthegmes,  as  thei  stand  in  order  (excepte  twoo  or 
three  at  the  moste,  beyng  of  soche  sorte  as  honestee  perswaded 
me,  to  be  better  passed  ouer,  then  rehersed  or  spoken  of)  or 
els  any  Greke  or  Latine  verse  or  worde,  wherof  the  pith  and 
grace  of  the  saiyng  dependeth.  Wherein  I  desire  the  vnlearned 
readers  not  to  be  offended,  for  that  I  haue  in  many  places 
entermixed  Greke  and  Latine  with  the  Englishe.  For,  in  all 
thinges  that  I  haue  alreadie  heretofore,  or  hereafter  shall  set 
foorthe,  I  haue  an  especiall  regarde  vnto  young  scholares  and 
studentes,  vnto  whom  it  is  not  possible  to  bee  expressed,  what 
greate  vtiUtee,  benefite  and  knowlege  doeth  redounde,  of  con- 
ferring one  straunge  language  with  an  other.  Neither  is  it  to 
bee  doubted,  but  that  soche  as  are  towardes  the  disciplines  of 
good  litterature  in  diuerse  tounges,  maie  of  soche  doynges  as 
this,  picke  out  as  moche  vtilltee  and  furtherau'ce  of  their 
studies,  as  the  vnlearned  shall  take  pleasure,  and  fruite  of  the 
Englishe  for  their  vse.  Whoso  careth  not  for  the  Latin  maie 
passe  it  ouer,  and  satisfie  himself  with  the  Englishe.  Who 
passeth  not  on  the  Greke,  maie  sembleably  passe  it  ouer,  and 


62 

make  as  though  he  see  none  soche.  There  is  in  this  behalf  no 
mannes  labour  loste  but  mine,  and  yet  not  that  all  loste  neither, 
if  my  good  zele  and  honest  entente,  to  doe  good  to  all  sortes, 
bee  in  good  part  interpreted  and  accepted.  Let  the  vnlearned 
readers  somewhat  beare  with  young  studentes,  as  the  learned 
muste  and  will  doe  with  theim.  For  as  the  one  parte  maie 
thinke  it  moche  superfluous,  to  finde  Latin  and  Greke  in  an 
Englishe  boke,  so  the  learned  haue  no  neede  of  certain  an- 
notacions  (whiche  I  haue  in  places  not  a  fewe  entermingled, 
partly  to  supply  and  redubbe  that  wanteth  of  the  whole  werk, 
and  partly  to  geue  necessarie  light  to  the  Greke  and  Romain 
histories)  of  whiche  annotacions  euen  he  parauenture  shall  finde 
ease,  whiche  will  finde  faulte  with  the  admixtion  of  Greke  and 
Latine,  and  will  auouche  the  same  confused  medling  of  sondrie 
tounges,  rather  to  contein  some  spiece  of  ostentacion  and  bragge 
of  the  printed  sheath,  then  any  argumenteorproof  of  erudicion* 
To  all  whom  would  Christ  I  could  perswade  (as  truthe  it  is) 
that  I  seke  nothyng  lesse,  then  soche  shadoe  of  vnstable  glorie> 
and  that  my  onely  will  and  desire  is,  to  further  honest  know- 
lege  and  to  call  (awaie  the  studious  youth  in  especiall)  from 
hauing  delite  in  reading  phantasticall  trifles  (which  contein  in 
maner  nothing,  but  the  semnarie  of  pernicious  sectes,  and 
sedicious  doctrine,  vnto  a  more  fruitful!  sort  of  spending  good 
houres,  and  by  inuiting  the  same  youth  vnto  the  imitacion  of 
honest  exercises,  to  doe  good  if  I  maie.  But  to  precede  in  that 
I  was  now  about  to  sale,  traly  for  the  Englisheman  to  bee 
otFended  with  the  admixtion  of  Latine,  or  the  Latine  manne  to 
mislike  the  poutheryng  of  Greke,  appereth  vnto  me  a  moche 
like  thing,  as  if  at  a  feast  with  varietee  of  good  meates  and 
drinkes  furnished,  one  that  loueth  to  feede  of  a  capon,  should 
take  displeasure  that  an  other  man  hath  appetite  to  a  coney,  or 
one  that  serueth  his  stomake  with  a  pertrige,  should  be  angrie 
with  an  other  that  hath  a  mlnde  to  a  quaille,  or  one  thai, 
drinketh  single  bee  re,  should  be  greued  with  his  next  feloe,  for 


63 


drinking  ale  or  wine.  Now  for  the  better  vnderstanding  of  the 
cd'ceipt,  trade  and  conueighaunce  of  this  booke,  I  haue  thought 
requisite  to  admonishe  you,  that  in  eche  mannes  Jpophthegmes, 
the  saiyng  self  is  set  out  in  a  greate  texte  letter:   after  whiche 
immediately  foloweth  in  a  middle  letter  (with  this  marke  ^) 
the  raoralizacion  of  Erasmus,  wheresoeuer  to  the  same  it  seemed 
expediente^anysoche  moralle  sense  to  gather  of  the  Jpophthegjue 
for  edifiyng  of  the  reader,  in  vertue  or  ciuile  honestee.     That  if 
any  matter  depending  of  some  Greke  or  Romaine  chronicle, 
haue  semed  nedefuU  to  be  expouned,  if  any  poeticall  fable  hath 
come  in  place,  if  to  any  obscure  prouerbe  or  straunge  historie 
hath  been  made,  some  pretie  allusion  nedefull  to  be  declared, 
all  soche  thinges  together  with  the  names  of  persones  here 
mencioned,  ye  shall  find  set  forthe,  and  added  of  mine  owne 
noting,  ouer  and  besides  the  woordes  and  matter  of  the  Latine 
worke,  in  a  smal  letter,  with  some  directory  marke.   Yea  and 
somtimes  in  the  middes  of  the  texte  with  this  marke  of  mine  § 
if  the  place  semed  to  require  some  more  light,    Sembleablie  to 
the  morall  interpretacion   of  Erasmus   (where  occasion  was 
ministred)  yea  and  to  some  Apophthegmes  (wher  Erasmus  ?,m.ed 
nothing)  in  case  my  so  doyng  might  anything  helpe  theweake, 
and  tender  capte  of  the  vnlearned  reader,  I  haue  put  addicions 
of  the  same  letter  and  marke,  to  the  ende  that  in  case  it  be  not 
all  of  the  finest  the  blame   thereof  male  not  light  on  the 
aucthour,  but  redounde  vnto  my  self  accordinglie.     And  to  the 
entente  that  nothing  should  lacke,  whiche  to  the  ease  and 
commoditee  of  the  vnlearned  reader  might  seme  necessarie, 
there  is  added  also  a  large  and  plaine  table,   in  order  of  the 
A.  B.C.  whereby  to  the  name  of  any  persone,  or  to  any  good 
matter  in  the  booke  conteined,  readie  waie  and  recourse  male 
with  a  weate  finger  be  easily  be  found  out.    That  if  any  of  the 
premisses,  either  the  interpretour,   or  els  the  prienter  shal  be 
founde  to  hav\e  failled,  I  for  my  parte  shall  not  onely  thinke  my 
labours  bounteously  rewarded,  but  also  knowlege  my  self  highly 


61 

bounde  to  render  moste  hartie  tha'kes,  if  the  gentle  reader 

shall  of  his  huraanitee  and  honeste  harte^  vouche  salue  to  set 

his    penne  and  helping  hand,     to    emende   whatsoeuer    er- 

rour  it  shall  happen   him   to  espie :    and   in   the  residue  so 

to  accepte  bothe  our  laboures,    as   we   maie  thereby 

be  encouraged  gladlie  to  sustain  ferther  trauail 

in  writyng  and  settyng  foorthe  soche  auc- 

thours    as    maie    to    the   reader   bee 

bothe  pleasaunte  and  profitable. 

Written  in  the  yere  of 

our  Lorde  GOD. 

M.  D.  xlii. 


*'  Socrates  had  chosen  out  of  the  old  aucthours  cer- 
taine  verses,  which  he  vsed  verie  oftentymes  for  pro- 
uerbes,  emong  which  this  verse  of  Hesiodus  was  one  : 

No  kinde  of  labour  is  a  thing  of  shame. 
But  idlenes  euermore,  worthie  blame. 

5[  By  this  verse  he  did  counsaill  young  folkes,  not  onely 
from  idlenes,  but  also  from  all  vnprofitable  or  vnfraitfull  ac- 
cions.  For,  Socrates  rekened  theim  also,  in  the  noumber  of 
idle  persones,  whiche  spent  all  their  tyme  in  dicyng,  in  reuehng 
or  banquetting,  and  in  whorehunting.   fol.  5. 

Also  this  verse  of  Ilomere,  as  sheweth  bothe  Gelliut 
and  Laertius : 

0'^  riti  i[h  lAsydpoKn  v.xXujvr  dyocQujyrs  rirujcraj. 

That  is. 

What  euer  is  doen  eche  where  about, 
Aswell  within  our  hous  as  without. 


65 


ff  By  this  verse,  he  did  not  onely  call  back,  soch  as  would 
giue  eare  to  hym,  from  busie  medleyng  with  other  mennes 
matters,  but  also  from  al  kindes  of  learnyng,  beyng  not  neces- 
sarie  to  bee  had  :  (as  from  the  exacte  knowledge  of  Astrologie, 
or  of  Geometric,  or  of  naturall  causes,  or  of  thinges  supernatu- 
ral!) to  the  knowledge  of  morall  Philosophic,  the  perfect  intelU- 
gence  whereof  doeth  make,  that  wee  male  throughly  knowe 
our  selves,  and  that  we  maie  gouerne  and  co^ueigh,  aswell  our 
own  priuate  matters,  as  also  the  publique  affaires  of  the  commo - 
weale  accordingly,  and  to  good  purpose,  ib. 

To  thesame  purpose  seruetli  tiiis  saiyng  also,  whiche 
is  fathered  on  Socrates,  and  is  of  greate  authoritie,  what 
is  aboue  our  reach,  we  haue  naught  to  doe  withall. 

5[  For,  thus  was* he  wont  to  aunswcre  menne,  wd'dryng 
why  he  would  euermore  be  reasonyng  of  maners,  and  of  good 
behaueour,  but  neuer  of  the  starres,  nor  of  thinges  gendred  aboue 
in  the  aire,  or  of  any*  impressions  there  chauncyng.  ib. 

When  a  certaine  feloe^  had  of  a  lasciuiousnes  or 
malapertnes,  giue~  him  a  spurne  on  the  shin,  as  he  was 
goyng  on  his  waie,  in  the  streLe:  to  socheas  wondrede 
that  he  could  patiently  sufFre  it,  why,  what  should  I 
doe  (quoth  he?)  when  thei  counsailled  hym  to  take  the 
law  on  the  feloe:  a  gentle  ieste  ("said  Socrates:)  if  an 
Asse  had  giuen  me  a  stripe  with  his  heele,  woulde  ye 
haue  saeid  to  me^  take  the  lawe  on  him. 

*  Soche  naturalle  effectes  as  bee  doen  nigh  vnto  the  sterres,  «■  as  ye 
(would  sale)  aboue  the  reache  of  niannes  familiare  knowlege,  are  called  in 
Greke,  fxtTsiu^a,  as  for  example  :  the  generacioii  of  mistes,  haile,  raine,  snowe, 
lightenyng,  shoring  of  sterres,  opening  of  the  aire,  biasing  steiTes,  hegguej 
that  are  seeu  in  the  I'eldes  by  night  like  Fierbrandes,  or  Torches,  with  soche 
other  thinges.  Of  the  naturall  causes  producing,  and  generacion  of  whiche 
thinges,  Aristotles  writeth  4  bokes,  and  entitleth  them  nt^l  fxirtw^af/..  But 
Socrates  would  neuer  take  vpon  him,  to  determine  soche  thinges,  as  wer* 
aboue  the  compace  of  manne»  familiare  handeling. 

VOL.  II.  K 


66 

^  He  thought  no  dliFerence  to  bee  betwene  an  Asse,  and  a 
man  behauyng  himself  like  a  brute  beaste,  and  endewed  with 
no  vertue  or  honest  qualitee,  and  to  seeme  a  thyng  moche 
againste  all  reason^  not  to  sufFre  at  a  mannes  hande,  that  ye 
coulde  finde  inyour  hearte,  to  abide  of  a  brute  beastes  doyng.  ib. 

Unto  Euclides  beyng  verie  studious  of  contencious 
conclusions,  and  cauillacions  of  subtile  reasoning,  he 
saied  :  Euclides  ye  maie  percase  matche  with  Sophistes,* 
but  with  men  3'e  can  not  haue  to  dooe. 

^  Signifiyng  that  Sophistrie  dooeth  no  helpe,  vse  ne  seruice 
to  doings  in  publique  affaires,  or  bearing  offices  in  a  common- 
weale.  Whiche  publique  offices,  who  so  is  a  suiter  to  haue,  it 
behoueth  thesame,  not  to  plaie  Hicke  Skorner  with  insolubles, 
and  with  idle  knackes  of  Sophisticacions,  but  rather  to  frame 
•and  facion  himself  to  the  maners  and  condicions  of  menne,  and 
to  bee  of  soche  sorte,  as  other  men  be.  fol.  1 1 . 

When  Jfitisthenes,  a  Philosophier  of  the  secte  of 
the  Ciniques,  did  weare  upo~  his  backe  a  robe^  with  a 
great  hole  or  rupture  in  it,  and  by  turning  the  same 
rupture  out  warde,  did  purposely  shewe  it,  that  euery 
bodie  might  looke  vpon  it:  through  the  re't  of  thy 
cloake  (quoth  Socrates)  I  see  thy  peignted  sheath,  and 
vaingloriousnesse. 

5[  Featelie  notyng,  that  vainglorie  of  poore  garmentes,  and 
couer  clothyng,  is  moche  more  shameful!  andabhominable,  then 
of  gorgeous  apparell,  or  galaunt  araie.     And  would  God  there 

*  Sophistes  at  the  first  beginning,  wer  men  that  professed  to  bee  teachers 
of  wisedom  and  eloquence,  and  the  name  of  Sophistes,  was  had  in  honor  and 
price,  and  thei  wer  of  thesame  estimacion,  and  of  the  verie  same  order,  facul- 
tee  and  science,  tlmt  afterward  wer  called  Rhetores,  that  is  Rhetoricians,  yea 
and  also  Logicians.  For,  when  the  SqMites  fell  to  canilliiig,  brabling  and 
trifling,  by  little  and  little,  their  estimacion  decaied,  so  that  ere  the  time  that 
Socrates  lined  in,  a  Sophisle  was  a  name  of  contempte  and  hatered,  and  so  is  it 
yet  still  vnto  this  dale. 


67 

"wer  not  emong  vs  christian  menne,  many  Antishenes,  whiche 
vnder  a  rustic,  a  course,  and  a  sluttishe  vesture,  hidden  more 
pride  and  ostentation,  then  the  riche  gentlemen  haue  in  their 

veluettes,  and  fine  silks,     fol.  \Q. 

§  This  was  verified  in  England  also,  vatill  the  deuill  had  his  moukes, 
freeres,  nunnes,  and  other  cloisters  again. 

When  Jristippus,  the  disciple  of  Socrates,  had  of 
his  gaines,  of  setting  vp  the  teaching  Philosophie  for 
money  (which  thing  he  first  of  al  the  scholars  of  So- 
crates, did  set  vp  and  begon  to  doe)  had  sent  twenty 
poundes  vnto  his  maister:  Socrates  sent  the  money 
backe  again  unto  by  ni  forthwith,  alleging  that  bis  fami- 
liar good  Aungell,  would  in  no  wise  suffer  him  to  lake  it. 

^  For  Socrates  saied,  that  he  had  a  familiare  ghost,  or 
Aungell  peculiar  and  proper  to  himself,  of  whom  he  was  by  a 
priuie  token  forbidden,  if  he  atte~pted,  or  went  about  to  dooa 
any  vnhonest  thyng.  Verely,  that  familiare  good  Aungell,  I 
suppose,  was  reason.  And  in  the  meane  tyme,  vnto  Aristippus 
he  did  after  a  gentle  sort,  signifie  hymself  not  to  alowe,  ne  to 
thinke  well  doen,  that  he  kept  a  schoole  of  morall  Philosophie 
for  money,  and  therfore  thesame  gifte  of  his,  as  a  thyng  gotten 
by  pi  line  sacrilege,  he  vtterly  refused,  and  would  none  of  it.  f.24. 

To  a  certaine  persone  demaunding  oi^  Aristippus  in 
\vhat  behalf  his  sonne  should  at  length  bee  the  better, 
if  he  should  bestowe  the  labour  and  coste,  to  set  him  to 
schoole  :  though  nothing  els  (saied  he)  yet  at  leste  wise 
at  Maie  games  and  ope"  sightes,  there  shall  not  one 
stone  set  his  taile  vpon  an  other. 

^  In  old  time  the  places,  where  open  sightes  and  shewes  of 
games  were  exhibited,  were  made  circlewise  round  about  with 
settles  or  benches  of  Marble,  staier  wise  one  aboue  an  otlier,  on 
which  the  people  sat  and  beheld  the  games  and  sightes.  And  a 
stone  thei  commonly  called, 

§  Euen  as  we  also  do  a  feloe  that  had  neitlier  Icarnyng,  nor  good  vtteraunce 
«f  tongue,     fol.  37. 


68 

Alexander  the  king  of  y'=  Macedonians  had  sent 
letters  vnto  Antipater  by  a  certain  persone  named  Ath- 
lias,  Diogenes  ai  the  same  houre  being  happely  in  place. 
Who,  accordyng  to  his  Cynicall  guise,  saied  :  Athlim 
from  Athlius  by  Athlias  to  Athlins. 

%  It  was  nothing  but  a  toye,  in  daliyng,  with  the  affinitee 
and  similitude  of  wordes.  For  the  name  of  the  messager  was, 
AOAi'a;  with  cc,  and  alx'i©^  in  Greke  souneth  one  being  in  mi- 
serable state  or  condition,  and  sore  vexed  or  beaten  with  mani- 
folde  trauailes,  peines  and  troubles.  For  which  respecte  the 
fighting  men  or  the  champions  and  maisters  of  fense,  had  their 
name  deriued  out  of  the  same  vocable,  and  were  called  both  in 
Greke  and  Latin  Athletae.  The  meaning  of  the  Philosophier 
was,  that  princes  for  the  ambition  of  honour,  rule  and  dominion, 
being  in  continuall  strife,  and  hurlee  burlee,  are  in  very  deede 
persons  full  of  miserie  and  wo  :  and  euen  in  like  miserable  state 
of  wretchednesse  so  be  all  those  that  are  ready,  prest,  and  wil- 
ling seruauntes,  aiders  or  furtherers  of  y*^  appetites  and  desires 
of  the  same. 

§  So  then  true  it  was,  that  Alexander  for  the  careful  and  troublous  life  that 
he  leed  worthel^  called  Athlius  that  is  miserable,  wrote  and  sent  letters  by 
Athlias,  being  no  lesse  worthy  the  appellation  of  Athlius  then  his  niaister,  vnto 
Antijjater  as  muche  worthy  to  be  called  Athlius  as  any  of  the  other  two,  in  that 
he  was  at  all  times  bounde  to  obeye  and  serue  Alevander.     fol.  75. 

There  be  wryters  that  doe  father  this  also  vpon 
Diogenes,  Plato  liappely  finding  him  washing  a  sorteof 
salade  herbes,  said  vnto  him  rounding  in  his  eare,  If 
thou  vvouldest  haue  ben  revvled  by  Dionysias,  iwys  thou 
shouldest  not  after  this  maner  washe  these  herbes. 
Diogenes  rounded  Plato  in  the  eare  againc,  sai3'ng: 
iw3's  if  thou  wouldest  haue  washed  herbes  for  thine 
ovvne  dyner,  thou  shouldest  not  in  this  maner  haue 
been  a  Ihon  hold  my  staf  to  Dionysius. 

^  But  this  appeareth  to  be  a  tale  forged  after  the  likenesse 


69 

or  example  of  the  saying  afore  reported  on  Aristippus,  as  this 
same  in  like  maner^  which  I  will  put  now  next  of  all.     fol.  g6. 

To  one  saiying,  many  a  man  hath  thee  in  derision 
(O  Diogenes):  and  theim  peraduenture,  many  an  asse 
(saith  he)  again.  The  other  feloe  saiyng  moreouer, 
and  thus  repiiyng,-  yea,  but  thei  care  nothyng  for  the 
Asses,  he  aunswered,  and  1  asmoche  and  not  a  iote 
more  for  them  that  ye  speake  of. 

^  He  attributed  vnto  Asses,  the  propertee  of  mocking  or 
skorning,  because  thei  do  euery  other  while  by  shewing  their 
teeth  bare,  as  ye  would  saie,  counterfeact  grennying  and  ma- 
kyng  mowes  with  their  lippes.  And  besides  that,  when  men 
doe  mocke  any  body,  thei  wagge  their  handes  vp  and  doune 
by  their  eares  at  the  sides  of  their  hed,  and  do  counterfeact  the 
facion  of  an  Asses  eares.  So  then  the  Asse  also  appereth  by 
waggyng  his  eares  vp  and  doun  to  mocke  and  skorne  folkes,  yet 
is  there  no  bodie  therwith  displeased,  or  greued,     ib. 

To  one  reprochfully  casting  in  the  nose  of  Diogenes 
that  he  had  taken  a  Cope  or  a  Mantel),  of  Philippus 
the  kyng,  he  aunswered  with  a  verse  of  Homere  in  this 
maner. 

Gifts  of  honour,  are  not  to  be  refused. 
With  the  whicli  men  ar  by  the  gods  endued. 

%  That  Homerus  wrote  of  the  beautie  and  fauour  of  the 
bodie  (whiche  is  the  benefite  and  gifte  of  God)  that  did  Dioge- 
nes wreste  to  a  mantell,  giuen  him  by  a  king.  The  same  verse 
might  euen  I  my  selfe  also,  ring  in  the  eares  of  soche  persones, 
as  do  by  a  wrongfull  querele  obiect  vnto  me,  that  I  do  now  and 
then  take  of  noble  men  or  of  bishoppes,  soche  thinges  as  be 
giuen  me  for  to  doe  me  honestee.  There  is  not  one  of  them, 
of  whom  I  haue  at  any  time  in  all  my  life  craned  any  thyng, 
either  by  plaine  wordes,  or  by  other  meanes,  but  in  deede  soche 


70 

thinges  as  tbesame  of  their  owne  voluntary  willes  and  mere 
mocions,  doe  laye  in  my  lappe,  I  receiue  gladly  with  al  my 
heart,  not  so  gi-eatly  for  rewardes,  to  the  enriching  of  my  purse, 
as  for  testimonies  of  their  beneuolence  and  fauour  towardes  me, 
especially  sence  their  habiUtees  are  of  more  welthie  enduemente, 
then  to  wrynge  at  the  abatement  of  so  smal  a  porcion  as  com- 
meth  to  my  snapshare. 

§  In  the  thirde  boke  of  Homere  his  Ilias  Hector,  rebuking  his  brother  Paris, 
emong  other  wordes  of  reproch,  saieth  vnto  him  in  skorne  and  derison  after 
this  maner. 

Yotir  harpe,  and  singyng  melodious 

With  the  other  giftes  of  Venus 

As,  your  goodlie  heere,  and  aungels  face. 

So  amiable,  and  full  of  grace. 

Will  not  you  saue,  ne  nelpe,  this  is  iuste. 

When  ye  must  lye  toppleyng  in  the  dust. 

To  which  poinct,  emong  otlier  thinges,  Paris  maketh  aunswere  after  this 
sort. 

Thou  doest  naught,  to  entwite  me  thus. 

And  with  soche  wordes  opprobrious 

To  vpbraid  the  giftes  amorous 

Of  the  glittreying  Goddesse  Venus. 

Neither  ought  a  man  in  any  wise 

Proudely  to  refuse  or  els  despise 

Any  giftes  of  grace  aiad  honour. 

Which  the  Goddes  of  their  mere  fauour 

Conferren,  after  their  best  likyng. 

And  no  man  hath  of  his  owne  taking,    fol.  106. 

"When  it  was  complained  vnto  Augustus,  tliat  one 
Erotes  the  soUiciter  of  Egi/ple  had  bought  a  quaille, 
whiche  in  fightyng  would  beate  as  many  as  came,  and 
at  no  hande  coulde  be  beaten  or  put  to  the  worse,  and, 
the  same  quaille  beyng  rosted,  to  haue  eaten  vp  euery 


71 


morsell :  he  co'maunded  the  feloe  to  be  broughte  afore 
him,  and  the  cause  well  discussed,  immediately  vpon 
the  parties  confessyng  of  the  cause,  he  commau~ded  the 
same  to  be  hanged  vp  on  the  top  of  a  maste  of  a  ship. 

^  Judgyng  hym  vnworthie  to  liue,  who  for  so  small  a  delite 
of  his  owne  throte,  or  deintee  mouthe,  had  not  spared  a  birde, 
whiche  in  fightyng  might  many  a  long  daie,  and  to  many  a  per- 
sona, haue  shewed  pleasure  and  solace,  and  the  whiche  further- 
more, by  a  certain  gladde  signe  of  good  lucke  to  ensue,  beto- 
kened vnto  C^sar  perpetuall  successe,  and  prosperyng  in  his 

waiTes.    fol   163. 

Persons  not  a  fevve  (because  thei  had  Antonius  and 

Dollobella  in  great  mistrust  §lest  thei  should  conspire 

and  werke  some  treason  against  Cts^sar,)  gaue  warnyng 

vnto  the  same,  that  he  shoulde  in  any  wise  beware  of 

them.     Tush,  no  no,  (quoth  Casar)  I  feare  not  these 

ruddie  coloured  and  fat  bealied  feloes,  but  yonder  same 

spare    slender   skragges,    and    pale   salowe    coloured 

whoresoonnes^  shewyng  with   his  finger  Brutus  and 

Cassius. 

^  Neither  did  his  suspiclo"  deceiue  him,  for  of  the"  2.  was 
he  afterward  slain  in  dede.  Of  which  matter  such  as  be  Iqzxq- 
ed  maie  reside  Plutarchus  and  Suetonius,    fol.  1 93,     . 

After  the  victorie  and  conquest  of  Casar,  Cicero 
beeyng  asken  the  question,  how  he  had  so  ferre  missed 
the  cushin  in  chosyng  of  partes,  saied :  in  faithe  the 
Rirdvng  of  their  srounes  deceiued  me. 

^  Meanyng  hymself  neuer  to  had  trusted  that  the  victorie 
woulde  haue  gone,  on  soche  a  nice  and  etfeminate  persones  side. 
For  desar  vsed  to  go  after  soch  sort  girded  in  his  goune  that  he 
would  go  (euen  as  wanton  as  volupteous  feloes  doen)  trailling 
after  him  the  skirtes  of  his  goune,  al  pounced  in  cuttes  and 
iagges.  Wherefore  Sylla  would  many  a  time  and  ofte,  giue 
Pompsius  warnyng  to  beware  of  the  bodie,  that  went  so  lewdly 
girte,    fol.  223. 


72 

Tidinges  being  reported  that  Vatinius  was  deceassed, 
where  the  firste  bringer  vp  of  that  bruite  was  not  cer- 
tainly knovven,  well  (quoth  Cicero)  yet  will  I  take  the 
auauntage  of  it  whyle  I  may. 

%  Mening  that  he  woulde  take  ioye  of  the  death  of  Vati- 
nius while  he  might,  though  it  were  but  for  a  time,  sembleably 
as  one  that  hath  borowed  money  applieth  it  to  his  owne  vse  and 
commoditee,  and  hatli  his  owne  full  pleasure  of  it  for  the  time, 
euen  as  though  it  were  his  propre  owne. 

§  So  that  Cicero  mened  to  take  as  raoche  goodnesse  of  the  newes  in  the 
meane  time  till  the  contrarie  war  certainly  knowen,  as  if  thei  wer  true  in  very 
deede.     fol.  227. 

Yet  ones  again  for  a  cast  more  at  Vatinius  (who 
although  he  were  sore  diseased  in  his  feete,  and  vtterly 
lamed  with  the  goute,  would  nedes  yet  neuertlielesse 
appere  to  be  very  well  emended,  and  saied  that  he  was 
able  now  to  take  a  M^alke  of  a  couple  of  miles  at  ones) 
yea,  I  thinke  wel  (quoth  Cicero)  for  the  daiesare  a  good 
deale  longer  than  thei  wer. 

^  This  apophthegme  doth  Quintillian  attribute  vnto  Cicero, 
and  Macrolius  vnto  Augustus  Cesar.  There  goeth  another  tale 
about  at  this  day  also  euen  as  mery  as  this,  sauyng  that  it  hath 
not  semblable  antiquitee,  ne  auncientnesse  to  commend  and  set 
it  out  withal :  — 

A  certaine  launceknight  made  his  vaunle  at  a  ban- 
quette where  he  was,  that  he  had  a  crosseboweso  good 
of  casting,  that  it  would  send  a  bolt  or  a  quarrel  of 
soche  a  fersnes,  as  no  man  aliue  could  beleue  or  think, 
and  named  a  certain  space.  All  the  compalgnie  whiche 
sate  at  the  table  criyng  foh,  at  soche  a  shameful  lye, 
he  abode  by  it  that  his  own  seruaunt  had  seen  the  thing 
doen.  The  seruaunt  being  called  in,  how  saiest  thou^ 
sirrah  (quoth  his  maister^  diddest  not  thou  see  soche  a 


73 

thing  doen  ?  Then  saied  the  seruaunt,  Yes,  sir,  ye  tell  a 
true  tale,  but  at  that  tyme  when  ye  shot,  the  winde  was 
with  you. 

§  It  had  been  moche  merier,  if  he  hadde  saied,  yes  sir  your  quarell  flewe 
so  ferre  as  ye  speake  of  in  deede,  but  it  was  at  twoo  shottes.    fol.  229. 

Demosthenes  had  writte"  upo~  his  shilde,  in  letters  of 
golde  a/aS^  "^'jX^I'  ^^^^^  is,  Good  fortune.  Yet  neuer- 
thelesse,  when  it  was  come  to  ha~die  strokes,  *Demos' 
thenes  euen  at  the  first  meting,  cast  his  shilde  and  al 
awaie  from  him,  and  to  go  as  fast  as  his  legges  might 
beare  him.  This  poincte  being  cast  in  his  nose,  in  the 
waie  of  mockage  and  reproche,  that  he  had  in  battaill 
cast  awaie  his  bucler,  and  taken  him  to  his  heeles,  like 
a  prettie  man,  he  auoided  it  with  a  little  verse,  co~men 
in  euery  bodies  mouth. 

*  This  was  at  the  battaill  in  Cherimea  (wherof  is  afore  spoken  in  the  7 
Mpophthemeoi  PhiVppus)  inwhiche  battaill  he  subdued  and  conquered  al  Grece. 
And  of  this  battail  Demosthenes  was  the  chief  procvtrer  and  setter  on,  in  so 
moche  that  he  onelie  persuaded  the  Thebancs  and  others  tiiereanto,  and  was 
one  of  the  chief  ringleders  and  capitaines  himself,  in  so  nioch  that  the  king 
of  tlie  Persians,  wrote  letters  about  to  liis  nobles,  in  al  places,  tliat  thei  should 
aide  Demosthenes  with  money  enough  on  al  sides,  for  the  suppressing  of  Philip- 
pus.  The  battaill  was  kepte  in  Chreronca  (the  countree  of  Plutarchus)  at  Ther- 
moden.  Whiche  Thermodeh  (as  the  report  goeth  saietli  Plutarchus)  should 
bee  a  little  pretie  floud  renning  into  the  riuer  of  Cephisus.  But  the  same, 
Pbitarchus  saith ,  that  he  knoweth  no  soch  floud  there  aboute  of  that  name 
nor  yet  in  any  place  of  all  Cherronea.  Neuerthelesse  he  beleueth  that  the 
floud  Hacmon  (which  renneth  along  by  PIcraclium,  where  the  Grekes  at  that 
time  pitched  their  camp  against  Ph'dippus)  was  at  the  firste  inolde  time  called 
Thermodon,  and  from  that  battaill  foorthward,  thesame  to  haue  taken  the  ap- 
pelacion  of  Haemon,  because  it  was  then  filled  vp  with  dedde  corpses,  and 
with  bloud.  For  aijua,  is  Greke  for  bloud.  But  this  was  soche  a  sore  bat- 
taile,  that  PhUippits  feared  Demosthenes  all  daics  of  his  life  after,  for  that  the 
•ame  had  persuaded  the  Grekes  to  battaill. 

t  Avijf  o'  fivyu}[i4  XXI  TTaAip  u.0l,')(r^<Tilai,  (that  is:  Amanae  that 
VOL.   II.  I, 


7-i 

That  same  man,  that  renneth  awaie, 
Maie  again  fight,  an  other  daie. 

5[  Judgeyng  that  it  is  more  for  the  benefite  of  ones  countree 
to  renne  awaie  in  battaill,  then  to  lese  his  hfe.  For  a  ded  man 
can  fight  no  more,  but  who  hath  saued  hymself  aliue  by  rennyng 
awaie,  maie  in  many  battaiUei  mo,  dooe  good  seruice  to  his 
countree. 

§  At  lest  wise,  if  it  be  a  poinct  of  good  seruice,  to  renne  awaie  at  all  times , 
when  the  countree  hath  most  nede  of  his  helpe  to  slicke  to  it.   fol.  239. 

The  last  apophthegm  supplies  an  authority  for  the 
often  repeated  lines,  which  have  occasioned  endless 
enquiries  for  their  origin,  beginning: — "He  that 
fights/'  &c. 

£u.  Hood. 

flieth  will  renewe  battaill  again)  is  a  prouerbiall  verse  (as  Urasmus  in  his  Chi- 
liadis  adnionisheth)  by  whiche  we  are  warned  not  by  and  by,  to  bee  brought 
in  despaire,  if  some  thing  haue  not  well  come  to  our  passe.  For  though  a 
man  bee  now  ouercomed,  he  male  at  an  other  time  haue  better  hap.  Wherof 
Homere  calleth  it  iTSfaXxIa  tUrifx,,  that  is,  now  strong  on  the  one  side,  and 
now  on  the  other.  And  Alexander  (^Paris  the  soonne  of  Priam  king  of  Troie) 
thus  speakethin  Homere.  n'x»S''  Imafji.uQ.ila.i  SvS'ftt?.  that  is  :  Victorie  chaungetk 
from  parte  to  parte.     And  the  same  Alexander  in  another  place  again  saietli ; 

Menchus  7iow,  through  Pallas  hath  vwnnne, 
And  so  shall  I  at  an  other  season. 

So  Dauus  in  Terence ; 
Hoc  non  successit,  alia  aggredietidum  est  via. 

That  is. 
This  waie  it  will  ne  frame  nefaie, 
Therefore  must  we  proue  an  other  waie. 

So  meancd  Demosthenes,  that  though  he  had  had  mischappe  at  that  season, 
jet  an  other  more  propice  time  should  come,  when  his  chaunce  should  be  to 
doe  his  countree  better  seruice,  &c.  And  this  was  a  raeeteiy  honcste  ex- 
cuse." 


75 


flearntana^ 


Extract.     Feb.  18,  1724. 

MEMORIES  OF  JOHN  FOX  AND  JOHN  TZETZES. 

"If  John  Fox's  Commentaries  be  a  book  that  is 
scarce,  'tis  grown  so  of  late.  For  some  few  years  ago  it  was 
veiy  common  and  very  cheap.  Yet  I  never  endeavoured  to 
make  myself  master  of  it,  thinking  that  the  Enghsh  book  which 
I  have  would  serve  my  turn.  I  never  had  the  curiosity  of 
comparing  the  Latin  with  any  English  edition  ;  and  therefore 
cannot  of  myself  account  for  the  differences,  which,  however, 
1  have  been  told  are  very  great,  as  indeed  the  first  English  edi- 
tion (which  is  in  Magdalen  College  library,  of  the  author's  own 
gift,  with  a  Latin  epistle  before  it,  of  his  own  penning,  never 
yet  printed)  varies  very  much  fi-om  those  that  were  set  out 
afterwards.  Mr.  Fox  was  a  diligent,  learned  man  ;  but  being 
calvinistically  inclined,  and  too  zealous  against  those  of  another 
perswasion,  he  employed  a  good  part  of  his  time  in  collectino- 
stories  that  served  any  way  to  lessen  the  credit  of  such  as  he 
looked  upon  as  enemies ;  and  being  of  a  very  credulous  temper, 
he  very  easily  believed  the  reports  that  were  sent  into  him  •  so 
that  the  credit  of  his  work  hath  been  deservedly  called  m  ques- 
tion by  many  learned  and  judicious  men,  protestants  as  well  as 
papists,  who  were  all  very  sensible,  that  as  he  was  withall  of  a 
very  great  memory,  so  he  trusted  too  much  to  it,  and,  in  putting- 
down  stories,  would  wholly  depend  upon  that,  even  at  such 
times  as  he  might  have  transcribed  inim-ediately  from  books  and 
papers ;  a  fault  which  several  other  great  men  have  been  guilty 


76 

of,  not  excepting  the  famous  John  Tzetzes,  who  after  he  had 
read  over  a  great  variety  of  authors,  was  so  far  nevertheless  from 
extracting  from  them  verbatim  (as  Photius  did,  who  is  therefore 
the  more  valuable)  that  he  rely'd  intirely  upon  his  memory 
(which  was  prodigious)  in  the  many  curious  historical  passages 
(from  those  authors)  in  his  Chiliads,  and  he  is  very  full  of  him- 
self for  having  such  a  memory,  as  if  he  endeavoured  thereby  to 
recommend  his  work  the  better  to  posterity,  which  certainly 
would  have  been  of  greater  esteem  if  he  had  been  a  faithful 
transcriber.  For  tho'  after  he  had  read  the  books,  he  tells  us 
several  times  that  he  was  afSi^xO^,  yet  this  was  only  to  shew 
what  a  memory  he  had,  there  being  no  doubt  but  he  might 
have  had  constant  access  to  the  very  same  books  he  had  already 
perused.  But  tho'  it  would  have  been  a  more  valuable  work 
had  he  been  an  exact  transcriber,  yet  most  of  his  authors  being 
lost,  as  it  is,  it  is  of  great  account,  and  I  could  wish,  for  that 
reason,  that  it  were  reprinted,  it  being  become  now  exceeding 
scarce.  Such  works  would  be  more  for  the  credit  of  scholars 
to  set  out,  than  books  that  are  very  common,  and  whereof  there 
are  daily  editions  coming  out.  And  methinks  societies  should 
engage  in  some  great  works,  either  never  yet  printed,  or  if 
printed,  ai'e  become  either  almost,  or  quite  as  rare  as  MSS." 


Extract.     Feb.  12,  1732. 

HUMPHREY  WANLEY. 

"  I  MUST  desire  of  you  another  favour,  and  that  is, 
that  you  would,  if  you  can  let  me  know  the  exact  time  when 
'twas  that  the  late  Mr.  Humphrey  Wanley  died.  He  died, 
according  to  my  account  in  one  of  my  books,  on  Wednesday 
morning,  July  6th,  1726.  This  I  had  from  Mr.  Murray  at  that 
time,  but  the  prints  said  July  5,  being  Tuesday,  'Tis  a  minute 
difference,  and  yet  as  little  as  'tis,  I  would  have  the  matter 
settled  right,  that  if  I  should  make  a  publick  mention  thereof, 


77 

I  may  not  mistake.  My  account  says  he  died  of  a  dropsy,  and 
that  he  was  buried  in  Marybone  Church,  where,  perhaps,  is 
something  over  him ;  if  there  be,  if  you  can,  pray  let  me  have 
the  words."'* 


Extract.     Feb.  24,  1732. 


THE  SAME.' 


"  I  RECEIVED  yours  of  the  22d.  for  which  I  thank 
you,  particularly  for  your  note  about  the  death  of  Mr.  H.  Wan- 
ley.  I  did  not  know  before  that  any  rings  on  that  occasion  had 
been  given  by  Lord  Oxford,  but  thought  the  funeral  had  been 
wholly  at  Mr.  Wanley's  widow's  expense,  Mr.  Wanley  leaving 
her  in  very  good  circumstances." 


Extract.      Dec.  U,  1732. 


TRADESMEN  S  TOKENS. 


"■  I  HEAR  of  some  (what  I  wonder  at)  that  are  now 
veiy  busy  in  collecting  tokens  or  Tradesmen's  farthings,  that 
went  in  the  Rump  times,  and  look  upon  such  trash  (for  'tis 
certainly  nothing  else)  as  Curiosities.  But  it  may  be  a  particular 
point  of  History  is  designed  to  be  settled  or  illustrated  from  such 
a  collection.  But  what  that  point  is  I  cannot  guess.  That  such 
pieces  once  went  in  England  from  one  house  to  another,  as 
money,  it  wiU  hereafter,  perhaps,  be  hardly  believ'd,  and  for 
that  reason  it  may  be  proper  enough  to  touch  upon  it  in  history, 
and  to  tell  the  occasion  of  it.     Methinks  it  might  be  as  usefull 


'to* 


*  Note  by  West.  Humfrey  Wanley,  ob.  6th  July,  1726,  an.  55.  buried 
Tvithin  the  rails  of  the  altar.  No  inscription  over  him.  Mr.  Gibbs  hath 
made  a  design  foi  a  moumeut  for  him. 


78 

(if  not  more  usefull)  to  collect  pieces  that  are  so  frequently  found 
(and  sometimes  too  in  great  number)  under  old  buildings,  par- 
ticularly under  buildings  in  the  monkish  times,  some  of  which 
are  obscure  enough,  and  want  interpretation.  Some  of  these 
were  calculated  on  purpose  for  such  occasions,  tho'  'tis  very  sel- 
dom that  the  builder  or  the  founder  is  mentioned  on  them. 
Whether  they  ever  went  as  current  money  may  be  much  ques- 
tioned. Most  of  them  were  minted  beyond  sea.  Curious  ob- 
servations might  be  made  on  this  head  by  such  as  shall  write 
professedly  of  the  Rump-tokens,  or  Rump-money  that  I  have 
mentioned.  Whether  Mr.  Grainger  thought  it  worth  while 
(as  I  believe  he  did  not)  to  gather  such  pieces^  I  know  not." 


Extract.     Oct.  I,  1733. 

ANCIENT  MANUSCRIPTS  FOR  COUNTY  HISTORY. 

''I  WAS  told  some  time  since,  that  Mr.  Drake's 
Antiquities  of  York  is  out,  but  it  seems  otherwise  from  your 
letter.  I  am  glad  he  designs  to  speak  of  the  York  MSS.  If 
they  are  nicely  turned  over,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  something 
worthy  of  the  publick  might  be  extracted  from  them,  and  per- 
haps something  considerable  relating  to  his  Antiquities.  And  I 
am  persuaded  Dr.  Richardson  can  suggest  some  particulars  on 
that  occasion  worth  his  observation.  MSS.  have  been  little 
regarded  by  the  generality  of  those  that  have  written  of  our 
Counties,  which  for  that  reason  will  make  any  essay  that  way 
welcome  to  the  curious  reader.  'Tis  this  very  thing,  that  makes 
Mr,  Thoresby's  account  of  his  MSS.  &:c.  more  valuable  by 
much,  than  the  first  part  of  his  book.  And  long  ago,  when 
Pausanias  took  care  to  insert  into  his  work,  the  ancient  stones 
and  other  things  of  that  kind,  wdiich  may  be  look'd  upon  as 
equal  to  MSS.  'tis  incredible  to  tell,  what  reputation  he  obtain- 
ed thereby ;  and  what  he  did  that  way  had  the  greater  Aveight, 


79 

because  he  told  where  the  monuments  were  that  he  spoke  of, 
what  I  wish  M.  Camden  (our  EngUsh  Pausanias,  after  Leland) 
had  taken  care  always  to  do  of  tlie  MSS.  he  made  use  of." 


Extract.    July  19,  1733. 

CONDUIT  AT  OXFORD. 

"  Some  time  ago  I  saw  a  very  faulty  transcript  of 
the  original  MS.  concerning  Otho  Nicholson's  building,  the 
Conduit  at  Cairfax  in  Oxford,  but  I  cannot  teU  where  the  ori- 
ginal is,  without  which  this  transcript  is  of  no  use,  and  for  that 
reason  I  declined  taking  a  copy  j  if  you  at  any  time  light  upon 
the  original,  be  pleased  to  take  particular  notice  of  it.  I  cannot 
think  that  it  is  in  the  Harleian  Library,  unless  there  should  be 
any  thing  about  it  in  Dr.  Button's  MSS.  Coll.  Old  Baskervile 
of  Bagworth,  commonly  called  The  King  of  Jerusalem,  used  to 
note  down  in  his  Flying  History  (which  Mr.  Murray  now  hath) 
many  particulars  of  History,  especially  little  matters,  such  as 
Ballads,  Arches  of  Bridges,  &c.  and  perhaps  he  may  have  some- 
thing about  this  Conduit ;  but  if  he  hath,  I  cannot  expect  it 
should  be  of  any  great  moment,  he  being  an  Humourist,  and 
wanting  both  learning  and  judgment." 


Extract.     Jan,  17,  1734. 


BISHOP  FLEMING. 


"  I  have  heard  that  Bp.  Fleming,  when  he  was  of 
Edmund-Hall,  was  inclined  to  the  study  of  our  English  Anti- 
quities. But  this  is  what  was  told  me  lately,  and  I  never  heard 
any  such  thing  as  long  as  he  staid  with  us  after  I  came  to  tlie 
Hall,  and  yet  I  think  he  staid  there  till  the  year  1698." 


80 
From  the  same, 

BISHOP  MENIATI. 

"  Elias  Meniati,  Bishop  of  Cepholonia,  a  late  au- 
thor, wrote  an  account  of  the  Schism  between  the  Eastern  and 
Western  Churches.  It  is  written  in  the  vulgar  Greek,  and  I 
beheve  is  scarce.  I  understand,  however,  that  'tis  in  the  Har- 
leyan  Library.  I  have  not  wrote  to  my  L.  Oxford  to  inquire, 
but  you  can  do  it  as  well  when  you  see  his  Ldship.  All  I  want 
to  know  is,  in  what  volume  it  is,  and  whether  it  be  a  printed 
book,  and  if  printed  I  would  gladly  know  where." 


Extract.     Feb.  10,  1734. 

THE    SAME. 

"  I  KNOW  nothing  more  of  Cepholonia's  book  than 
what  I_had  from  The  Russian  Catechism,  with  an  Account  of 
the  Church- Government  and  Ceremonies  of  the  Muscovites. 
Lond.  1725.  Svo.  ed.  2d.  where  (I  know  ndt  at  what  page,  but 
I  think  'tis  after  page  54,  for  I  have  not  the  book  by  me)  are 
these  words : 

"  Elias  Merivati,  Bishop  of  Cepholonia,  has  in  our  times 
"  writ  the  Schism  between  the  Eastern  and  Western  Churches. 
"  This  book  of  Meniati  is  writ  in  the  vulgar  Greek,  and  is  to 
"  be  seen  in  my  Lord  Harley's  libraiy,  who  is  a  diligent  coUec- 
"  tor  of  all  that's  curious  in  all  languages  and  sciences." 


81 


Dedicatory  Sonnets  before  George  Chapman's 
Translation  o/'Homer's  Iliad.* 

Before  I  enter  on  the  transcript  of  these  Sonnets, 
let  me  make  a  few  extracts  from  the  prose  Commenta- 
ries of  this  energetic  Poet,  who  seems  to  have  felt  the 
true  enthusiasm  and  confidence  of  the  Muse. 

Chapman  was  a  great  favourite  with  his  cotempo- 
raries  for  genius  as  well  as  learning,  and  seems  on  due 
examination  to  have  been  possessed  of  many  qualities 
and  acquirements  of  no  common  occurrence. 

Commentary  to  Book  I. 

"  Since  I  dissent  from  all  other  Translators  and  Interpreters, 
that  ever  essay'd  exposition  of  this  miraculous  Poem,  especially 
where  the  divine  rapture  is  most  exempt  from  capacity  in  gram- 
marians merely,  and  grammatical  critics,  and  where  the  inward 
sense  or  soul  of  the  sacred  Muse  is  only  within  eye-shot  of  a 
poetical  spirit's  inspection,  (lest  I  be  prejudiced  with  opinion, 
to  dissent,  of  ignorance  or  singularity)  I  am  bound  by  this  brief 
comment  to  «hew  I  understand  how  all  other  extants  under- 
stand ;  my  reasons,  why  I  reject  them,  and  how  I  receive  my 
author.  In  which  labour,  if  where  aU  others  find  discords  and 
dissonances,  I  prove  him  entirely  harmonious  and  proportionate : 
if  where  they  often  alter  and  flee  his  original,  I  at  all  parts  stand 
fast,  and  observe  it :  if  where  they  mix  their  most  pitiful  cas- 
tigations  with  his  praises,  I  render  him  without  touch  and 
beyond  admiration  :   (though  truth  in  her  very  nakedness  sits 

•  The  first  seven  books  were  originally  printed  by  J.  Wmdet,  1598. 
The  whole  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  in  1614.    Fol.     See  Cens.  Ud.  vi.  239. 
VOL.  H.  M 


82 

in  so  deep  a  pit,  that  from  Gades  to  Aurora  and  Ganges,  few  eyes 
can  sound  her  :)  I  hope  yet  those  few  here  will  so  discover  and 
confirm  her,  that  the  date  being  out  of  her  darkness  in  this 
morning  of  our  Homer,  he  shall  now  gird  his  temples  with  the 
Sun,  and  be  confeat,  against  his  good  friend,  Nunquam  dormi- 
tare.  But  how  all  Translators,  Censors,  and  Interpreters,  have 
slept,  and  been  dead  to  his  true  understanding,  I  hope  it  will 
neither  cast  shadow  of  arrogance  in  me  to  affirm,  nor  of  dif- 
ficulty in  you  to  believe  :  if  you  please  to  suspend  censure,  and 
diminution,  till  your  impartial  conference  of  their  pains  and 
mine  be  admitted.  For  induction  and  preparative  to  which 
patience  and  persuasion,  trouble  yourselves  but  to  know  this  : 
This  never-enongh  glorified  Poet,  (to  vary  and  quicken  his 
eternal  Poem)  hath  inspired  his  chief  persons  with  different 
spirits,  most  ingenious  and  inimitable  characters  5  which  not 
understood,  how  are  their  speeches  ?  being  one  by  another  as 
conveniently  and  necessarily  known,  as  the  instrument  by  the 
sound.  If  a  Translator  or  Interpreter  of  a  ridiculous  and  cow- 
ardly described  person,  (being  deceived  in  his  character)  so 
violates  and  vitiates  the  original  to  make  his  speech  grave,  and 
him  valiant,  can  the  negligence  and  numbness  of  such  an  In- 
terpreter or  Translator  be  less  than  the  sleep  and  death  I  am 
bold  to  sprinkle  upon  him  ?  Or  could  I  do  less  than  affirm  and 
enforce  this,  being  so  happily  discovered  ?  This  therefore  in  his 
due  place  approved  and  explained,  let  me  hope  my  other  as- 
sumpts  will  prove  as  conspicuous. 

This  first  and  second  Book  I  have  wholly  translated  again :  the 
seventh,  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  Books,  deferring,  still  imper- 
fect, being  Englished  so  long  since;  and  my  late  hand,  overcome 
with  labour,  not  yet  rested  enough  to  refine  them.  Nor  ar« 
the  wealthy  veins  of  this  holy  gi'ound  so  amply  discovered  in 
my  first  twelve  labours,  as  my  last  j  nor  having  competent  time, 
nor  my  profit  in  his  mysteries  being  so  ample,  as  when  driving 
through  his  thirteenth  and  last  books,  I  drew  the  main  depth, 
and  saw  the  round  coming  of  this  silver  bow  of  our  Phoebus  j  the 


^3 

clear  scope  and  contexture  of  his  work ;  the  full  and  most  beau- 
tiful figures  of  his  persons.  To  these  last  twelve  then  I  must 
refer  you,  for  all  the  chief  worth  of  my  clear  discoveries  And 
in  the  mean  space  I  entreat  your  acceptance  of  some  few  touches 
in  the  first.  Not  perplexing  you  in  first  or  last  with  any 
thing  handled  in  any  other  Interpreter,  further  than  I  most 
conscionably  make  congression  with  such  as  have  diminished, 
mangled,  and  maimed  my  most  worthily  most  tendered  au- 
thor," &c. 

Last  paragraph  of  Commentary  to  Book  IIL 

"  And  here  haste  makes  me  give  end  to  these  new  Anno- 
talions,  deferring  the  like  in  the  next  nine  Books  to  more  breath 
and  encouragement.  Since  time,  that  hath  ever  oppressed  me, 
will  not  otherwise  let  me  come  to  the  last  twelve,  in  which  the 
first  free  light  of  my  author  entred  and  emboldened  me. 
Where  so  many  rich  discoveries  importune  ray  poor  expression, 
that  I  fear  rather  to  betray  them  to  the  world,  than  express 
them  to  their  price.  But  howsoever  Envy  and  Prejudice  stand 
squirting  their  poison  through  the  eyes  of  my  readers,  this  shall 
appear  to  all  competent  apprehensions,  I  have  followed  the 
original  with  authentical  expositions,  (according  to  the  proper 
signification  of  the  word  in  this  place,  though  I  differ  therein 
utterly  from  others  :)  I  have  rendred  all  things  of  importance 
with  answerable  life  and  height  to  my  author,  though  with 
some  periphrasis,  without  which  no  man  can  worthily  translate 
any  worthy  Poet.  And  since  the  translation  itself,  and  my 
notes,  being  impartially  conferred,  amply  approve  this,  I  will 
still  be  confident  in  the  worth  of  my  pains,  how  idly  and  un- 
worthily soever  I  be  censured.  And  thus  to  the  last  twelve 
Books,  (leaving  other  horrible  errors  in  his  other  Interpreters 
unmoved)  with  those  free  feet  that  entred  me,  I  haste^  sure  of 
nothing  but  my  labour." 


84 


Extract  from  Commentary  to  Book  XIV. 

"  Our  plain  and  smug  writers,  because  their  own  unwieldiness 
will  not  let  them  rise  themselves,  would  have  every  man  grovel 
like  them  :  their  featherS  not  passing  the  pitch  of  every  wo- 
man's capacity.  And  indeed,  where  a  man  is  understood, 
there  is  ever  a  proportion  betwixt  the  writer's  wit  and  the  wri- 
tee's  (that  I  may  speak  with  authority)  according  to  my  old 
lesson  in  philosophy :  Inlellectus  in  ipsa  intelligibilia  transit. 
But  herein  this  case  is  ruled  against  such  men,  that  they  affirm 
these  hyperthetical  or  superlative  sort  of  expressions  and  illus- 
trations are  too  bold  and  lumbasted;  and  out  of  that  word  is 
spun  that  which  they  call  o\xr  fustian  :  their  plain  writing  being 
stuff  nothing  so  substantial,  but  such  gross  sowlege,  or  hair- 
patch,  as  every  goose  may  eat  oats  through.  Against  which, 
and  all  these  plebeian  opinions,  that  a  man  is  bound  to  write  to 
every  reader's  understanding,  you  see  the  great  master  of  all 
elocution  hath  written  so  darkly,  that  almost  three  thousand 
suns  have  not  discovered  him,  no  more  in  five  hundred  other 
places  than  here ;  and  yet  all  pervial  enough,  you  may  well 
say,  when  such  a  one  as  I  comprehend  them.  But  the  chief 
end  why  I  extend  this  Annotation  is  only  to  intreat  your  note 
here  of  Homer's  manner  of  writing,  which,  to  utter  his  after- 
store  of  matter  and  variety,  is  so  press,  and  puts  on  with  so 
strong  a  current,  that  it  far  overruns  the  most  laborious  pursuer, 
if  he  have  not  a  poetical  foot,  and  Poesy's  quick  eye  to  guide  it." 

Conclusion  of  Book  XXIV  and  last. 

"  Thus  far  the  Ilian  ruins  I  have  laid 
Open  to  English  eyes  :  in  which  repaid 
With  thine  own  value,  go,  unvalued  Book  ! 
Live,  and  be  lov'd  !    If  any  envious  look 
Hurt  thy  clear  fame,  learn  that  no  state  more  high 
Attends  on  Virtue,  than  pin'd  Envy's  eye  ! 
Would  thou  wert  worth  it,  that  the  best  doth  wound. 
Which  this  age  feeds,  and  which  the  last  shaU  bound." 


85 


"  Thus  with  labour  enough,  though  with  more  comfort  in 
the  merits  of  my  divine  author,  I  have  brought  my  Translation 
of  his  Iliads  to  an  end.  If  either  tliereinj  or  in  the  harsh  ut- 
terance, or  matter  of  ray  comment  before,  I  have,  for  haste, 
scattered  with  my  burden,  (less  than  fifteen  weeks  being  the 
whole  time  that  the  last  twelve  Books'  Translation  stood  me  in) 
I  desire  my  present  will,  and  I  doubt  not  ability,  if  God  give 
life,  to  reform  and  perfect  all  hereafter,  may  be  ingeniously 
accepted  for  the  absolute  work.  The  rather,  considering  the 
most  learned  with  all  their  helps  and  time,  have  been  so  often 
and  unanswerably  miserably  taken  halting.  In  the  mean  time, 
that  most  assistful  and  unspeakable  Spirit,  by  whose  thrice  sacred 
conduct  and  inspiration  I  have  finished  this  labour,  diiHise  the 
fruitful  horn  of  his  blessings  through  these  goodness- thirsting 
watchings,  without  which,  utterly  dry  and  bloodless  is  what- 
soever mortality  soweth. 

But  where  our  most  diligent  Spondanus  ends  his  work  with 
a  prayer,  to  be  taken  out  of  these  Meanders  and  Euripian  rivers 
(as  he  terms  them)  of  Ethnic  and  Prophane  writers,  being  quite 
contrary  to  himself  at  the  beginning,  I  thrice  humbly  beseech 
the  most  dear  and  most  divine  Mercy,  ever  most  incomparably 
preferring  the  great  light  of  his  truth  in  his  direct  and  infallible 
Scriptures,  I  maj'  ever  be  enabled  by  resting  wondring  in  his 
right  comfortable  shadows  in  these,  to  magnify  the  clearness  of 
his  almighty  appearance  in  the  other. 

And  with  this  salutation  of  Poesy  given  by  our  Spondanus 
in  his  Preface  to  these  Iliads,  'All-hail,  saint-sacred  Poesy, 
that  under  so  much  gall  of  Firticn,  such  abundance  of  honey- 
doctrine  hast  hidden,  not  revealing  them  to  the  unworthy 
worldly,  wouldst  thou  but  so  much  make  me,  that  amongst  thy 
novices  I  might  be  numbered,  no  time  should  ever  come  near 
my  life,  that  could  make  me  forsake  thee.  I  will  conclude 
with  this  my  daily  and  nightly  prayer,  learn'dof  the  most  learn- 
ed Simpllcius. 

*'  Supplico  tibi,  Domlne,  Pater,  et  Dux  rationis  nostrae,  ut 


8(3 


nostrse  nobilitatls  recoidemur  qua  tu  nos  ornasti ;  et  ut  in  nobis 
praesto  sis,  ut  iis  qui  persese  moventur  :  uta  corporis  contagio, 
brutoiumque  afFectuum  repurgemur,  eosque  superemns,  et  re- 
gamus,  et  sicut  decet,  pro  instrumentis  iis  utamur.  Deinde  ut 
nobis  adjumerito  sis,  ad  accuratam  rationis  nostrae  correctionem  j 
et  conjunctionem  cum  iis  quae  vera  fiunt,  per  lucem  veritatis. 
Et  tertium,  Salvatori  supplex  oro  ;  ut  ab  oculis  animorum  nos- 
trorum  caliginem  prorsus  abstergas,  ut  (quod  apud  Homeium 
est)  norimus  bene  qui  Deus,  aut  niortalis  habendus.     Amen." 


DEDICATORY  SONNETS. 


"  To  the  right  gracious  and  worthy  the  Duke  of  Lennox. 

Amongst  the  heroes  of  the  world's  prime  years. 

Stand  here,  great  Duke,  and  see  them  shine  about  you 
Inform  your  princely  mind  and  spirit  by  theirs, 
And  then,  like  them,  live  ever  :  look  without  you. 

For  subjects  fit  to  use  your  place,  and  grace,  ' 

Which  throw  about  you  as  the  sun  his  rays. 
In  quick'ning  with  their  power,  the  dying  rr.ce 
Of  friendless  Virtue,  since  they  thus  can  raise 

Their  honour'd  raisers  to  eternity. 

None  ever  liv'd  by  self-love  :  others'  good 
Is  th'  object  of  our  own  :   they  living  die. 

That  bury  in  themselves  their  fortune's  brood. 

To  this  soul,  then,  your  generous  countenance  give. 
That  gave  to  such  as  you  such  mqans  to  live. 


87 


II. 

To  the  most  grave  and  honoured  Temperer  of  Law  and  Equity, 
the  Lord  Chancellor,*  &c. 

That  Poesy  is  not  so  removed  a  thing 

From  grave  administiy  of  public  weals 

As  these  times  take  it,  hear  this  Poet  sing. 

Most  judging  Lord,  and  see  how  he  reveals 
The  mysteries  of  Ptulc,  and  rules  to  guide 

The  life  of  man  through  all  his  choicest  ways. 

Nor  be  your  timely  pains  the  less  applied 

For  Poesy's  idle  name,  because  her  rays 
Have  shin' d  thro'  greatest  counsellors  and  kings. 

Hear  royal  Hermes  sing  the  Egyptian  laws  ; 

How  Solon,  Draco,  Zoroastes  sings 
Their  laws  in  verse  :  and  let  their  just  applause 

By  all  the  world  given,  yours  (by  us)  allow; 

That  since  you  grace  all  virtue,  honour  you. 

III. 

To  the  most  worthy  Earl,  Lord  Treasurer,  and  Treasurer  of  our 
Country,  the  Earl  of  Salisbury ,  i^c. 

Vouchsafe,  great  Treasurer,  to  turn  your  eye. 

And  see  the  opening  of  a  Grecian  mine. 

Which  wisdom  long  since  made  her  Treasury, 

And  now  her  title  doth  to  you  resign. 
Wherein  as  th'  ocean  walks  not  with  such  waves 

The  round  of  this  realm,  as  your  wisdom's  seas,    ■ 

Nor  with  his  great  eye  sees,  his  marble  saves 

Our  state,  like  your  Ulyssian  policies  : 
So  none,  like  Homer,  hath  the  world  enspher'd. 

Earth,  seas,  and  heaven,  fix'd  in  his  verse,  and  moving; 

•  Sir  Thomas  Egerton,  Lord  Ellesmere,  and  Vise.  Bracklejr. 


88 

Whom  all  times  wisest  men  have  held  unpeer'd ; 
And  herefore  would  conclude  with  your  approving. 

Then  grace  his  spirit,  that  all  wise  men  hath  grac'd, 
And  made  things  ever  fitting,  ever  last. 

IV. 

To  the  most  honoured  Restorer  of  ancient  Nobility  in  Hood  and 
virtue,  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  &c. 

Join,  noblest  Earl,  in  giving  worthy  grace 
To  this  great  gracer  of  nobility  : 
See  here  what  sort  of  men  your  honour'd  place 
Doth  properly  commend ;  if  Poesy 

Profess'd  by  them  were  worthily  exprest. 

The  gravest,  wisest,  greatest,  need  not  then 
Account  that  part  of  yoor  command  the  least. 
Nor  them  such  idle,  needless,  worthless  men. 

Who  can  be  worthier  men  in  public  weals 

Than  those,  at  all  parts,  that  prescrib'd  the  best? 
That  stirr'd  up  noblest  virtues,  holiest  zeals. 

And  evermore  have  liv'd  as  they  profest  ? 

A  world  of  worthiest  men  see  one  create, 
Great  Earl,  whom  no  man  since  could  imitate. 

V. 

To  the  most  nolle  and  learned  Earl,  the  Earl  of  Northampton.* 

To  you,  most  learned  Earl,  whose  learning  can 

Reject  unlearned  custom,  and  embrace 

The  real  virtues  of  a  worthy  man, 

I  prostrate  this  great  worthy  for  your  grace. 
And  pray  that  Poesy's  well-deserv'd  ill  name. 

Being  such  as  many  modern  poets  make  her, 

*  Henry  Howard. 


89 

May  nought  eclipse  her  clear  essential  flame ; 
But  as  she  shines  here,  so  refuse  or  take  her  ! 

Nor  do  I  hope,  but  e'en  your  high  affairs 
May  suffer  intermixture  with  her  view. 
Where  wisdom  fits  her  for  the  highest  choirs. 

And  minds,  grown  old  with  cares  of  state,  renew  : 

You  then,  great  Earl,  that  in  his  own  tongue  know 
This  King  of  Poets,  see  his  English  show. 

VI. 

To  the  most  nolle,  my  singular  good  Lord,  the  Earl  of  Arundel. 

Stand  by  yonr  noblest  stock,  and  ever  grow 
In  love,  and  grace  of  virtue  most  admir'd ; 
And  we  will  pay  the  sacrifice  we  owe 
Of  prayer  and  honour,  with  all  good  desir'd 

To  your  divine  soul,  that  shall  ever  live 

In  height  of  all  bliss  prepar'd  here  beneatli. 
In  that  ingenuous  and  free  grace  you  give 
To  knowledge,  only  bulwark  against  Death. 

Whose  rare  sustaiiiers  here,  her  powers  sustain 
Hereafter.     Such  reciprocal  effects 
Meet  in  her  virtues.     Where  the  love  doth  reign. 

The  act  of  knowledge  crowns  our  intellects. 

Where  th'  art,  not  love  is  there,  like  beasts  men  die : 
Not  life,  but  time,  is  their  eternity. 

vir. 

To  the  learned  and  most  nolle  Patron  of  Learning,  the  Earl  of 

Pembroke* 

Above  all  others  may  your  honour  shine. 

As,  past  all  others,  your  ingenuous  beams 

*  Nephew  of  Sir  Philip  Syduey. 
VOL.  II.  If 


90 

Exhale  into  your  grace  the  form  divine 
Of  godhke  learning,  whose  exiled  streams 

Kun  to  your  succour^  charg'd  witli  all  the  wrack 
Of  sacred  Virtue.     Now  the  barbarous  witch. 
Foul  Ignorance,  sits  charming  of  them  back 
To  their  first  fountain,  in  the  Great  and  Rich  j 

Though  our  great  Sovereign  countercheck  her  charms. 
Who  in  all  learning  reigns  so  past  example. 
Yet,  (with  her)  Turkish  policy  puts  on  arms. 

To  raze  all  knowledge  in  man's  Christian  temple. 

You  following  yet  our  king,  your  guard  redouble  : 
Pure  are  those  streams  that  these  times  cannot  trouble. 

VIII. 

To  the  right  gracious  Illustrator  of  Virtue,  and  worthy  of  the 
favour  royal,  the  Earl  of  Montgomery  .* 

There  runs  a  blood,  fair  Earl,  through  your  clear  veins. 
That  well  entitles  you  to  all  things  noble  ; 
Which  still  the  living  Sydnian  soul  maintains. 
And  your  name's  ancient  nobleness  doth  redouble  : 

For  which  I  must  needs  tender  to  your  graces 

This  noblest  work  of  man  as  made  your  right. 
And  though  ignobleness  all  such  works  defaces. 
As  tend  to  Learning,  and  the  soul's  delight  j 

Yet  since  the  sacred  pen  doth  testify, 

That  wisdom,  which  is  Learning's  natural  birth. 
Is  the  clear  mirror  of  God's  majesty. 

And  image  of  his  goodness  here  in  earth. 

If  you  the  daughter  wish,  respect  the  mother: 
One  cannot  be  obtain'd  without  the  other. 

*  Philip  Herbert,  younger  brother  to  the  last. 


91 


IX. 

To  the  most  nolle  and  learned  Concluder  of  the  Wars  Art,  the 

Lord  Lisle.* 

Nor  let  my  pains  herein,  long-honour'd  Lord, 
Fail  of  your  ancient  nobly-good  respects. 
Though  obscure  Fortune  never  would  afford 
My  service  show,  till  these  thus  late  effects. 

And  though  my  poor  deserts  weigh' d  never  more 
Than  might  keep  down  their  wortliless  memory. 
From  your  high  thoughts  enrich'd  with  better  store. 
Yet  yours  in  me  are  fix'd  eternally. 

Which  all  my  fit  occasions  well  shall  prove. 

Mean  space,  with  your  most  noble  nephews^f  deign 
To  shew  your  free  and  honourable  love 

To  this  Great  Poet,  in  his  English  vein. 

You  cannot  more  the  point  of  death  controul. 
Than  to  stand  close  by  such  a  living  soul. 

X. 

To  the  great  and  virtuous  the  Countess  of  Montgomery. % 

Your  fame,  great  Lady,  is  so  loud  resounded. 

By  your  free  trumpet,  my  right  worthy  friend^ 
That  with  it  all  my  forces  stand  confounded, 
Arm'd  and  disarm'd  at  once,  to  one  just  end. 

To  honour  and  describe  the  blest  consent 

'Twixt  your  high  blood  and  soul,  in  virtues  rare. 
Of  which,  my  friend's  praise  is  so  eminent. 
That  I  shall  hardly  like  his  Echo  fare, 

*  Robert  Sydney,  afterwards  Earl  of  Leicester. 

t  The  Earls  of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery. 

%  Lady  Susan  Vera,  daughter  of  Edward  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford,  tbe  Poet, 


To  render  only  th'  ends  of  his  shrill  verse. 

Besides,  my  bounds  are  short,  and  I  must  merely 
My  will  to  honour  your  rare  parts  reherse 

With  more  time,  singing  your  renown  more  clearly. 
Mean  time,  take  Homer,  for  my  wants'  supply  : 
To  whom  adjoin'd,  your  name  shall  never  die. 

XI. 

To  the  happy  Star,  discovered  in  our  Sydneian  Asterism,  comfort 
of  learning,  sphere  of  all  the  Virtues,  the  Lady  Wrothe* 

When  all  our  other  stars  set  in  their  skies. 
To  Virtue,  and  all  honour  of  her  kind. 
That  you,  rare  lady,  should  so  clearly  rise. 
Makes  all  the  virtuous  glorify  your  mind. 

And  let  true  reason  and  religion  try. 
If  it  be  fancy,  not  judicial  right. 
In  you  t'  oppose  the  time's  apostacy. 
To  take  the  soul's  part,  and  her  saving  light. 

While  others  blind  and  buiy  both  in  sense. 
When  'tis  the  only  end  for  which  all  live. 
And  could  those  souls,  in  whom  it  dies,  dispense 

As  much  with  their  religion,  they  would  give 

That  as  small  grace.    Then  shun  their  course,  fair  Star, 
And  still  keep  yoiu*  way  pure  and  circular. 

XII. 

To  the  right  noble  Patroness  and  Grace  of  Virtue,  the  Countess 

of  Bedford.^ 

To  you,  fair  Patroness,  and  Muse  to  Learning, 
The  fount  of  Learning  and  the  Muses,  sends 

*  !Niece  to  Sir  Philip  Sjdney. 
t  Lucy  Harington. 


95 

This  cordial  for  your  Virtues,  and  forewarning 
To  leave  no  good,  for  th'  ill  the  world  commends. 

Custom  seducetli  but  the  vulgar  sort : 

With  whom  when  nobleness  mixeth,  she  is  vulgar: 

The  truly  noble  still  repair  their  Fort, 

With  gracing  good  excitements,  and  gifts  rare. 

In  which  the  narrow  path  to  happiness 
Is  only  beaten.     Vulgar  Pleasure  sets 
Nets  for  herself,  in  swing  of  her  excess. 

And  beats  herself  there  dead,  ere  free  she  gets. 

Since  Pleasure  then  with  Pleasure  still  doth  waste. 
Still  please  with  Virtue,  Madam  :  that  wiU  last. 

XIII. 

To  the  right  valorous  and  virtuous  Lord,  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton.* 

In  choice  of  all  our  countiy's  noblest  Spirits, 
Born  slavisher  Barbarism  to  convince, 
I  could  not  but  invoke  your  honour'd  merits. 
To  follow  the  swift  virtue  of  our  Prince. 

The  cries  of  Virtue,  and  her  fortress.  Learning, 
Brake  Earth,  and  to  Elysium  did  descend. 
To  call  up  Homer  :  who  therein  discerning 
That  his  excitements  to  their  good,  had  end. 

As  being  a  Grecian,  puts  on  English  arms. 

And  to  the  hardy  natures  in  these  climes. 
Strikes  up  his  high  and  spiritful  alarms. 

That  they  may  clear  earth  and  those  impious  crimes. 
Whose  conquest,  though  most  faintly  all  apply. 
You  know,  learn'd  Earl,  all  live  for,  and  should  die. 

•  The  Patron  of  Shakespeare. 


94 

XIV. 

To  my  exceeding  good  Lord,  the  Earl  of  Sussex,*  with  duly 
always  remembered  to  his  honoured  Countess. \ 

YoUj  that  have  made,  in  your  great  Prince's  name. 
At  his  high  birth,  his  holy  Christian  vows. 
May  witness  now  to  his  eternal  fame. 
How  he  performs  them  thus  far  :  and  still  grows 

Above  his  birth  in  virtue  ;  past  his  years. 

In  strength  of  bounty,  and  great  fortitude. 
Amongst  this  train  then  of  our  choicest  Peers, 
That  follow  him  in  chace  of  vices  rude. 

Summon' d  by  his  great  Herald,  Homer's  voice, 
March  you,  and  ever  let  your  family. 
In  your  vows  made  for  such  a  Prince,  rejoice. 

Your  service  to  his  state  shall  never  die. 

And  for  my  true  observance  let  this  show. 
No  means  escapes  when  I  may  honour  you. 

XV. 

To  the  right  noble  and  heroical,  my  singular  good  Lord,  the 

Lord  of  IFulden.X 
Nor  let  the  vulgar  sway  Opinion  bears. 

Rare  Lord,  that  Poesy's  favour  shews  men  vain. 

Rank  you  amongst  her  stern  disfavourers  : 

She  all  things  worthy  favour  doth  maintain. 
Virtue  in  all  things  else  at  best  she  betters } 

Honour  she  heightens,  and  gives  life  in  death ; 

She  is  the  ornament  and  soul  of  letters ; 

The  world's  deceit  before  her  vanishetli. 
Simple  she  is  as  Doves ;  like  serpents  wise ; 

Sharp,  grave,  and  sacred  :  nought  but  things  divine, 

*  Robert  Ratcliffc. 

t  The  same,  I  presume,  to  wliom  Robt.  Green  dedicated  his  Philomela. 
See  Archaica. 

i  Son  of  Tlios.  Howard,  Earl  of  SuflFolk. 


95 

And  things  divining,  fit  her  faculties  : 
Accepting  her  as  she  is'  genuine, 

If  she  be  vain  then,  all  things  else  are  vile : 
If  virtuous,  still  be  patron  of  her  stile. 

XVI. 

To  the  most  truly  nolle,  and  virtue-gracing  Knight,  Sir  Thomas 

Howard* 

The  true  and  nothing-less-than  sacred  spirit. 

That  moves  your  feet  so  far  from  the  profane. 
In  scorn  of  pride,  and  grace  of  humblest  merit. 
Shall  fill  your  name's  sphere,  never  seeing  it  wane. 

It  is  so  rare,  in  blood  so  high  as  yours. 

To  entertain  the  humble  skill  of  truth. 
And  put  a  virtuous  end  to  all  your  powers. 
That  the'  other  age  asks,  we  give  you  in  youth. 

Your  youth  hath  won  the  master}'  of  your  mind. 
As  Homer  sings  of  his  Antilochus, 
The  parallel  of  you  in  every  kind. 

Valiant,  and  mild,  and  most  ingenious. 

Go  on  in  virtue,  after  death,  and  grow. 

And  shine  like  Leda's  twins,  my  Lord,  and  you. 

Ever  most  humbly  and  faithfiilly  devoted  to  you, 

and  all  the  rare  patrons  of  divine  Homer, 

Geo.  Chapman." 

••'e«cOooo<" 

I  believe  that  critics  have  entertained  different  opi- 
nions of  the  merit  of  these  Sonnets.  Some  have  spoken 
contemptuously  of  them.  To  me  they  appear  full  of 
mgenuity ;  often  vigorous  in  expression  ;  and  exalted 
by  a  noble  strain  of  sentiment. 

*  Younger  brother  to  Lord  Walden,  and  afterwards  Earl  of  Berkshire. 


96 

Of  the  persons  commemorated,  some  were  unde- 
serving the  honour  of  the  Poet's  pen.  The  Editor 
having,  some  years  ago,  pubhshed  a  volume,  containing 
Memoirs  of  the  Peers  of  K.  James  I.  need  not  here  give 
the  history  or  character  of  these  worthies,  once  elevated 
by  their  merits  or  their  birth. 


"  OT[A  SACRA.     OPTIMA  FIDES. 

Deus  nobis  hcec  Ot'ia  fecit.     Virg. 

London,  printed  hy  Richard  Cotes,  l648." 
-  4to.  pp.  174. 

The  above  title  is  placed  on  the  top,  centre,  and 
margin,  of  an  engraved  frontispiece  by  W.  M.  [Wm. 
Marshall]  on  which  is  raised  a  column  to  Faith,  whose 
top  or  capital  extends  above  the  clouds.  This  has  the 
following  explanatory  verses  printed  opposite. 

Columna  Fidei. 

Our  senses  are  bewitch'd,  and  seem  to  grow 

So  to  the  creature,  and  on  things  below. 

That  all  our  busied  fancy  can  devise. 

Serves  more  to  sink  them  than  to  make  them  rise. 

For  out  of  sight  and  minde,  at  once  agree 

To  blindfold  Nature  from  Eternitie, 

And  leave  her  groveling  for  to  grasp  her  way 

Here,  in  this  transitor)'-  bed  of  clay. 

Till  Faith  steps  in  ;  and,  in  the  stead  of  wings. 

Unto  Belief  a  lofty  pillar  brings. 


S7 

Whereby  We  should  be  raised  up ;  and  thus 
Ascend  to  Him,  descended  once  for  us." 

Such  are  the  preHminaries  to  a  rare  and  unpubHshed 
vohime  of  sacred  poesy,  by  Mildmay  Fane,  Earl  of 
Westmoreland,  of  which  Lord  Orford  announces  a 
copy  to  be  preserved  in  the  library  of  Emanuel  College, 
Cambridge.  Some  account  of  the  noble  author  may  be 
seen  in  Mr.  Park's  edition  of  Lord  Orford's  catalogue.* 
His  book  is  embellished  with  three  plates  by  the  neat 
burin  of  Marshall,  and  several  symbolical  representa- 
tions of  different  fanciful  figures  :  a  species  of  wit  ri- 
diculed by  Dryden,  when  he  directed  the  attention  of 
Shadvvell  to  the  studious  cultivation  of  it,  in  his  satire 
of  Mac  Flecknoe,  in  these  lines  : 

Leave  writing  plays,  and  choose  for  thy  command 
Some  peaceful  province  in  acrostic  land  ; 
There  thou  mayst  wings  display,  and  altars  raise. 
And  torture  one  poor  word  ten  thousand  ways. 

That  Lord  Westmoreland  should  have  condescended 
to  adopt  this  enigmatic  mode  from  some  of  the  minor 
poets  of  his  day  is  to  be  regretted ;  as  his  mind  was 
superior  to  common  minds,  and  many  of  his  sentiments 
are  worthy  of  a  patrician  spirit.  Witness  the  following: 

Virtus  vera  Nobilitas. 

What  doth  he  get,  who  ere  prefers 
The  scutchions  of  his  ancesters  ? 
This  chimney-piece  of  gold  or  brass. 
That  coat  of  arms  blazon' d  in  glass : 

*  Vol.  iii.  p.  75. 
VOL.  II,  O 


98 

When  those  with  time  and  age  have  end. 

Thy  prowess  must  thyself  commend. 

The  smooty  shadows  of  some  one 

Or  others  trophies,  carv'd  in  stone  j 

Defac'd,  are  things  to  whet,  not  try. 

Thine  own  heroicism  by. 

For  cast  how  much  thy  merit's  score 

Falls  short  of  those  went  thee  before  ; 

By  so  much  art  thou  in  arrear. 

And  stain'st  gentility,  I  fear. 

True  Nobleness  doth  those  alone  engage. 

Who  can  add  Vertues  to  their  parentage  ! 

The  following  are  portions  of  a  very  pleasing  poem 
to  a  friend  :  and  exhibit  lucid  proof  that  his  Lordship 
drew  the  highest  of  human  enjoyments  from  its  genuine 
source. 

My  happy  Life. 

Dearest  in  fi'iendship  !  if  you'll  know 
Where  I  myself  and  how  bestow. 
Especially  when  as  I  range. 
Guided  by  nature,  to  love  change  j 
Believe  it  is  not  to  advance,      . 
Or  add  to  my  inheritance  ; 
Seeking  t'  engross  by  power  amiss. 
What  any  other  man  calls  his : 
But  full  contented  with  my  owne, 
I  let  all  other  things  alone ; 
Which  better  to  enjoy  'thout  strife, 
I  settle  to  a  country  life  : 
And  in  a  sweet  retirement  there. 
Cherish  all  hopes,  but  banish  fear ; 
Offending  none  :  so,  fbr  defence, 
Arm'd  cap  a  pee  with  innocence^ 


99 

I  do  dispose  of  my  time  thus. 
To  make  it  more  propitious. 

First,  my  God  serv'd,  I  doe  commend 
The  rest  to  some  choice  book,  or  friend. 
Wherein  I  may  such  treasure  finde 
T'  enrich  my  nobler  part,  the  minde : 
And,  that  my  body  health  comprise. 
Use  too  some  moderate  exercise. 
Whether  invited  to  the  field. 
To  see  what  pastime  that  can  yield. 
With  horse,  or  hound,  or  hawk,  or't  be 
More  taken  with  a  well-grown  tree. 
Under  whose  shades  I  may  reherse 
The  holy  layes  of  sacred  verse; 
Whilst  in  the  branches  pearched  higher. 
The  wing'd  crew  sit,  as  in  a  quier. 
This  seems  to  me  a  better  noise 
Than  organs,  or  the  dear-bought  voice 
From  pleader's  breath,  in  court  and  hall. 
At  any  time  is  stockt  withall. 
For  here  one  may,  if  marking  well. 
Observe  the  plaintive  Philomel 
Bemoan  her  son^ows ;  and  the  Thioish 
Plead  safety  through  defendant  bush. 
And  lest  authority  take  cold. 
Here's  th'  ivye's  guest  of  wonder,  th'  owl, 
Rufft  like  a  judge,  and  with  a  beak. 
As  it  would  give  the  charge,  and  speak. 
Nor  doe  I  bird  of  prey  inlist. 
But  what  I  carry  on  my  fist. 

These  calm  delights,  help'd  with  the  air 
Fann'd  from  the  branches  of  the  fair 
Old  beech  or  oak,  enchantments  tie 
To  every  senee'j  facultie ; 


100 

And  masters  all  those  powers^  should  give 

The  will  any  prerogative  : 

Yet,  when  the  scorching  noon-daye's  heat 

Incommodates  the  lowing  neat. 

Or  bleating  flock,  hither  each  one 

Hastes  to  be  my  companion. 

Thus  ravish'd,  as  the  night  draws  on 
Its  sable  curtain,  in  I'm  gone 
To  my  poor  cell ;  which,  'cause  'tis  mine, 
I  judge  it  doth  all  else  outshine. 
Hung  with  content,  and  weather-proof. 
Though  neither  pavement  nor  roof 
Borrow  from  marble- quarr  below. 
Or  from  those  hills  where  cedars  grow. 

Of  his   Lordship's  religious  poems  the   following 
may  afford  a  specimen  : 

Contemplatio  Diurna. 

When  we  behold  the  morning  dew 
Dissolve  i'  ih'  rising  sun  :  what  would  it  shew  ? 

But  that  a  Sun  to  us  did  rise 
Our  fathers'  hoary  sin  to  atomise : 

And  when  the  flowers  display'd  appear. 
To  entertain  the  mounting  chariotteer  ; 

What  would  they  speak,  in  that  fair  dress. 
But  man's  Redemption  out  of  wretchedness  ? 

For  the  shade-short' ning  noon  can  tell 
The  proud,  and  such  as  with  ambition  swell : 

That  whilst  upon  opinion's  wing 
They  seek  to  soar,  they  work  their  lessening. 

And  the  prognostick  western  set. 
May  our  conditions  rightly  counterfeit : 

For  if  we  rise,  shine  and  set  clear. 
The  day-star  from  on  high's  our  Comforter : 


101 

If  sin  becloud  us  as  we  fall. 
Our  next  dayes  rise  will  prove  our  funeraU. 

Et  quid  lachrymahilius. 

The  following  is  epigrammatically  marked. 

To  Man. 

Hard  hearted  man  !  what  canst  thou  say. 
That  thou  thyself  hast  turn'd  to  brick  thy  clayj 
But  that  thy  hopes  are  built  upon 
His  promise,  once  set  fountains  out  of  stone  : 
Wherefore,  to  sacrifice  to  God's  desire, 
Man's  heart  must  be  the  altar,  sighs  the  fire. 

At  p.  125.  a  Second  Part  of  the  Poems  com- 
mences, opposite  to  a  cut  by  Marshall,  which  seems  to 
represent  the  biforked  hill  of  Parnassus,  with  a  stream 
issuing  therefrom,  and  meandering  through  tiers  of 
woods  :  this  motto  is  placed  beneath, 


•tutus  in  umbra 


Silvestrem  tenui  Musam  meditatus  avena.     Virg. 

Then  succeeds  an  address  upon  this  part  of  his  book, 
and  title-page  of  the  former. 

Famulentur  prioribus. 

Thy  First  Part  bears  a  stamp  divine. 
And  so  may  pass  for  current  coin ; 
Though  Moraus  cark,  and  Zoilus  bark. 
Thou  art  preserv'd  as  in  an  Ark  : 
For  what  one  doth  by  Faith  apply. 
No  flood  of  envie  can  destroy. 

Yet  how  to  help  thee  at  a  lift. 
That  must  be  now  my  Second  drift : 


102 

For  seeing  thou  wilt  not  alone 
Come  forth,  but  be  attended  on  ; 
It's  fit  thy  servant  still  should  be 
Adorn'd  with  modest  loyaltie  : 
.   Such  as  the  hills  and  groves  and  brooks 
Afford  the  fancy,  'stead  of  books. 
And  help  contentedness  to  wade. 
Though  not  to  swim,  under  a  shade 
Of  such  security,  may  give, 
'Gainst  heat  and  cold  prerogative. 
Defence ;  where  no  time's  rayes  or  thunder 
Shall  blast  or  scorch  those  so  lie  under. 
But  who  themselves  in  peace  can  thus  read  o'er. 
Need  but  be  thankful,  and  ne'er  wish  for  more. 

From  this  Second  Part,  which  is  of  a  more  mixed 
character  than  the  former,  two  of  the  foregoing  poems 
are  extracted.  I  add  a  few  more :  since  each  will  he 
found  to  have  its  merit,  by  those  who  have  hearts. 

Occasioned  by  seeing  a  Walk  of  Bay-trees, 

No  thunder  blasts  Jove's  plant,  nor  can 
Misfortune  warp  an  honest  man. 
Shaken  he  may  be,  by  some  one 
Or  other  gust,  unleav'd  by  none. 
Though  tribulation's  sharp  and  keen. 
His  resolutions  keep  green  : 
And  whilst  integrity's  his  wall. 
His  year's  all  Spring,  and  hath  no  Pall, 

To  N,  B.  on  Angler. 

Thou,  that  dost  cast  into  the  silver  brook 

Thy  worm-fed  hook. 
The  greedier  fishes  so  to  cheat. 

Seeking  for  meat ; 


103 

Remember  that  Time's  wheel  will  bring 
Thy  deeds  to  censuring : 
And  then,  as  thou,  through  wile. 
Those  creatures  didst  beguile ; 
So  caught  thou'lt  be,  for  thy  deceit, 
And  made  the  food  for  thine  own  bait. 

Let  this  suffice  to  cause  thee  steer  aright. 

Both  day  and  night ; 
That  skilfully  avoyding  this. 
That  shelf  thou  miss. 
For  'tis  not  all,  for  to  repent 

Thy  youthfull  dayes  mispent  i 
But  care  must  now  be  had. 
The  future  be  not  bad  : 
And  as  thine  audit  waxeth  near. 
So  thy  accounts  make  perfecter. 

2b  the  Same :  for  his  Cvinpany. 

Friend  I  can  I  be  at  home,  and  you  the  same. 
Yet  neither  meet  ? 
The  curteous  flame  the  flame. 

And  streams  each  other  greet ; 
Although  it  seem  from  either  pole  they  came. 
Or  farther  stretch' d. 
Meridian  fetch'd. 
Surely  it  is  but  some  malignant  star. 
That  would  debar 
This  influence,  for  fear 
We  should  more  bright  appear : 
Souls  in  conjunction  frame  the  perfect' st  sphere  > 
So  I  to  you  must  move,  or  you  move  here. 


104 

SONNET  BY  MICHAEL -DRAYTON. 

The  following  Sonnet  by  Drayton  (uncollected 
by  his  Editors)  is  prefixed  to  "  The  tragicall  Death  of 
Sophonisba,  by  David  Murray,  Scoto-Brittaine,"  I6II : 
a  poem  in  seven-line  stanzas,  somewhat  on  the  model 
of  those  published  by  Baldwin,  in  the  "  Mirror  for 
Magistrates."  It  is  inscribed  to  Henry  Prince  of  Wales, 
in  two  Sonnets,  by  the  author.  Two  Sonnets  also  are 
addressed  to  his  cousin,  Mr.  John  Murray,  himself  a 
writer  of  Sonnets,  as  appears  from  a  MS.  in  the  Col- 
lege Library,  Edinburgh  ;  and  from  a  quatorzain  "  to 
his  loving  cousin,  David  Murray,"  which  precedes 
Drayton's. 

"  To  my  kind e  friend.  Da.  Murray. 

In  new  attire,  and  put  most  neatly  on. 

Thou,  Murray,  mak'st  thy  passionate  Queene  appeare. 

As  when  she  sat  on  tlie  Numidian  throne, 

Deck't  with  those  gems  that  most  refulgent  were. 

So  tliy  strong  Muse  her,  maker  like,  repaires. 

That  from  the  ruins  of  her  wasted  urne. 

Into  a  body  of  dehclous  ayres 

Againe  her  spirit  doth  transmigrated  turne. 

That  scortching  soile  which  thy  great  subject  bore. 

Bred  those  that  coldly  but  express'd  her  merit ; 

But  breathing  now  upon  our  colder  shore. 

Here  shee  hath  found  a  noble  fiery  spirit : 

Both  there  and  here,  so  fortunate  for  Fame, 

That  what  she  was,  she's  ever)-^  where  the  same. 

M.  Dkayton." 

f 


105 

"  A  Hyve  Full  ■<>■  of  Hnnnye.  -^  Contayning  the  Firste  -^ 
Bouke  of  Mosesy  called  -^  Genesis.  -^  Turned  into 
English  <>■  Meetre,  by  William  Hnnins,  one  -^  of  the 
Gent,  of  her  Maiesties  Chappell,  -^  and  Maister  to 
the  Children  •<>■  of  the  same.  <►  Seene  and  allowed,  ac- 
cording to  the  <>■  order  appointed.  ■<>•  Imprinted  <>■  at 
London  in  Fleetstreete,  neere  vnto  -^  Sainct  Dun- 
stane's  Church,  by  -^  Thomas  Marsh,  -^  1578.  <*• 
Cum  privilegio." 
4to.  fol.  132  * 

At  the  back  of  the  title  the  Bear  and  Ragged  Staff 
encircled  by  the  Garter. 

Dedicatory  Acrostic  to  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester. 

Dedicatory  Acrostic  of  the  Author's  own  name, 
"  To  the  Friendly  Reader." 

The  Author's  arms,  viz.  Withiti  a  border,  a  chevron 
ermine  between  thee  bee  hives.  Crest.  A  Saracen's 
head,  pierced  through  the  cheeks  with  a  Spear.  Under 
it,  eight  verses. 

Then  "  Thomas  Newton  m  commendation  of  this  his 
friend's  Travayle." 

Then  "  The  Argument  of  this  Book,"  beginning  : 

"  Thus  much  in  sum  the  present  work 
Of  Moyses  doth  declare. 
That  God,  the  world,  and  frame  of  things 
Which  therein  formed  are, 

•  See  Brit.  Bibliog.  ii.  G47. 
"VOL.  II.  p 


10.6 

Of  nothing  did  create,  and  make  : 

And  how  he  placed  man 
This  tabernacle  to  behold. 

And  wondrous  works  to  scan  : 
Who  viewing  these  his  gracious  gifts. 

Should  praise  his  holy  name. 
And  magnify  him  day  and  night. 

Entirely  for  the  same. 
But  man  forgetting  quite  himself, 

And  God,  that  rules  on  high. 
Committed  sin,  displeased  God, 

And  stumbled  wittingly. 
Who  thro'  his  disobedience 

Enthrall'd  himself  in  woe. 
And  fell  from  God,  from  whom  to  him 

So  many  gifts  did  flow. 
This  notwithstanding,  God  our  Lord 

For  his  great  goodness'  sake. 
Did  him  to  life  restore  again. 

And  unto  mercy  take. 
And  him  confirmed  in  the  same 

By  Christ  the  promis'd  seed  ; 
By  whom  he  Satan  vanquish  should. 

Death,  Hell,  and  doleful  dread." 


"  Seuen  Sobs  of  a  Sor-  0  rozefull  Soule  for  <&  Sinne :  <& 
Comprehending  ^  those  seueii  Psalmes  oftheOPrince- 
lie  Prophet  David,  <&  commonlie  called  Panitenti-  <3> 
all;  (^framed  into  a  forme  of  famili-  <3>  ar  praiers^ 
and  reduced  into  meeter  O  by  William  Hunnis,  one 
of  <S>  the  Gentlemen  of  hir  Maiesties  <&  honourable 
Chapell,  and  0  maister  to  the  children  <S>  of  the 
same,  <&  Jf  hereunto  are  also  annexed  <^  his  handfull of 


107 

Homsuckles ;  0  The  Poore  Widowers  Blite ;  a  D'ia» 
0  log  betweene  Christ  and  a  si?i-  0  ner ;  divers  god- 
lie  and  pithie  ditties,  O  with  a  Christian  confession  of 
0  and  to  the  Trinitie ;  new-  0  lie  printed  and  0  aug- 
men-  0  ted.  O  1585." 

Small  ]£mo.  pp.  84—92. 

Colophon — ''  1585.  At  London,  printed  in  the  now 
dwelling  house  of  Henrie  Denham,  in  Aldersgate-  Street, 
at  the  signe  of  the  star  re. 

Cum  privilegio  RegitB  Maiestatis  ad  imprimendum 
solum.* 

The  Seven  Sobs  end  at  p.  85.  Then  a  new  title 
within  a  border  of  "  A  Handfull  of  Ilonisuckles,"  &c. 
"  Newlie  printed  by  Henrie  Denham,  1585."  This  also 
commences  a  new  paging. 

At  p.  27,  a  third  title,  viz.  "  The  Poore  Widowe's 
Mite,"  S^c. 

At  p.  49,  a  fourth  title,  viz.  "  Comfortable  Dia- 
logs," &c. 

At  p.  67  begin  Prayers  in  prose. 

The  whole  ends  at  p.  92. 

The  Seven  Sobs  are  dedicated  to  Frances  Countess 
of  Sussex ;  and  The  Widow's  Mite  to  the  Queen. 

The  following  stanzas  are  extracted  at  hazard  as  a 
specimen  of  the  Seven  Sobs. 

*'  Thou  God,  that  God  art  of  my  health. 
Deliver  me,  I  pray, 

*  See  an  account  of  an  Edition  in  1615,  in  Brit.  Bib.  II.  90. 


108 

From  sin  that  I  committed  have 

Against  thee  day  by  day. 
A  multitude  of  sins  there  be. 

From  flesh  and  blood  that  grow. 
Which  I  from  my  concupiscence 

Have  daily  done,  I  know. 
And  this  corruption  is  in  me 

By  nature,  as  I  find ; 
For  what  is  he  can  make  that  clean. 

That  is  unclean  by  kind  ? 
How  can  a  man  of  woman  born 

Be  clean  ?  I  fain  would  know  j 
The  child  that  is  but  one  day  old. 

Is  yet  unclean  also. 
Thus  flesh  and  blood  such  works  bring  forth. 

As  ay  corrupted  be  j 
And  therefore  cannot  heaven  enjoy  j 

Ne  dwell  and  reign  with  thee. 
And  from  these  bloods  deliver  me. 

And  all  my  sins  deface. 
Then,  Lord,  shall  I  be  purgid  clean 

From  all  my  wickedness : 
Which  grant,  good  Lord ;  so  shall  ray  tongue 

Exalt  thy  righteousness : 
In  that  thou  mercy  shew'st  to  me. 

Being  a  wicked  man. 
Giving  me  grace  pensive  to  be. 

My  grievous  sins  to  scan. 
Making  me  just,  that  am  unjust. 

Wherein  thou  God  art  found. 
In  mercy,  truth,  and  righteousness. 

Most  perfect,  sure,  and  sound." 
&c. 


109 

From  The  Handfull  of  Honisuckles. 

'*■  O  Jesu,  oft  it  grieve th  me. 

And  troubleth  sore  my  mind. 
That  I  so  weak  and  frail  am  found. 
To  wander  with  the  blind. 

O  Jesu  dear,  thou  lasting  light. 
Whose  brightness  doth  excell. 

The  clearness  of  thy  beams  send  down, 
Within  my  heart  to  dwell, 

O  Jesu,  quicken  thou  my  soul. 

That  it  may  cleave  to  thee  ; 
And  for  thy  painful  passion  sake. 

Have  mercy  now  on  me. 

Amen.' 

Another. 

*'  A  meditation  zchen  ye  go  to  bed. 

"  O  Lord  my  God,  I  wander' d  have. 
As  one  that  runs  astray. 
And  have  in  thought,  in  word,  and  deed. 
In  idleness,  and  play. 

Offended  sore  thy  Majesty, 

In  heaping  sin  to  sin ; 
And  yet  thy  mercy  hath  me  spar'd. 

So  gracious  hast  thou  been. 

O  Lord,  my  faults  I  now  confess, 

And  sorry  am  therefore ; 
But  not  so  much  as  fain  I  would ; 

O  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  more  ? 


no 

It  is  thy  grace  must  bring  that  spirit, 

For  which  I  humbly  pray  ; 
And  that  this  night  thou  me  defend. 

As  thou  hast  done  this  day. 

And  grant,  when  these  mine  eyes  and  tongue 

Shall  fail  thro'  nature's  might. 
That  then  the  powers  of  my  poor  soul 

May  praise  thee  day  and  night.     Amen. 

« 
The  Widow's  Mite  is  exactly  in  the  same  stile  and 

form,  and  consists  of  meditations,  and  a  paraphrase  of 

the  Lord's  Prayer. 

A  Specimen. 

"  The  3  Meditation. 

^'  Before  thy  face,  and  in  thy  sight 

Have  I,  devoid  of  shame, 
O  Lord,  transgressed  willingly ; 

I  do  confess  the  same  : 
Yet  was  1  loth  that  men  should  knou , 

Or  understand  my  fall : 
Thus  feard  I  man  much  more  than  thee. 

Thou  righteous  Judge  of  all. 
So  blind  was  I  and  ignorant. 

Yea  rather  wilful  blind. 
That  suck'd  the  comb,  and  knew  the  bee 

Had  left  the  sting  behind. 
My  sins,  O  God,  to  thee  art  known ) 

There  is  no  secret  place. 
Where  I  may  hide  myself  or  them. 

From  presence  of  thy  face. 
Where  shall  I  then  myself  bestow  ? 

Or  who  shall  me  defend  ? 


Ill 

None  is  so  loving  as  my  God ; 

Thy  mercies  have  no  end. 
Indeed  I  grants  and  do  confess 

My  sins  so  heinous  be. 
As  mercy  none  at  all  deserves  : 

But  yet  thy  property 
Is  always  to  be  merciful 

To  sinners  in  distress  ; 
Whereby  thou  wilt  declare  and  shew 

Thy  great  almightiness. 
Have  mercy.  Lord,  on  me  therefore. 

For  thy  great  mercy's  sake ; 
Which  cam'st  not  righteous  men  to  call. 

But  sinners'  part  to  take." 


Sonnet  by  Michael  Drayton,  before  The  Holy 
Roode  or  Christ's  Crosse  of  John  Davies  of  Here- 
ford, 1609.* 

Such  men  as  hold  intelligence  with  Letters, 
And  in  that  nice  and  narrow  way  of  verse 
As  oft  they  lend,  so  oft  they  must  be  debtors. 
If  with  the  Muses  they  will  have  commerce. 

Seldom  at  stalls  me  this  way  men  rehearse 
To  mine  inferiors,  nor  unto  my  betters  : 
He  stales  his  lines,  that  so  doth  them  disperse  : 
I  am  so  free  I  love  not  golden  fetters  j 

And  many  lines  'fore  writers  be  but  setters 

To  them  which  cheat  with  papers  ;  which  doth  pierce 
Or  credits :  when  we  shew  ourselves  abetters 

To  those  that  wrong  our  knowledge  :  we  rehearse 
Often,  my  good  John,  and  I  love,  thy  letters ; 
Which  lend  me  credit,  as  I  lend  my  verse. 
*  London,  prinjed  by  John  Windet,  for  Nathaniel  Butter,  1609. 


112 

"  Hero  and  ^  Leander :    M   Begwine  hy  Christopher 
Marloe,  M  and  Jinished  hy  George  Chapman,  M. 

Ui  Nectar,  ingenium. 

At  London,  M  imprinted  for  John  Flasket,  and  are 
to  he  M  sold  in  Pauleys  Church-yard^  at  the,  signe  U  of 
the  blacke  Beare,  M  ]60G. 


4to.  sig.  M  4. 


'-Sc^S**** 


The  two  first  Sestjads  were  translated  by  Marlow ; 
the  rest  by  Chapman. 

It  is  dedicated  to  Sir  Thomas  Walsingham,  Knight, 
in  these  words : 

"  S>\y,  we  think  not  ourselves  discharged  of  the  duty  we 
owe  to  our  friend,  when  we  have  brought  the  breathless  body 
to  the  earth  :  for  albeit  the  eye  there  taketh  his  ever- farewell 
of  that  beloved  object,  yet  the  impression  of  the  man,  that 
hath  been  dear  unto  us,  living  an  after  life  in  our  memor)^  there 
putteth  us  in  mind  of  further  obsequies  due  unto  the  deceased. 
And  namely  of  the  performance  of  whatsoever  we  may  judge 
shall  make  to  his  living  credit,  and  to  the  affecting  of  his  deter- 
minations prevented  by  the  stroke  of  death.  By  these  medi- 
tations, as  by  an  intellectual  will,  I  suppose  myself  executor 
to  the  unhappy  deceased  author  of  this  poem,  upon  whom 
knowing  that  in  his  life  time  you  bestowed  many  kind  favours, 
entertaining  the  parts  of  reckoning  and  worth  which  you  found 
in  him,  with  good  countenance,  and  liberal  affection  :  I  cannot 
but  see  so  far  into  the  will  of  him  dead,  that  whatsoever  issue  of 
his  brain  should  chance  to  come  abroad,  that  the  first  breath  it 
should  take  might  be  tlie  gentle  air  of  your  liking:   for  since 


113 

his  self  had  been  accustomed  thereunto,  it  would  prove  more 
agieeable  and  thriving  to  his  right  children,  then  any  other 
foster  countenance  whatsoever.  At  this  time  seeing  that  this 
unfinished  Tragedy  happens  under  my  hands  to  be  imprinted  ; 
of  a  double  duty,  the  one  to  yourself,  the  other  to  tlie  deceased, 
I  present  the  same  to  your  most  favourable  allowance,  to  be 
ready  at  your  worship's  disposing. 

E.  B." 

The  following  is  the  commencement  of  this  trans- 
lation ; 

"  Hero  and  Leander. 

The  Argument  of  the  First  Sestyad. 

Hero's  description,  and  her  loves. 
The  Fane  of  Venus ;  where  he  movet 
His  worthy  love-suit,  and  attains  j 
Whose  bliss  the  lorath  of  Fates  restrains. 
For  Cupid's  grace  to  Mercury, 
Which  tale  the  author  doth  imply. 

On  Hellespont  guilty  of  true  love's  blood. 
In  view  and  opposite  two  cities  stood. 
Sea-borders,  disjoined  by  Neptune's  might : 
The  one  Abydos,  th'  otlier  Sestos  hight. 
At  Sestos  Hero  dwelt;   Hero  the  fair. 
Whom  young  Apollo  courted  for  her  hair  j 
And  ofFer'd  as  a  dower  his  burning  throne. 
Where  she  should  sit  for  men  to  gaze  upon. 
The  outside  of  her  garments  were  of  lawn ; 
The  lining,  purple  silk,  with  gilt  stars  drawn. 
Her  wide  sleeves  green,  and  border' d  with  a  grove, 
Where  Venus  in  her  naked  glory  strove 

VOL.    II.  O 


To  please  the  careless  and  disdainful  eyes 

Of  proud  Adonis,  that  before  her  lies  j 

Her  kirtle  blue,  whereon  was  many  a  stain, 

Made  with  the  blood  of  wretched  lovers  slain. 

Upon  her  head  she  wore  a  myrtle  wreath, 

From  whence  her  veil  reach'd  to  the  ground  beneath. 

Her  veil  was  artificial  flowers  and  leaves. 

Whose  workmanship  both  man  and  beast  deceives. 

Many  would  praise  the  sweet  smell  as  she  past. 

When  'twas  the  odour  which  her  breath  forth  cast. 

And  these  for  honey  bees  have  sought  in  vain, 

And  beat  from  thence,  have  lighted  there  again. 

About  her  neck  hung  chains  of  pebble  stone. 

Which  lightned  by  her  neck  like  diamonds  shone- 

She  ware  no  gloves ;  for  neither  sun  nor  wind 

Would  burn  or  parch  her  hands  but  to  her  mind  i 

Or  warm  or  cool  them,  for  they  took  delight 

To  play  upon  those  hands,  they  were  so  white. 

Buskets  of  shells,  all  silver' d,  used  she; 

And  branch' d  with  blushing  coral  to  the  knee  ; 

Where  sparro^vs  perch' d,  of  hollow  pearl  and  gold. 

Such  as  the  world  would  wonder  to  behold : 

Those  with  sweet  water  oft  her  handmaid  fills. 

Which,  as  she  went,  would  chirrup  thro'  the  bills. 

Some  say,  for  her  the  fairest  Cupid  pin'd. 

And  looking  in  her  face  was  stricken  blind. 

But  this  is  true ;  so  like  was  one  the  other. 

As  he  imagin'd  Hero  was  his  mother : 

And  oftentimes  into  her  bosom  flew  j 

About  her  naked  neck  his  bare  arms  threw  j 

And  laid  his  childish  head  upon  her  breast. 

And  with  stUl  panting  rock  there  took  his  rest. 

So  loi'ely  fair  was  Hero,  Venus'  nun. 

As  nature  wept,  thinking  she  was  undone. 


115 

Because  she  took  more  from  her  than  she  left  j 

And  of  such  wondrous  beauty  her  bereft : 

Therefore  in  sign  her  treasure  suffer'd  wreck. 

Since  Hero's  time  hath  half  the  world  been  black. 

Amorous  Leandfr,  beautifid  and  young, 

(Whose  tragedy  divine  Musaeus  sung) 

Dwelt  at  Abydos,  since  him  dwelt  there  none. 

For  whom  succeeding  times  may  greater  moan. 

His  daughter  s  tresses,  that  were  never  shorn. 

Had  they  been  cut,  and  unto  Colchos  borne. 

Would  have  allur'd  the  ventrous  youth  of  Greece, 

To  hazard  more  than  for  the  golden  fleece. 

Fair  Cynthia  wish'd  his  arms  might  be  her  sphere ; 

Grief  makes  her  pale,  because  she  moves  not  there. 

His  body  was  as  strait  as  Circe's  wand } 

Jove  might  have  sipp'd  out  nectar  from  his  hand. 

Even  as  delicious  meat  is  to  the  taste. 

So  was  his  neck  in  touching,  and  surpast 

The  white  of  Pelops'  shoulder ;  I  could  tell  ye. 

How  smooth  his  breast  was,  and  how  white  his  belly  j 

And  whose  immortal  fingers  did  imprint 

That  heavenly  path  with  many  a  curious  dint. 

That  runs  along  his  back  ;  but  my  rude  pen 

Can  hardly  blazon  forth  the  loves  of  men ; 

Much  less  of  powerful  Gods  :   let  it  suffice. 

That  my  slack  Muse  sings  of  Leander's  eyes. 

Those  orient  cheeks  and  lips  exceeding  his. 

That  leap'd  into  the  water  for  a  kiss 

Of  his  own  shadow,  and  despising  many,  ■ 

Died  ere  he  could  enjoy  the  love  of  any. 

Had  wild  Hippolitus  Leander  seen, 

Enamour'd  of  his  beauty  had  he  been ; 

His  presence  made  the  rudest  peasant  melt, 

That  in  the  vast  iiplandish  country  dwelt ; 


116 

The  barbarous  Thracian  soldier  mov'd  with  nought, ' 

Was  moV'd  with  him,  and  for  his  favour  sought. 

Some  swore  he  was  a  maid  in  man's  attire. 

For  in  his  looks  were  all  that  men  desire  j 

A  pleasant  smiling  cheek,  a  speaking  eye, 

A  brow  for  love  to  banquet  royally ; 

And  such  as  knew  he  was  a  man,  would  say, 

*'  Leander,  thou  art  made  for  amorous  play  : 

Why  art  thou  not  in  love  ?  and  lov'd  of  all  ? 

Though  thou  be  fair,  yet  be  not  thine  own  thrall." 

The  men  of  wealthy  Sestos  every  year. 
For  his  sake  whom  their  Goddess  held  so  dear, 
Rose-cheek'd  Adonis,  kept  a  solemn  feast ; 
Thither  resorted  many  a  wander'd  guest. 
To  meet  their  loves  :  such  as  had  none  at  all. 
Came  lovers  home  from  this  great  festival. 
For  every  street  like  to  a  firmament, 
Glister'd  with  breathing  stars,  wlio  where  they  went. 
Frighted  the  melancholy  earth,  which  deem'd 
Eternal  heaven  to  burn,  for  so  it  seem  d. 
As  if  another  Phaeton  had  got 
The  guidance  of  the  sun'?  rich  chariot. 
But  far  above  the  loveliest.  Hero  shin'd. 
And  stole  away  the  enchanted  gazer's  mind  j 
For,  like  Sea  Nymphs,  inveigling  harmony. 
So  was  her  beauty  to  the  standers  by. 
Not  that  night'wandring,  pale,  and  watry  star. 
When  yawning  dragons  draw  her  whirling  car. 
From  Latmos*  mount  up  to  the  gloomy  sky,    ^ 
Where  crown' d  with  blazing  light  a^id  majesty. 
She  proudly  sits,  more  over-mles  the  flood. 
Than  she  the  hearts  of  those  that  near  her  stood. 
E'en  as  when  gaudy  nymphs  pursue  the  chase. 
Wretched  Ixiou's  shaggy-footed  race. 


^17 


•'.?*j 


Incenst  with  savage  heat,  gallop  amain 

From  steep  pine-bearing  mountains  to  the  plain  j 

So  ran  the  people  forth  to  gaze  upon  her. 

And  all  that  view'd  her  were  enamour'd  on  her. 

And  as  in  fury  of  a  dreadful  fight. 

Their  fellows  being  slain,  or  put  to  flight. 

Poor  soldiers  stand  with  fear  of  death  dead  strucken, 

So  at  her  presence  ail  surpris'd  and  tooken. 

Await  the  sentence  of  her  scomftil  eyes  : 

He  whom  she  favours,  lives ;  the  other  dies. 

There  might  you  see  one  sigh  j  another  rage ; 

And  some,  their  violent  passions  to  assuage. 

Compile  sharp  satires ;  but,  alas,  too  late : 

For  faithful  love  will  never  turn  to  hate. 

And  many  seeing  great  Princes  were  denied, 

Pin'd  as  they  went,  and  thinking  on  her  died. 

On  this  feast-day,  O  cursed  day  and  hour. 

Went  Hero  thorough  Sestos,  from  her  tower 

To  Venus'  temple,  where  unhappily. 

As  after  chanc'd,  they  did  each  other  spy. 

So  fair  a  church  as  this  had  Venus  none ; 

The  walls  were  of  discolour'd  jasper  stone. 

Wherein  was  Proteus  carv'd ;  and  over  head 

A  lively  vine  of  green  sea-aggat  spread. 

Where  by  one  hand  light-headed  Bacchus  hung. 

And  with  the  other  wine  from  grapes  outwrxing. 

Of  christal  shining  fair  the  pavement  was ; 

The  town  of  Sestos  calld  it  Venus'  glass  : 

There  might  you  see  the  Gods  in  sundry  shapes. 

Committing  heady  riots,  incests,  rapes : 

For  know,  that  underneath  this  radiant  flowe 

Was  Danae's  statue  in  a  brazen  tower : 

Jove  slyly  stealing  from  his  sister's  bed. 

To  dally  with  Idaiian  Ganymede : 


118 

And  for  his  love  Europa  bellowing  lowd. 

And  tumbling  with  the  rainbow  in  a  cloud. 

Blood-quaffing  Mars,  heaving  the  iron  net. 

Which  limping  Vulcan  and  his  Cyclops  set : 

Love  kindling  fire,  to  burn  such  towns  as  Troy ; 

Sylvanus  weeping  for  the  lovely  boy. 

That  now  is  turn'd  into  a  cypress  tree. 

Under  whose  shade  the  Wood-Gods  love  to  be. 

And  in  the  midst  a  silver  altar  stood ; 

There,  Hero  sacrificing  turtles'  blood, 

Tail'd  to  the  ground,  veiling  her  eyelids  close  j 

And  modestly  they  open'd  as  she  rose : 

Thence  flew  Love's  arrow  with  the  golden  head ; 

And  thus  Leander  was  enamoured. 

Stone  still  he  stood,  and  evermore  he  gaz'd. 

Till  with  the  fire,  that  from  his  countenance  blaz'd. 

Relenting  Hero's  gentle  heart  was  struck : 

Such  force  and  virtue  hath  an  amorous  look. 

It  lies  not  in  our  power  to  love  or  hate. 
For  will  in  us  is  over-rul'd  by  fate. 
When  two  are  stript  long  ere  the  course  begin. 
We  wish  that  one  should  lose,  the  other  win. 
And  one  especially  do  we  affect 
Of  two  gold  ingots,  like  in  each  respect : 
The  reason  no  man  knows ;  let  it  suffice. 
What  we  behold  is  censur'd  by  our  eyes. 
Where  both  deliberate  the  love  is  slight : 
Who  ever  lov'd,  that  lov'd  not  at  first  sight  ? 

He  kneel'd ;  but  unto  her  devoutly  pray'd  : 
Chaste  Hero  to  herself  thus  softly  said  : 
'*  Were  I  the  saint  he  worships,  I  would  hear  him  :" 
And  as  she  spake  those  words,  came  somewhat  near  him. 
He  started  up ;  she  blush'd  as  one  asham'd  j 
Wherewith  Leander  much  more  was  inflam'd. 


119 

He  touch'd  her  hand ;  in  touching  it  she  trembledj 

Love  deeply  grounded,  hardly  is  dissembled. 

These  lovers  parled  by  the  touch  of  hands  j 

True  love  is  mute ;  and  oft  amazed  stands. 

Thus  while  dumb  signs  their  yielding  hearts  entangled. 

The  air  with  sparks  of  living  fire  was  spangled  > 

And  night  deep-drench'd  in  misty  Acheron, 

Heav'd  up  her  head,  and  half  the  world  upon, 

Breath'd  darkness  forth  ;   (dark  night  is  Cupid's  day) 

And  now  begins  Leander  to  display 

Love's  holy  fire,  with  words,  with  sighs,  and  tears, 

Which  like  sweet  music  enter'd  Hero's  ears : 

And  yet  at  every  word  she  turn'd  aside. 

And  always  cut  him  off,  as  he  replied. 

At  last,  like  to  a  bold,  sharp  sophister. 

With  cheerful  hope  thus  he  accosted  her : 

"  Fair  Creature,  let  me  speak  without  offence  : 
I  would  my  rude  words  had  the  influence        ^ 
To  lead  thy  thoughts  as  thy  fair  looks  do  mine} 
Then  shouldst  thou  be  his  prisoner,  who  is  thine. 
Be  not  unkind  and  fair ;  misliapen  stuff 
Are  of  behaviour  boisterous  and  rough. 
O  shun  me  not ;  but  hear  me  ere  you  go  : 
God  knows,  I  cannot  force  love,  as  you  do. 
My  words  shall  be  as  spotless  as  my  youth. 
Full  of  simplicity  and  naked  truth. 
This  sacrifice,  whose  sweet  perfume  descending. 
From  Venus'  altar  to  your  footsteps  bending. 
Doth  testify  that  you  exceed  her  far. 
To  whom  you  offer,  and  whose  nun  you  are. 
Why  should  you  worship  her  ?    Her  you  surpass. 
As  much  as  sparkling  diamonds  flaring  glass. 
A  diamond  set  in  lead  his  worth  retains ; 
A  heavenly  nymph,  belov'd  of  human  swains. 


120 

Receives  no  blemish ;  but  ofttimes  more  grace ,' 

Which  makes  me  hope,  although  I  am  but  base. 

Ease  in  respect  of  thee,  divine  and  pure. 

Dutiful  service  may  thy  love  procure  j 

Aod  I  in  duty  will  excell  all  other. 

As  thou  in  beauty  dost  exceed  Love's  mother. 

Nor  heaven,  nor  thou,  were  made  to  gaze  upon  ; 

As  heaven  preserves  all  things,  so  save  thou  one. 

A  stately  builded  ship,  well-rigg'd  and  tall. 

The  ocean  maketh  more  majestical- 

Why  vovv'st  thou  then  to  live  in  Sestos  here. 

Who  on  Love's  seas  more  glorious  wouldst  appear  ? 

Like  untun'd  golden  strings  all  women  are. 

Which  long  time  lie  untouch'd,  will  quickly  jar. 

Vessels  of  brass,  oft  handled,  brightly  shine ; 

What  difference  betwixt  the  richest  mine. 

And  basest  mould  but  use  ?    For  both,  not  us'd. 

Are  of  like  worth.     Then  treasure  is  abus'd. 

When  misers  keep  it ;  being  put  to  loan. 

In  time  it  will  return  us  two  for  one. 

Rich  robes  themselves  and  others  do  adorn ; 

Neither  themselves  nor  others,  if  not  worn. 

Who  builds  a  palace,  and  rams  up  the  gate. 

Shall  see  it  ruinous  and  desolate  : 

Ah,  simple  Hero,  learn  thyself  to  cherish. 

Lone  women  like  to  empty  houses  perish. 

Less  since  the  poor  rich  man,  that  starves  himself. 

In  heaping  u  a  mass  of  drossy  pelf. 

Than  such  as  you  :  his  golden  earth  remains. 

Which  after  his  decease  some  other  gains. 

But  this  fair  gem,  sweet  in  the  loss  alone. 

When  you  fleet  hence,  can  be  bequeath'd  to  none  j 

Or  if  it  could,  down  from  the'  enamel' d  sky. 

All  heaven  would  come  to  claim  this  legacy  > 


121 

And  with  intestine  broils  the  'wx)rld  destroy. 

And  quite  confound  nature's  sweet  harmony. 

Well  therefore  by  the  Gods  decreed  it  is. 

We  human  creatures  should  enjoy  that  bliss. 

One  is  no  number ;  maids  are  nothing  then. 

Without  the  sweet  society  of  men. 

Wilt  thou  live  single  still  ?  one  shalt  thou  be. 

Though  never  singling  Hymen  couple  thee. 

Wild  savages,  that  drink  of  running  springs. 

Think  water  far  excells  all  earthly  things  : 

But  they,  that  daily  taste  neat  wines,  despise  it. 

Virginity,  albeit  some  highly  prize  it, 

Compar'd  with  marriage,  had  you  tried  them  both. 

Differs  as  much  as  wine  and  water  doth. 

Base  bullion  for  the  stamp's  sake  we  allow ; 

E'en  so  for  men's  impression  do  we  you. 

By  which  alone  our  reverend  fathers  say. 

Women  receive  perfection  every  way. 

This  idol,  which  you  term  virginity. 

Is  neither  essence  subject  to  the  eye ; 

No,  nor  to  any  one  exterior  sense. 

Nor  hath  it  any  place  of  residence  j 

Nor  is't  of  earth  or  mould  celestial. 

Or  capable  of  any  form  at  all.) 

Of  that  which  hath  no  being,  do  not  boast ; 

Things  that  are  not  at  all,,  are  never  lost. 

Men  foohshly  do  call  it  virtuous. 

What  virtue  is  it,  that  is  born  with  us  ? 

Much  less  can  honour  be  ascrib'd  thereto  : 

Honour  is  purchas'd  by  the  deeds  we  do. 

Believe  me.  Hero,  honour  is  not  won. 

Until  some  honourable  deed  be  done. 

Seek  you  for  chastity  immortal  fame  j 

And  know  that  some  have  robb'd  Diana's  name  ? 

VOL.  II.  R 


122 

Y\^hose  name  is  it,  if  she  be  false  or  not. 

So  she  be  fan",  but  some  vile  tongues  will  blot  ? 

But  you  are  fair,  ah  me,  so  wondrous  fair. 

So  young,  so  gentle,  and  so  debonair. 

As  Greece  w'dl  think,  if  thus  you  live  alone. 

Some  one  or  other  keeps  you  as  his  own. 

Then,  Hero,  hate  me  not,  nor  from  me  fly. 

To  follow  swiftly  blasting  infamy. 

Perhaps  thy  sacred  priesthood  makes  thee  loth  : 

Tell  me,  to  whom  mad'st  thou  that  heedless  oath  V 

"  To  Venus,"  answer'd  shej  and  as  she  spake. 
Forth  from  those  two  translucent  cisterns  brake 
A  stream  of  liquid  pearl,  which  down  her  face 
Made  milk-white  paths,  whereon  the  Gods  might  trace 
To  Jove's  high  court.     He  thus  replied  :  "  The  rites 
In  which  Love's  beauteous  Empress  most  delights. 
Are  banquets,  Doric  music,  midnight  revel, 
Plays,  masks,  and  all  that  stern  age  counteth  evil. 
Thee  as  a  holy  ideot  doth  she  scorn  ; 
For  thou,  in  vowing  chastity,  hast  sworn 
To  rob  her  name  and  honour,  and  thereby 
Commit'st  a  sin  far  worse  than  perjuiy. 
E'en  sacrilege  against  her  deity. 
Thro'  regular  and  formal  purity. 
To  expiate  which  sin,  kiss,  and  shake  hands ; 
Such  sacrifice  as  this  Venus  demands." 

Thereat  she  smil'd,  and  did  deny  him  so. 
As  but  thereby,  yet  might  he  hope  for  mo. 
Which  makes  him  quickly  re-inforce  his  speech. 
And  her  in  humble  manner  thus  beseech  : 

"  Though  neither  Gods  nor  men  may  thee  deserve, 
Yet  for  her  sake,  whom  you  have  vow'd  to  serve. 
Abandon  fruitless  cold  virginity. 
The  gentle  Queen  of  Love's  sole  enemy. 


i£: 


Then  shall  you  most  resemble  Venus*  Nun, 

When  Venus'  sweet  rites  are  perform' d  and  done. 

Flint-breasted  Pallas  joys  in  single  life  ; 

But  Pallas  and  your  mistress  are  at  strife. 

Love  Hero  then,  and  be  not  tyrannous  ; 

But  heal  the  heart  that  thou  hast  wounded  thus  ; 

Nor  stain  thy  youthful  years  with  avarice ; 

Fair  fools  delight  to  be  accounted  nice. 

The  richest  corn  dies,  if  it  be  not  reap'd  j 

Beauty  alone  is  lost,  too  warily  kept." 

These  arguments  he  us'd,  and  many  more ; 

Wherewith  she  yielded,  that  was  won  before. 

Hero's  looks  yielded,  but  her  words  made  war ; 

Women  are  won  when  they  begin  to  jar. 

Thus  having  swallow'd  Cupids  golden  hook. 

The  more  she  striv'd,  the  deeper  was  she  struck. 

Yet  idly  feigning  anger,  strove  she  stiU, 

And  would  be  thought  to  grant  against  her  will. 

So  having  paus'd  awhile,  at  last  she  said, 

"  Who.  taught  thee  rhetorick  to  deceive  a  maid  ? 

Ah  me  !   such  words  as  these  should  I  abhor  ? 

And  yet  I  like  them  for  the  orator." 

With  that  Leander  stoop'd,  to  have  imbrac'd  her. 

But  from  his  spreading  arms  away  she  cast  her. 

And  thus  bespake  him  :   "  Gentle  youth,  forbear 

To  touch  the  sacred  garments  which  I  wear." 

**  Upon  a  rock,  and  underneath  a  hill. 
Far  from  the  town,  where  all  is  whist  and  still. 
Save  that  the  sea,  playing  on  yellow  sand. 
Sends  forth  a  ratling  murmur  to  tlie  land. 
Whose  sovind  allures  the  golden  Morpheus, 
In  silence  of  the  night  to  visit  us. 
My  turret  stands,  and  there  God  knows,  I  play 
With  Venus'  swans  and  sparrows  all  the  day. 


A  dwarfish  beldam  bears  me  company, 

That  hops  about  the  chamber  where  I  he. 

And  spends  the  night,  that  might  be  better  spent. 

In  vain  discourse  and  apish  merriment : 

Come  thither  ! "    As  she  spake  this,  her  tongue  trip'd  ; 

For  unawares.  Come  thither,  from  her  shp'dj 

And  suddenly  her  former  colour  chang'd. 

And  here  and  there  her  eyes  thro'  anger  rang'd ; 

And  like  a  planet  moving  several  ways 

At  one  self  instant,  she,  poor  soul,  essays. 

Loving,  not  to  love  at  all,  and  every  part 

Strove  to  resist  the  motions  of  her  heart : 

And  hands  so  pure,  so  innocent,  nay  such 

As  might  have  made  heaven  stoop  to  have  a  touchy 

Did  she  uphold  to  Venus,  and  again 

A^'ow'd  spotless  chastity,  but  aU  in  vain  : 

Cupid  beats  down  her  prayers  with  his  wings  j 

Her  vows  above  the  empty  air  he  flings  : 

All  deep  enrag'd,  his  sinewy  bow  he  bent. 

And  shot  a  shaft  that  burning  from  him^went  j 

Wherewith  she  strucken,  look'd  so  dolefully. 

As  made  Love  sigh  to  see  his  tyranny. 

And  as  she  wept,  her  tears  to  pearl  he  turn'd. 

And  wound  them  on  his  arm,  and  for  her  mourn'd  j 

Then  towards  the  palace  of  the  Destinies, 

Laden  with  languishment  and  grief,  he  flies. 

And  to  those  stern  nymphs  humbly  made  request. 

Both  might  enjoy  each  other,  and  be  blest ; 

But  with  a  ghastly  dreadful  countenance. 

Threatening  a  thousand  deaths  at  every  glance. 

They  answer' d  Love,  nor  would  vouchsafe  so  much 

As  one  poor  word,  their  hate  to  him  was  such. 

Hearken,  awhile,  and  I  will  tell  you  why  : 

Heaven's  wing'd  Herald,  Jove-born  Mercur\% 


]25 

The  self-same  day  tliat  he  asleep  had  laid 
Inchanted  Argas^  spied  a  country  maid. 
Whose  careless  hair,  instead  of  pearl  to'  adorn  it. 
Glister' d  with  dew,  as  one  that  seem'd  to  scorn  it : 
Her  breath,  as  fragrant  as  the  morning  rose ; 
Her  mind  pure,  and  her  tongue  untaught  to  glose  : 
Yet  proud  she  was,  for  lofty  Pride  that  dwells 
In  towered  courts,  is  oft  in  shepherds'  cells  j 
And  too  too  well  the  fair  vermillion  knew. 
And  silver  tincture  of  her  cheeks,  that  drew 
The  love  of  every  swain  :  on  her  this  God 
Enamour' d  was,  and  with  his  snaky  rod 
Did  charm  her  nimble  feet,  and  made  her  stay. 
The  while  upon  the  hillock  down  he  lay. 
And  sweetly  on  his  pipe  began  to  play. 
And  with  smooth  speech  her  fancy  to  assay. 
Till  in  his  twining  arms  he  lock'd  her  fast. 
And  then  he  woo'd  witli  kisses        *         * 


* 


***** 


****** 

****** 

****** 

****** 

****** 

*  *  *  *         :  but  she 

Whose  only  dower  was  her  chastity. 

Having  striv'n  in  vain,  was  now  about  to  cry. 

And  crave  the  help  of  shepherds  that  were  nigh. 

Herewith  he  stay'd  his  fury ;  and  began 

To  give  her  leave  to  rise ;  away  she  ran : 

After  went  Mercury,  who  us'd  such  cunning. 

As  she,  to  hear  his  tale,  left  off  her  running. 

Maids  are  not  won  by  brutish  force  and  might. 

But  speeches  foil  of  pleasure  and  delight : 


126" 


And  knowing  Hermes  courted  her,  was  glad. 

That  she  such  lovehness  and  beauty  had. 

As  could  provoke  his  liking  j  yet  was  mute  ; 

And  neither  would  deny,  nor  grant  his  suit. 

Still  vow'd  he  love  5   she  wanting  no  excuse 

To  feed  him  with  delays,  as  women  use  : 

Or  thirsting  after  immortality. 

All  women  are  ambitious  naturally, 

Impos'd  upon  her  lover  such  a  task. 

As  he  ought  not  perform,  nor  yet  she  ask. 

A  draught  of  flowing  neccai-  she  requested. 

Wherewith  the  King  of  Gods  and  men  is  feasted. 

He,  ready  to  accomplish  what  she  will'd. 

Stole  some  from  Hebe  ;    (Hebe  Jove's  cup  fill'd) 

And  gave  it  to  his  simple  rustic  love. 

Which  being  known,  as  what  is  hid  from  Jove  r 

He  inly  storm'd,  and  wax'd  more  furious 

Than  for  the  fire  filch' d  by  Prometheus ; 

And  thrusts  him  down  from  heaven  j  he,  wandring  here. 

In  mournful  terms,  with  sad  and  hea\7-  cheer, 

Ccmplain'd  to  Cupid  5   Cupid,  for  his  sake. 

To  be  reveng'd  on  Jove  did  undertake; 

And  those  on  whom  heaven,  earth,  and  heU  relies, 

I  mean  the  adamantine  Destinies, 

He  wounds  with  love,  and  forc'd  them  equally 

To  doat  upon  deceitful  Mercury. 

They  offer' d  him  the  deadly  fatal  knife. 

That  shears  the  slender  thread  of  human  life  ; 

At  his  fair  feather'd  feet  tlie  engines  laid 

Which  th'  earth  from  ugly  Chaos'  den  upweigh'd : 

These  he  regarded  not ;  but  did  intreat 

That  Jove,  usurper  of  his  father's  seat. 

Might  presently  be  banish'd  into  hell. 

And  aged  Saturn  in  Olympus  dwell. 


127 

They  granted  what  he  crav'd  j  and  once  agam 

Saturn  and  Ops  begun  their  golden  reign. 

Murder,  rape,  war,  and  lust,  and  treachery 

Were  with  Jove  clos'd  in  Stigian  empiry. 

But  long  this  blessed  time  continued  not ; 

As  soon  as  he  his  wished  purpose  got. 

He,  reckless  of  his  promise,  did  despise 

The  love  of  the'  everlasting  Destinies. 

They  seeing  it,  botli  love  and  him  abhorr'd. 

And  Jupiter  unto  his  place  restor'd. 

And,  but  that  Learning,  in  despite  of  fate. 

Will  mount  aloft,  and  enter  heaven  gate. 

And  to  the  seat  of  Jove  itself  advance, 

Hermes  had  slept  in  hell  with  ignorance. 

Yet  as  a  punishment  they  added  this, 

That  he  and  poverty  should  always  kiss  j 

And  to  this  day  is  every  scholar  poor ; 

Gross  gold  from  tliera  runs  headlong  to  the  Boor. 

Likewise  the  angry  Sisters,  thus  deluded. 

To  venge  themselves  on  Hermes,  have  concluded 

That  Midas'  brood  shall  sit  in  Honour's  chair. 

To  which  the  Muses'  sons  are  only  heir  : 

And  fruitful  wits,  that  in  aspiring  are. 

Shall  discontent  run  into  regions  far ; 

And  few  great  Lords  in  virtuous  deeds  shall  joy. 

But  be  surpris'd  with  eveiy  garish  toy  : 

And  still  enrich  the  lofty  servile  clown. 

Who  with  incroaching  guile  keeps  learning  down. 

Then  muse  not  Cupid's  suit  no  better  sped. 

Seeing  in  their  loves  the  Fates  were  injured." 

The  end  of  the  First  Sestyad. 


123 


As  Maklow's  poetical  reputation  is  better  known 
than  the  productions  on  which  it  is  founded,  I  have 
been  induced  to  give  this  very  long  specimen  from  a 
most  rare  volume. 

Mr.  Malone  observes,  that  if  Marlow  had  lived  to 
finish  his  Hero  and  Leander,  he  might  perhaps  have 
contested  the  palm  with  Shakespeare  in  his  Fenus  and 
Adonis,  and  Rape  of  Lucrece. 

In  truth,  there  are  in  the  extract  now  offered  to  the 
notice  of  the  public  more  of  the  ingredients  of  the  true 
poetical  spirit  than  are  often  to  be  found  in  imitations. 
Almost  every  line  abounds  in  poetical  imagery,  often 
elegantly  and  harmoniously  expressed. 

Marlow  was  born  about  1566;  took  the  degree  of 
A.M.  at  Cambridge,  in  1583.  He  was  stabbed  in  the 
street,  and  died  of  the  wound  in  1593.  His  Song — 
"  Come  live  zcith  me,  and  be  my  love,"  is  on  every  one's 
lips.  His  character  as  a  dramatic  writer  may  be  found 
in  Bioor.  Dram. 

I  will  give  a  few  lines  as  a  specimen  of  Chapman's 
manner,  from  the  sixth  and  last  Sestyad. 

"  No  longer  could  the  Day  nor  Destinies 
Delay  the  Nighty  who  now  did  frowning  rise 
Into  her  throne  ;  and  at  her  humo'-ous  breasts 
Visions  and  Dreams  lay  sucking :  all  men's  rests 
Fell  like  the  mists  of  death  upon  their  eyes. 
Day's  too  long  darts  so  kill'd  their  faculties. 
The  winds  yet,  like  the  flowers,  to  cease  began : 
For  bright  Leucote,  Venus'  whitest  swan. 
That  held  sweet  Hero  dear,  spread  her  fair  wings. 
Like  to  a  field  of  snow,  and  message  brings 


129 

From  Venus  to  the  Fates^  t'  intreat  them  lay 
Their  charge  upon  the  winds  their  rage  to  stay. 
That  the  stern  battle  of  the  seas  might  cease. 
And  guard  Leander  to  his  love  in  peace. 
The  Fates  consent^  ah  me  !  dissembling  Fates, 
They  shew'd  their  favours  to  conceal  their  hates. 
And  draw  Leander  on,  lest  seas  too  high 
Should  stay  his  too  obsequious  destiny  j 
Who  like  a  fleeting  slavish  parasite. 
In  warping  profit  on  a  traiterous  sleight. 
Hoops  round  his  rotten  body  with  devotes. 
And  pricks  his  discant  face  full  of  false  notes,  • 
Praising  with  open  throat  and  oaths  as  foul 
As  his  false  heart,  the  beauty  of  an  owl. 
Kissing  his  skipping  hand  with  charmed  skips. 
That  cannot  leave  but  leaps  upon  his  lips. 
Like  a  cock-sparrow  or  a  shameless  quean. 
Sharp  at  a  red-lip'd  youth,  and  nought  doth  mean 
Of  all  his  antic  shews,  but  doth  repair 
More  tender  fawns,  and  takes  a  scatter'd  hair 
From  his  tame  subject's  shoulder,  whips  and  calls 
For  every  thing  he  lacks  ;  creeps  against  the  walls 
With  backward  humbless,  to  give  needless  way  : 
Thus  his  false  fate  did  with  Leander  play." 


VOL.  ir. 


130 


"  Mid-night  and  Daily  Thoughts.  In  Prose  and  Verse. 
JBij  Sir  William  KiUigrezo.  London,  printed  for 
TJiomas  Bennet,  at  the  Half  moon  in  St.  PauCs 
C'unxh-Yard,  MDCXCIV:' 

8vo.  pp.  92. 

As  ail  Oxford  scholar  and  dramatic  writer  the  name 
of  SirThomas  Killegrew,  with  biographical  notices,  may- 
be fomid  in  the  pages  of  Wood  and  of  Baker.  These 
"  heavenly  inspirations"  were  composed  when  the  au- 
thor was  near  his  ninetieth  year,  a  period  when  imbe- 
cility usually  overpowers  the  mental  faculties  of  the 
brightest  genius.  The  work,  although  apparently 
posthumous,  had  its  admirers  during  the  life  of  the 
writer,  and  it  forms  a  singular  contrast  with  the  scenes 
of  his  earlier  life.  In  some  parts  it  displays  the  pre- 
vailing cant  of  puritanism,  rather  than  resignation  and 
the  meekness  of  true  devotion.  Had  he  flourished  in 
these  times,  the  legitimate  descendants  of  those  same 
puritans,  i.e.  metliodists,  (or,  as  modishly  styled,  dissen- 
ters) would  have  given  the  life  of  such  a  man,  in  their 
drivelling  journal,  to  prove,  that  notwithstanding  the 
great  profligacy  of  his  early  life,  (in  compiling  plays) 
he  had  finally  received  "  a  call  from  the  Lord ;"  and 
would  have  extolled  his  appeals  to  ignorance  as  humi- 
lity and  repentance. 

What  a  leaven  to  delude  the  unwary,  who  contemn 
the  Pierian  springs  they  never  tasted,  might  be  served 
up  from  the  life  of  this  man  !  He  was  elder  brother  to 
Dr.   Killigiew  and  the  facetious  Thomas   Killegrew, 


131 

(both  dramatic  authors)  and  in  lG22  was  entered  gen- 
tleman commoner  in  St.  John's  College,  Oxford.  After 
making  the  tour  of  Europe  he  became  gentleman  usher 
to  Charles  I.  He  also  obtained  a  military  appoint- 
ment, and,  while  attending  his  royal  master  at  Oxford, 
was  admitted  Doctor  of  Civil  Laws.  Upon  the  restora- 
tion, his  appointment  at  court  continued,  and  he  was  cre- 
ated first  Vice  Chamberlain  upon  Charles  H.  marrying 
Donna  Catherina  of  Portugal.  This  honourable  station 
he  held  two  and  twenty  years  ;  and  at  an  advanced  pe- 
riod of  life  he  retired  from  court,  and  died  lGQ3.  After 
a  college  education  ;  a  courtly  career ;  the  writing  of 
four  plays,  and  being  reputedly  author  of  a  fifth ;  extolled 
for  his  genius  by  Waller,  Stapleton  and  others :  how 
could  the  repeated  assertions  of  his  own  ignorance  be 
found  in  the  present  tract,  unless  sectarian  phrenzy 
deluded  his  weakened  intellects?  At  page  ].  he  de- 
clares his  own  relations  "  such  critics  in  devotion, 
eloquence,  and  wit,  that  his  mean  talent  doth  beget 
contempt,"  and  that  he  "wanted  skill  to  search  learned 
authors."  At  p.  6.  he  goes  further,  and  says,  "  Though 
some  great  clerks  do  not  allow  illiterate  men  to  write 
devotion,"  yet  he  "  hopes  to  shew  such  unlearned  peo- 
ple as  himself,  that  the  plowman  and  the  cobler  may 
find  the  way  to  Heaven  v/ithout  Greek  or  Latin  :"  also 
adding  in  rhyme : 

"  If  thou  a  scholar  art,  thou  soon  wilt  find 
Tliat  I  am  none ;  I  pray  thee  be  so  ku:id. 
As  all  grammatick  errors  to  excuse ; 
I  know  not  Latin^  nor  the  grammar  use," 

He  also  speaks  of  pleasures  "  largely  shared  in  the 


132 

courts  of  four  great  kings  ;"*  of  humbly  begging  of 
his  prince  such  grants  as  he  thought  he  deserved  ;t  and 
'of  the  glistring  vanities  that  he  had  seen  and  "  too 
largely  shared  in. "J  The  complimentary  verses  of 
Richard  Newman  declare 

"  'Tis  much,  that  in  your  age  of  eighty* eight. 
Your  mind's  so  foil  of  vigour  and  of  weight." 

Those  of  "  Hen.  Birkett,"  calls  him  Devotion's 
midwife,  and  that  "  without  the  help  of  learning  his 
high  untaught  pen  strains  our  belief." 

As  further  specimens  of  his  poetry  we  select  the 
following : 

On  Valour  and  Fear. 

"  Valour  mistaken  through  the  world  we  see. 
When  rashness  looks  like  magnanimity ; 
When  senseless  drunkards,  vap'ring  in  the  street 
For  want  of  courage,  quarrel  all  they  meet ; 
When  practis'd  danger  brings  the  meanest  clown 
To  vie  with  Alexander  for  renown  ; 
When  shame  will  fear  remove,  and  money  hire 
The  scum  of  men  to  face  the  cannon's  fire  j 
We  must  some  other  rules  for  Valour  find. 
That  grows  from  vertues  of  a  higher  kind. 
These  men  do  not  know  why 
They  do  not  fear  to  die. 

Experience  shews,  the  valiant  and  the  wise 
May  stai't  at  the  first  glimpse  of  a  surprise, 

*  P.  54. 

t  From  lines  inscribed  "  to  my  proud,  rich  censurer,"  he  appears  to  hare 
fallen  mto  pecuniary  difficulties,  if  not  poverty,  when  he  wrote. 
%  P.  92. 


1S3 

And  may  avoid  such  squabbles  as  will  stain 
Their  courage,  and  no  jot  of  credit  gain. 
High  valour  and  true  vertue  brightly  shine. 
When  they're  asserted  by  a  cause  divine, 
When  King  and  country,  or  thy  church  wants  aid, 
'Tis  basest  cowardice  to  be  afraid ; 
True  courage  will  endeavour  to  create 
Safety  to  them,  though  mine  be  their  fate. 

These  are  the  men  know  why 

They  do  not  fear  to  die." 

Some  Caveats. 

*'  When  petty  pleasures  are  procur'd  witli  gold. 
When  youth  is  gone,  and  we  decrepid  old. 
There's  no  more  Gusto  than  a  tale  twice  told. 

The  greatest  monarchs,  while  they  flourished. 
Were  honour' d  and  ador'd  j  but  being  dead. 
Were  soon  forgot,  and  only  pitied. 

So  that  whatever  marble  tombs  pretend. 
All  their  gay  glories  never  can  defend 
Their  pamper'd  bodies  from  the  beggar's  end, 

Ctesar  and  Alexander  both  became 
The  highest  splendor  of  a  glorious  name ; 
And  yet  in  some  things  both  deserved  blame. 

So  that  when  men  have  all  the  world  subdu'd. 
They  may  themselves  and  all  their  fame  delude. 
Unless  they  do  in  piety  conclude. 

Those  mighty  heroes  car'd  not  to  be  good, 
(But  brave)  because  they  never  understood 
The  sacred  sanction  of  our  Saviour's  blood. 


134, 

But  those  who  saw  the  miracles  he  did. 
And  heard  how  boldly  he  their  crimes  forbid. 
Are  justly  scourg'd,  instead  of  being  chid. 

What's  our  due  then,  who  do  believe,  yet  run 
The  course  which  that  accursed  crew  begun. 
To  slight  God,  and  re-cruciiie  his  son  ? 

"Which  shews  men  want  some  Caveats  to  restrain 

The  idle  fancies  of  a  busie  brain. 

That  frequent  losses  bring,  instead  of  gain. 

These  serious  thoughts  are  Caveats  to  despise 
Such  crimes,  as  from  our  idle  hours  may  rise. 
And  captiv'ate  our  senses  in  disguise. 

Till  by  a  power  divine  we  can  obtain 
Such  bright,  serener  joys,  as  will  sustain 
Our  souls,  and  to  eternity  remain. 

For  we  are  born  to  learn,  and  to  express. 
By  daily  actions,  what  we  do  profess 
To  purchase  everlasting  happiness." 

Of  his  prose  the  following  account  of  himself  in  his 
retirement  may  conclude  the  article: 


ft 


To  my  Friend,  tojusiifie  rny  Eetirement. 


Sir, 

I  do  value  your  friendship  much,  and  take  your 
advice  veiy  friendly,  To  forsake  my  solitary  life,  and  to  return 
unto  the  conversation  of  my  friends  ;  and  this  with  very  civil 
(though  with  very  sharp)  reflections  on  my  retirement,  in  the 
opinion  of  tlie  world  (as  you  sayj)  as  if  some  discontent,  or 
love  to  a  lazie  life  (rather  than  devotion)  had  made  me  bury 


135 

my  self  alive  (which  my  age  might  very  well  excuse  at  S8 
years)  if  I  had  no  better  arguments  to  justifie  my  repose  this 
way.  But  now  you  shall  have  my  reasons  at  large,  which  I 
did  not  think  fit  to  declare  in  that  company,  at  that  time.  For, 
When  I  considered  how  many  years  I  had  lived  in  idleness 
and  vanity,  and  such  sins  as  were  in  fashion  with  most  men  of 
great  estates,  with  as  full  a  swing  as  my  wild  fancy  could  reach : 
in  which  kind  of  short-liv'd,  mistaken  felicities,  I  found  no  real 
satisfaction ;  but  still  roving  from  worse  to  worse,  it  pleased 
God  to  induce  me  to  think  cf  Heaven,  and  how  to  get  thither 
by  a  timely  repentance,  in  a  retirement  from  all  worldly  de- 
lights, and  all  publick  concerns  ;  but  do  not  pretend  to  be  an 
inspir'd  Quaker,  nor  a  profess'd  Hermit ;  though  I  do  believe 
that  both  those  callings  may  have  pious  men,  that  do  abhor  hy- 
pocrisie  in  devotion  as  much  as  I  do,  who  think  it  to  be  the 
next  greatest  sin  to  that  against  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Yet  I  must  own  that  my  solitary  life  is  become  so  delightful, 
that  my  bosom-joys  are  much  above  all  the  pleasures  that  I  have 
formerly  known,  and  largely  shared  in  the  courts  of  four  great 
kings :    in  which  th?re  might  be  many  saints   (though  I  was 
none  )     By  which  I  judge,  that  those  who  live  (as  I  then  did) 
in  the  pomp  and  splendid  crowds  of  such  great  assemblies,  can 
seldom  have  the  opportunity  to  delight  in  frequent  prayers,  nor 
time  to  relish  the  deliciousness  of  such  fervent  addresses  unto 
Heaven,  as  my  soUtary  hours  afford  me  :    So  that  such  busie 
men  are  not  often  refreshed  with  those  daily  comforts,  and  se- 
cret spiritual  joys,  as  flow  in  souls  totally  resign'd  to  God  :   For 
when  God  sees  the  integrity  of  such  men's  hearts,  as  do  value 
their  hopes  of  Heaven  above  all  earthly  fruitions,  he  gives  them 
a  cheeiful,  hearty  devotion,  to  be  their  highest  felicity  in  this 
world,  with  great  assurance  of  glory  in  the  next. 

And  whoever  will  tiy  to  live  so  much  alone  with  God,  will 
find  such  enlightning  comforts  to  his  soul,  in  frequent,  fervent 
prayeis  and  meditations,  as  will  encrease  his  joys  until  he  go  to 


135 

Heaven ;  and  all  the  way  thither,  will  entertain  his  heart  with 
celestial  delights,  so  much  above  the  pleasure  of  this  world, 
that  they  are  ineffable  to  be  described  by  words,  or  to  be  con- 
ceived, but  by  those  who  feel  how  much  spiritual  joys,  in  a 
divine  conversation  with  God,  does  transcend  all  carnal  enjoy- 
ments, with  as  much  elevated  hopes  of  a  prepossession  of  Hea- 
ven, as  men  are  capable  of  in  this  world. 

Though  I  have  read  in  a  divine  author.  That  the  soul  that 
is  upon  good  grounds,  fully  assured  of  its  future  bliss,  is  already 
in  Heaven,  and  has  begun  to  take  possession  of  glory.  If  this 
be  so,  (as  I  hope  it  is)  our  eternal  bliss  begins  and  fixes  here  ; 
which  ought  to  baffle  the  joys  and  troubles  of  this  world,  and 
the  terrour  of  death  also,  with  a  constant,  present  felicity  to  be 
with  God  the  moment  we  expire.  For  I  do  believe,  that  God 
mocks  no  man  with  a  hope  of  Heaven  that  he  shall  miss  of,  if 
he  seek  it  as  he  ought.  I  do  not  say  that  I  do  this ;  but  I  do 
averr.  That  I  will  not  change  the  happiness  I  have  in  my  re- 
tirement, to  be  a  prince  without  it.  I  do  own  God's  mercies 
to  me  in  every  thing,  and  do  serve  him  the  best  I  can  in  all 
things,  and  do  envy  no  man's  talents  who  can  serve  him  better. 

I  write  not  to  instruct  wise  men,  but  to  show  some  ideas  of 
devotion,  for  such  weak  brains  as  mine  to  work  upon. 

If  these  be  not  good  arguments  for  my  retirement,  I  wish 
that  you  may  find  better  in  your  publick  conversation. 

Your  humble  Servant, 

W.  K. 

Jaiiuary,  5,  1(5C)2." 

Eu.  H. 


♦••<0^<?>"» 


137 

"  Essay es  Morall  and  Theologicall.  London,  printed  by 
Ekazar  Edgar,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  at  the 
Wind  mill  in  Paul's  Church  yard.  I6O9." 

l6mo.  pp.  226. 

Dedicated  "  To  the  Right  Reuerend  Father  in 
God,  James,  by  the  same  grace,  Bp.  of  Bath  and  Wels, 
Deane  of  his  Maiestie's  Chappelle."  Which  concludes, 
"  Your  Lordship's  worth  is  as  apparent  as  the  sunne.  It 
shines  in  so  high  a  spheare,  that  all,  but  such  as  are 
maliciously  blind,  must  needes  beare  witnes  of  his 
brightnes.  I  neede  not  holde  a  candle  vnto  any.  Here 
therefore,  in  the  humblest  degree  of  awful  observation, 
I  kiss  your  reuerend  hands,  vnfainedly  desirous  to  bee 
alwaies  reputed,  as  your  many  extraordinarie  fauours 
haue  truel}'^  made  me,  Your  Lordship's  most  intirely 
deuoted  D.  T. 

Tliere  are  twelve  Essays,  and  the  subjects,  learning 
and  knowledge  ;  policy  and  religion  ;  civil  carriage  and 
conversation;  alms;  respect;  gifts;  denials;  reproofs; 
injuries;  temptations;  peace  and  poverty.  The  fol- 
lowing short  extract  is  from  the  first  essay  : 

"  Vertue  delightes  not  in  impostures ;  neither  dotli  shee 
care  for  artificial  ornaments  ;  she  is  blacke,  but  comely,  as  the 
tentes  of  Kedar,  and  as  the  curtaines  of  Salomon.  Her  stature 
requires  not  the  helpe  of  any  accessory  raising,  nor  her  garmenttes 
the  glory  of  any  other  trimming,  dien  her  owne  rich  inside  can 
afford  them.     Do  but  behold  her  countenance  at  any  time,  and 

VOL.   II.  T 


138 

you  shall  finde  the  painting  that  shee  vseth,  to  be  nothing  else 
but  dust  tempered  with  sweat.    Yee  shall  see,  that  she  is  likelj 
alwaies  busied  in  the  tollesora  shop  of  action,  seldome  refreshing 
her  wearines^e  in  the  withdrawing  chamber  of  meditation, 
vnles  it  be  i  ow  and  then  to  make  the  easier  and  speedier  pas- 
sage to  the  other,     Shee  is  full  of  high-built  purposes,  and  la- 
bours not  so  much  how  to  worde  them ,  as  how  to  work  them.  Her 
thoughts  are  neuer  taken  vppe  with  friuolous  doubtes  and  in- 
quisitions.    Time  cannot  passe  her  hands  but  vpon  great  advan- 
tage.    She  troubleth  not  her  selfe  to  know  whether  Anacreon 
were  more  lasciuious  then  riotous  ;  whether  Sappho  were  mor« 
wanton  then  witty ;  or  whither  Hecuba  were  elder  then  the 
mother  of  iEneas  :  She  bequeaths  the  voiding  of  these  contro- 
uersies,  together  with  the  search  of  Etymologies,  and  verbal 
deriuations  to  such  as  Didimus  that  can  stuf  whole  volumes 
onely  with  quoting  the  diuers  lections  of  depraued  manuscripts, 
or  correcting  the  literal  errors  of  the  presse,  which  long  ago 
might  wel  haue  pleaded  prescription  for  theis  passe.     They  are 
things  the  knowledge  whereof  tormentes  neither  her  nor  hers." 

Eu.  H. 


Extract  from  Sir  A.  Cokayne's  Remedy  for  Love, 

&c. 

Speaking  of  London,  he  says: 

'*  There  thou  mayst  see  the  famous  monuments 
Of  our  Heroes,  fram'd  with  large  expence. 
There  thou  upon  the  sepulchre  mayst  look 
Of  Chaucer,  our  true  Ennius^  whose  old  book 
Hath  taught  our  nation  so  to  poetize. 
That  English  rhymes  now  any  equalize ; 


139 

That  we  no  more  may  envy  at  the  strain 

Of  Tiber,  Tagus,  or  our  neighbour  Seine. 

There  Spenser's  tomb  thou  likewise  mayst  behold. 

Which  he  deserved,  were  it  made  of  gold. 

If,  honour'd  Colin,  thou  hadst  liv'd  so  long. 

As  to  have  finished  thy  Fairy  Song, 

Not  only  mine,  but  all  tongues  would  confess 

Thou  hadst  exceeded  old  Maeonides," 

Again : 

^'  Beware  of  reading  Love  j  take  heed  of  those. 
That  either  pourtrait  him  in  verse  or  prose : 
For  amorous  lines  will  many  mischiefs  raise. 
And  make  the  cinders  of  affection  blaze. 
Though  the  Arcadia  be  a  book  approv'd, 
Arcadia  must  not  be  by  thee  belov'd. 
The  Lady  fl^rothe's  Urania  is  replete 
With  elegancies,  but  too  full  of  heat. 
Spenser's  and  Daniel's  Sonnets  do  not  view  : 
Though  they  are  good,  they  are  not  so  for  you. 
From  feigned  histories  refrain  thy  sight : 
Scarce  one  is  there  but  is  an  amorous  knight. 
Musceus*  English' d  by  two  Poets  shun  ; 
It  may  undo  you,  though  it  be  well  done- 
Harington's  Ariosio  do  not  touch  j 
For  wanton  lines  scarce  any  book  hath  such. 
And  my  old  friend  Drayton's  Epistles  yoUj 
Being  too  soft  and  languishing,  eschew." 

Speaking  of  Cambridge  and  Oxford,  he  says : 

"  For  Colin' s  sake,  who  hath  so  well  exprest 
The  virtues  of  our  Fairy  Elves,  and  drest 

*  Marlow  aud  Chapman.     S«e  ante  p.  128. 


140 

Our  poesy  in  such  a  gallant  guise. 

On  happy  Pembroke  Hall  employ  thine  eyes. 

Oxford,  our  other  Academy,  you 

Full  worthy  must  acknowledge  of  your  view. 

Here  smooth-tongued  Drayton  was  inspired  by 

Mnemosyne's  manifold  progeny ; 

And  Sydney,  honour'd  by  all  English  men. 

In  Castaly  here  dipp'd  his  numerous  pen." 

EPIGRAM  ON   EDMUND  SPENSER. 

By  the  Same. 

"  Our  Spenser  was  a  prodigy  of  wit. 

Who  hath  The  Fairy  Queen  so  stately  writ. 
Yield,  Grecian  Poets,  to  his  nobler  style ; 
And  ancient  Rome  submit  unto  our  isle. 
You,  modern  wits,  of  all  the  fourfold  earth, 
Whom  Princes  have  made  Laureates  for  your  worth. 
Give  our  great  Spenser  place,  who  hath  outsung 
Phoebus  himself  with  all  his  learned  throng." 

OF  CHAUCER. 

By  the  Same. 

« 
"  Our  good  old  Chaucer  some  despise :  and  why  ? 

Because  they  say,  he  writeth  barbarously. 

Blame  him  not,  Ignorants,  but  yourselves  that  do 

Not  at  these  years  your  native  language  know." 


■*^i^^<^*" 


141 

"  Troia  Britanica :  or,  Great  Britaine's  Troy.  A  Poem, 
devided  into   17  severall  Cantons,  intermixed  with 
many  pleasant  poeticall  Tales.     Concluding  with  an 
Universall  Chronicle  from  the  Creation,  iintill  these 
present  Times.     Written  by  Thomas  Ileywood. 
Et  pTodesse  solcnf,  et  delectare  Poetce. 
London,  printed  hy  W.  Jaggard,  1609." 

"  To  ike  Right  Honouralle  Edward  Earl  of  JVorcester,  Lord  of 
Chepstoll,  Lord  of  Chepstoll,  Ragland,  and  Gower,  Knight 
of  the  most  nolle  Older  of  the  Garter ,  Master  of  the  Horse, 
and  one  of  the  King's  most  honourable  Privy  Council. 

To  you  whose  favour  gave  my  Muse  first  breathy 
To  try  in  the'  air  her  weak  unable  wing. 
And  soar  this  pitch  who  else  had  tasted  death 
Even  in  her  birth,  from  the  Castalian  spring 
She  dedicates  her  labours  (as  they  are) 
Though,  as  you  see,  poor,  featherless^  and  bare. 

Your  noble  hand  to  her  supportance  gave. 

Even  in  her  penless  age  about  to  fall ; 

Her  cradle  then  had  been  her  infant  grave. 

Had  not  your  power  and  grace  kept  her  from  thrall : 

Then  by  the  Muse,  by  your  high  bounty  rais'd. 

You're  by  your  merit  and  my  duty  prais'd. 

Her  power  (though  weak)  yet  to  her  sickly  strength 

Is  willing  your  past  graces  to  record. 

Though  smother'd  long,  yet  she  finds  time  at  length 

To  shew  her  office  to  her  patron-Lord, 

Wishing,  for  your  sake,  that  upholds  her  stilly 

Her  worth  had  correspondence  to  her  will. 


142 

Then  had  her  theme,  that  treats  of  foreign  deeds. 

Been  only  tun'd  to  your  desert  and  merit. 

And  you,  from  whom  her  nonage  Ai't  proceeds. 

Should  by  her  pen.  Eternity  inherit ; 

But  since,  great  Lord,  her  best  fruits  are  but  words. 

Prize  what  her  Heart,  not  what  her  Art,  affords. 

'Tis  fit  those  Lords  which  we  from  Troy  derive. 
Should  in  the  fate  of  Troy  remember'd  be. 
For  since  their  grandsire  virtues  now  survive. 
And  with  the  Spirits  of  this  age  agree. 
It  makes  us  fill  our  Cantons  with  such  men. 
As  living  now,  equal'd  their  virtues  then. 

Homer,  long  since,  a  Chronicler  divine. 
And  Virgil  have  redeem'd  old  Troy  from  fire. 
Whose  memory  had  with  her  building  lain 
In  desolate  ruin,  had  not  their  desire 
Snatch'd  her  fair  Title  from  the  burning  flame. 
Which  with  the  town  had  else  consum'd  her  name. 

Had  they  surviv'd  in  these  our  flourishing  days. 
Your  virtues  from  the  ancient  heroes  drawn. 
In  spite  of  death  or  black  oblivion's  rage. 
Should  live  for  ever  in  Fame's  glorious  fawn, 
Rankd  next  to  Troy  our  Troy-novant  should  be. 
And  next  the  Trojan  Peers,  your  places  free. 

Nor  let  your  Honour  my  weak  style  despise. 
That  strives  to  register  your  name  with  theirs ; 
For  could  my  numbers  like  blind  Homer's  rise, 
T  would  create  you  Fame's  eternal  heirs  : 
Accept  my  strength,  (my  weakness  I  betray,) 
Had  I  like  art,  I  would  as  much  as  they. 

Your  honour's  ever  faithftiUy  devoted 

Tho.  Heywood." 


us 


•'  To  the  two-fold  Readers,  the  Courteous  and  the  Critic. 

The  favourable  and  gracious  Reader,  I  salute  with  a  sub- 
miss  Conge  both  of  heart  and  knee :  7'o  the  scornful  I  owe 
not  so  much  as  an  hypocritical  entreaty,  or  a  disse[nbled  cour- 
tesy. I  am  not  inexperienced  in  the  envy  of  this  age,  but  that 
I  know  I  shall  encounter  most  sharp  and  severe  censurers,  such 
as  continually  carp  at  other  men's  labours,  and  superficially  pe- 
rusing them,  with  a  kind  of  negligence  and  scorn,  quote  them 
by  the  way,  thus  :  This  is  an  error ;  that  was  too  much  stretch- 
ed ;  this  too  slightly  neglected ;  here  many  things  might  have 
been  added ;  there  it  might  have  been  better  followed :  this 
superfluous,  that  ridiculous.  These  indeed  knowing  no  other 
means  to  have  themselves  opinioned  in  the  rank  of  understand- 
ers,  but  by  calumniating  other  men's  industries.  These  Satirists 
I  meet  thus  :  It  were,  in  my  opinion,  more  honour  and  honesty 
for  them,  to  betake  themselves  seriously  to  the  like  studies,  and 
the  time  they  waste  in  detracting  others,  rather  spend  in  in- 
structing themselves,  and  by  some  more  excellent  work  (mould- 
ed out  of  their  own  brains)  give  the  foil  to  others  of  less  fame 
and  consequence :  This  were  a  commendable  and  worthy  de- 
traction, savouring  of  desert ;  the  other  a  mere  rancorous  folly, 
grounded  on  nothing  but  malicious  ignorance.  For  who  more 
apt  to  call  coward  than  the  most  timorous  ;  but  he  only  merits 
a  name  among  the  valiant,  that  hath  actually  and  personally 
won  his  reputation  by  some  deed  of  fame  and  honour.  But 
since  these  Critics  are  a  general  subject  in  the  front  of  every 
book,  I  am  content  to  neglect  them,  as  those  I  regard  not,  and 
to  the  fi  iendly  and  best  judging  reader  thus  turn  my  apology. 

I  have  adventured,  (right  Courteous)  to  publish  this  Poem, 
and  present  it  to  thy  general  acceptance  j  If  it  be  gently  re- 
ceived, and  favourably  censured,  it  may  encourage  me  to  pro- 
ceed in  some  ftiture  labour ;  if  any  way  distasted,  I  am  so  far 
from  troubling  the  world  with  more,  that  I  shall  hold  this  little. 


144 

much  too  much.  Yet  if  you  understandingly  consider  this  pro- 
ject, you  shall  find  included  herein  a  brief  memory  or  Epitome 
of  Chronicle,  even  from  the  first  man,  unto  us  this  second  time 
created  Britoiis,  with  a  faithful  Register,  not  only  of  memorable 
things  done  in  Troy  and  this  Island,  but  of  many  and  the  most, 
famous  accidents  happening  through  the  world  ;  In  whose  reign 
and  what  year  of  the  world  they  chanced  (with  which  we  have 
confeiTed  the  Histories  of  the  sacred  Bible)  and  the  truth  of  the 
times  so  even,  that  whosoever  will  deign  the  perusal  of  these, 
shall  not  only  perceive  such  things  were  done,  but  be  also  sa- 
tisfied in  whose  reign  (then  successively  governing  in  the  king- 
dom of  Britain)  they  happened.  In  all  which  I  have  tasked 
myself  to  such  succinctness  and  brevity,  that  in  the  indicial 
perusal  of  these  few  Cantons  (with  the  schohes  annexed)  as 
litde  time  shall  be  hazarded  as  profit  from  them  be  any  way 
expected. 

Accept  then,  I  entreat  you,  this  mingled  subject  (as  well 
home-born  as  foreign)  and  censure  it  as  fa\'ourably  as  I  have 
oifered  it  freely.  Though  something  may  perhaps  distaste, 
soniething  again  I  presume  will  please  the  most  curious  palate  : 
Let  that  which  pleaseth  mitigate  the  harshness  of  the  other. 
He  that  speaks  much,  may,  excusably,  speak  somewhat  idly  ; 
and  he  that  in  unknown  climates  travels  far,  may,  by  misad- 
venture, wander  out  of  the  way  :  but  where  the  main  intent 
and  purpose  is  honest  and  good,  it  is  pardonable  to  expect  the 
best.  And  in  that  hope  I  prostrate  these  my  barren  industries 
to  your  kindest  and  gentle  constructions. 

Canto  I. 

"  This  Unive-rse,*  with  all  therein  contaiu'd. 
Was  not  at  first  of  Water  fashioned, f 


*  The  opuiions  of  the  old  philosopher*  touch'uig  the  creation. 

*  'liiales,  Miloei,  Heiaditus. 


145 

Nor  of  the  Fire,  as  others  oft  have  feign'd,* 
Nor  of  the  Air,  as  some  have  vainly  spread,  f 
Nor  the  four  Elements  in  order  train'd  j  X 
Nor  of  Vacuity  and  Atoms  bred  :  § 
Nor  hath  it  been  eternal,  as  is  thought|| 
By  natvu'al  men,  that  have  no  further  sought. 

Neither  hath  man  in  perpetuity  been,^ 
And  shall  on  earth  eternally  persevere 
By  endless  generation,  running  in 
One  circuit ;  in  corruption  lasting  ever ; 
Nor  did  that  nation  first  on  earth  begin** 
Under  the  mid  Equator  :  some  endeavour 
So  to  persuade  ;  that  man  was  first  begun 
In  the  place  next  to  the  lifegiving  sun. 

Neither  was  he  of  earth  and  water  fram'd,  ft 
Temper' d  with  lively  heat,  as  others  write jJJ 
Nor  were  we  in  a  former  world  first  nam'd,§§ 
As  in  their  curious  problems  some  recite  : 
Others,  more  ripe  in  judgment,  have  proclaim'd  |||| 
Man  fram'd  of  clay  in  fashion  exquisite. 
In  whom  were  breath  d  sparks  of  celestial  fire. 
Whence  he  still  keeps  his  nature,  to  aspire. 

But  this  most  glorious  Universe  was  made^^ 
Of  nothing,  by  the  great  Creator's  will  3 
The  ocean  bounded  in,  not  to  invade 
Or  swallow  up  the  land  3  so  resteth  stiU 

*  Heraclitus.        t  Hv-ppasus.        $  Anaximenes.        §  Enipedocles, 
II  Epicurus.  ^  Mctiodorus.     *•  Diodoru*.  tt  Empedocles, 

Xt  Anaximander.    $§  Democritus.     |{||  Zeno.  ^^  MoKt, 

YOL.  II.  U 


U6 

The  azure  Firmament,  to  overshade 
Both  Continent  and  Waters,  which  fulfil 
The  Maker's  word,  one  God  doth  sole  extend 
Without  beginninsf  and  shall  see  no  end. 

That  powerful  Trinity  created  man,* 
Adam,  of  Earth,  in  the  fair  field  Damask ; 
And  of  his  rib  he  Eva  formed  then. 
Supplying  them  with  all  things  they  can  ask  > 
In  these  first  two.  Humanity  began. 
In  whom  confin'd  Jehovah's  six  days'  task. 
From  Adam  then  and  Eva's  first  creation 
It  follows  we  derive  our  British  Nation. 

Inspire  me  in  this  task,  Jove's  seed  I  pray. 
With  Hippocrenes  drops  besprink  my  head. 
To  comfort  me  upon  this  tedious  way. 
And  quicken  my  cold  brain  nigh  dull  and  dead  ; 
Direct  my  wand' ring  spirits  when  they  stray. 
Least  foreign  and  forbidden  paths  they  tread  : 
My  journey's  tedious,  blame  not  then  my  fears. 
My  voyage  aims  at  many  thousand  years. 

Oh  give  me  leave  from  tlie  world's  first  creation. 
The  ancient  names  of  Britons  to  derive 
From  Adam,  to  the  world's  first  Inundation, 
And  so  from  Noah  to  us  that  yet  survive  3 
And  having  of  Troy's  worthies  made  relation. 
Your  spurs  the  chariot  of  my  Muse  must  drive 
Through  all  past  ages  and  precedent  times. 
To  fin  this  new  world  with  my  worthless  rhymes. 

Oh  may  these  artless  numbers  in  your  ears. 
Renowned  James,  seem  muscically  btru  g, 

•  Polyd.  Virgil,  3  cap.     Titled  the  Pra  creation  of  Maa. 


147 

Your  fame,  oh  Jove's- star 'd  Prince,  spread  every  where. 

First  gave  my  still  and  speechless  Muse  a  tongue  : 

From  your  majestic  virtues,  prized  dear. 

The  infant  life  of  these  harsh  metres  sprung, 

Oh  take  not  then  their  industry  in  scorn. 

Who,  but  to  emblaze  you,  had  been  yet  unborn. 

Nor  let  your  princely  peers  old  in  disdain. 
To  have  their  ancestry  stil'd  and  enrol'd 
In  this  poor  Register  j  a  higher  strain 
Their  merits  ask,  since  brazen  leaves  unfold 
Their  never-dying  fame,  yet  thus  much  deign. 
Not  to  despise  to  hear  your  virtues  told 
In  a  plain  style,  by  one,  whose  wish  and  heart 
Supplies  in  zeal  want  both  of  skill  and  art. 

Times  faithfully  conferr'd  the  first  invention 

Of  most  things  now  in  use,  here  you  shall  find  j 

Annex'd  with  these,  the  use  and  comprehension 

Of  Poesy,  once  to  the  Gods  design'd  ; 

Suffer  our  blantness  then,  since  our  Intention 

Is  to  good  use,  sent  from  a  zealous  mind. 

If  stones  in  lead  set,  keep  their  virtues,  tlien 

Your  worth's  the  same,  though  blaz'd  by  a  rude  pen. 

To  be  continued. 


]48 

"  Minerva  Britanna,  or  a  Garden  of  Heroical  Devises, 
furnished  and  adorned  with  Embletnes  and  Impresa's 
of  sundry/  natuies,  newly  devised,   moralized  and 
published  by  Henry  Peacham  Mr.  of  Artes. 

London,  printed  in  Shoe  Lane,  at  the  sign  of  the  Faul- 
con,  by  Wa.  Dight,  I6l2." 

Nusquam  tuta. 

The  Print  represents  a  Hind  with  an  arrow  in  her  side. 

The  silly  Hind  among  the  thickets  green. 
While  nought- mistrusting,  did  at  safety  go, 
Her  mortal  wound,  receiv'd  with  arrow  keen. 
Sent  singing  from  a  Shepherd's  secret  bow. 

And  deadly  pierc'd  can  in  no  place  abide. 

But  mns  about  with  arrow  in  her  side. 

So  oft'  we  see  the  man  whom  conscience  bad 
Doth  inwardly  with  deadly  torture  wound. 
From  place  to  place  to  range  with  Fury  mad. 
And  seek  his  ease  by  shifting  of  his  ground  ; 
The  mean  neglecting  which  might  heal  the  sin. 
That  hourly  rankles  more  and  more  within. 

<. 

"Nee  metuas  nee  optes. 

The  Print,  an  arm  stretched  out  grasping  a  skull. 

The  Etiiiopian  Princes,  at  their  feasts. 

Did  use  amid  tlieir  cates  and  costly  cheer 

A  dead  man's  head,  to  place  before  their  guests. 

That  it  in  mind  might  put  them  what  they  were : 

And  Phijip  daily  caused  one  to  say ; 

Oh  King,  remember  Uiat  thou  art  but  clay ! 


149 

If  Pagans  could  bethink  them  of  their  end. 

And  make  such  use  of  their  mortahty. 

With  greater  hope  their  course  let  Christians  bend. 

Unto  the  haven  of  heaven's  felicity  ; 
And  so  to  live  while  here  we  draw  this  breath. 
We  have  no  cause  to  fear  or  wish  for  Death. 


Fos  vobis. 

The  Print,  Wasps,  Butterfiies,  Sec.  chasing  a  Bee  from 

the  flowers. 

The  painful  Bee,  when  many  a  bitter  shower 
And  storm  had  felt,  far  from  his  hive  away. 
To  seek  the  sweetest  honey-bearing  flower. 
That  might  be  found,  and  was  the  pride  of  May : 
Here  lighting  on  the  fair'st  he  might  espy. 
Is  beat  by  Drones,  the  Wasp  and  Butterfly. 

So  men  there  are  sometimes  of  good  desert. 
Who  painfully  have  labour'd  for  the  hive. 
Yet'  must  they  with  their"  merit  stand  apart. 
And  give  a  far  inferior  leave  to  thrive ; 

Or  be  perhaps,  if  gotten  into  grace. 

By  waspish  Envy,  beaten  out  of  place. 


In  prodigos. 

The  Print,  a  Willovi^  dropping  its  Fruit. 

The  wat'ry  Willow,  growing  by  the  shore. 
Of  trees  the  foremost  forth  her  fruit  doth  send. 
But  laden  with  her  bee-desired  store 
'Ere  ten  days  fully  come  unto  an  end  : 

Her  Palnxsso  sweet  we  lov'd  and  look'd  upon  ; 

With  Boreas'  breath,  are  blown  away  and  gone. 


150 

To  this  same  Tree  did  Homer  once  compare 

Such  Heirs,  as  strait  their  patrimony  waste 

In  riotous  wise  :  and  such  as  Artists  are. 

Who  getting  much  do  let  it  fly  as  fast : 

Eke  such  of  wit,  or  wealth,  that  make  a  shew 
In  substance,  when  we  find  it  nothing  so. 
^ 

Sic  vos  non  vohis. 

To  my  worshipful  and  kind  friend,  Mr.  WilUam  Stallenge, 
Searcher  of  the  Port  of  London,  and  first  Author  of  making 
Silk  in  our  Lajid. 

The  Print,  Silkworms  at  work. 

These  little  creatures  here,  as  white  as  milk. 

That  shame  to  sloth,  are  busy  at  their  loom. 

All  Summer  long,  in  weaving  of  their  Silk, 

Do  make  their  webs,  both  winding  sheet  and  tomb  ) 

Thus  to  th'  ingrateful  world  bequeathing  all 

Their  lives  have  gotten,  at  their  funeral. 

Even  so  the  webs  our  wits  for  others  weave. 
Even  from  the  highest  to  the  meanest  worn. 
But  siren-like  in  the'  end,  ourselves  deceive. 
Who  spend  om*  time  to  serve  another's  turn. 
Or  paint  a  fool  with  coat  or  colours  gay, 
To  give  good  words  or  thanks,  so  go  his  way. 

^ 

Hx  Jvaritia  Bellum. 
The  Print,  a  clenched  Hand. 

The  hand  that  gripes  so  greedily  and  hard. 

What  it  hath  got  by  long  unlawful  gain. 

Withal  for  Battle  ready  is  prepar'd. 

Still  to  defend  what  it  doth  fast  retain  : 

For  wretches  some  will  sooner  spend  their  bloods 
Than  spare,  we  see,  one  penny 'worth  of  their  goods. 


151 


Of  Avarice  such  is  the  nature  still. 

Who  hardly  can  endure  to  live  in  peace ; 

But  always  prest  to  quarrel  or  to  kill. 

When  sober  minds  from  such  contention  cease ; 
And  seek  no  more ;  then  quiet  and  content 
With  those  good  blessings  which  the  Lord  hath  sent. 


Nostra  elucibus  damno. 

The  Print,  exactly  illustrative  of  the  four  first  lines. 

The  Stee/ and  Flint  do  here,  with  hardy  strokes 
And  mutual  hewing,  each  the  other  waste ; 
While  underneath  the  open  Tinder-box, 
Unto  his  gain,  consumes  them  both  at  last ; 

And  to  the  backs,  when  they  are  spent  and  worn. 
He  throws  them  by,  for  tliey  have  serv'd  his  turn. 

So  when  the  Peasant  with  his  neighbour  wars. 
They  wear  away  themselves,  in  golden  sparks 
The  Box,  are  Pettifoggers  from  their  jars. 
Who  walk  with  torches,  usher' d  by  their  clerks  : 
While  blind  by  owl-light.  Hoyden  stumbling  goes 
To  seek  his  Inn,  the  Windmill  or  the  Rose. 


Salomone  pulchrius. 

Print,  a  Hand  bearing  a  Lily. 

Let  courtly  Dames  their  costly  jewels  boast. 
And  Rhodopis  in  silks  and  satins  shine; 
Behold  the  Lily,  thus  devoid  of  cost. 
In  flowery  fields  is  cloth' d  by  power  divine 
In  pure  r.  v  hite,  fair'st  object  of  the  eye, 
Religitn's  weed  and  badge  of  chastity. 


152 

Why  should  you  then,  as  slaves  to  loathed  pride 

And  frantic  fools,  think  ye  are  half  undone. 

When  that  ye  go  not  in  your  colours  pied. 

Or  want  the  grace  of  newest  fashion  ; 
When  ev'n  the  Lily  in  glory  doth  surpass 
The  rich  and  royal' st  king  that  ever  was  ? 

Tu  contra  audentior. 

Print,   two  Hands  opposing  a  lighted  Torch,  and  a 

Sword  to  a  Lion. 

The  valiant  Heart  that  feels  the  utmost  spite 
Of  envious  Fortune,  who,  with  sword  and  fire. 
Awaits  his  ruin,  with  redoubled  might. 
Takes  courage  to  him,  and  abates  her  ire 

By  resolution  and  a  constant  mind. 

To  deed  of  virtue  ever  more  inclin'd. 

Whose  Spirit,  a  spark  of  heaven's  immortal  fire^ 

Inglorious  sloth  may  not  in  embers  keep. 

But  spite  of  hell  it  will  at  length  aspire. 

And  ev'n  by  straws  for  want  of  fuel  creep  : 
When  fearful  natures  and  the  mind  unsound. 
At  every  glance  are  beaten  to  the  ground. 

<. 

HuiQ  ne  credere  tutissimum. 

Print,  Rose  Trees  supporting  a  Crown,  under  vi^hich  a 
Dove  has  built  its  Nest. 

Sweet  Bird,  who  taught  thee  here  to  build  thy  nest  ? 

In  greater  safety  than  Medea's  shrine  j 

Did  hap,  or  tliat  thou  knew'st  a  Crown  the  best 

From  injury  to  shelter  thee  and  thine  ? 
How  much  I  did  thy  happiness  envy. 
When  first  I  saw  thee,  singing,  hither  Ay. 


153 

Your  glory's  Type,  even  so  ye  sacred  Kings, 
In  highest  place,  the  weaker  one  to  shield  j 
Thus  under  that  sweet  shadow  of  your  wings 
Best  love  the  Arts  and  Innocence  to  build : 
And  thus  my  muse  that  never  safety  knew 
With  weary  wing,  great  Henry,  flies  to  you.' 


*'  The  holt/  History  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ's  nativity,  life,  acts,  miracles,  doctrine,  death, 
passion,  resurrection,  and  ascemion.  Gathered  into 
English  metre,  and  published  to  withdraw  vain 
wits  from  all  unsavoury  and  wicked  rhymes  and 
fables,  to  some  love  and  liking  of  spiritual  songs 
and  holy  Scriptures. 

By  Robert  Holland  Master  of  Arts,  and  Minister  of 
the  Church  of  P render gast. 

"  Bejilled  tiiiih  the  Spirit,  fpeakingto  yourselves  in  Psalms  and 
hymns  and  spiritual  songs,  singing  and  making  melody  to  the  Lord 
in  your  hearts."     Ephes.  v.   18. 

"  To  the  JRighl  Worshipful  Mistress  Anne  Phillips  of  Pic  ton, 
R.  H.  wisheth  encrease  of  worship,  continuance  of  godli- 
ness, and  health  in  Christ  Jesus. 

As  the  highest  tides  have  their  falls  and  ebbs,  and  after 
great  tempests  and  darkest  days,  the  sun  shineth,  so  fareth  it 
with  me,  (right  worshipful)  it  pleased  God,  the  author  of  all 
goodness  (when  I  had  been  four  years  or  more  tossed  with 
sundry  troubles  and  adversities  able)  every  way  to  oppress  me, 
had  not  the  same  mighty  Jehovah,  Jacob's  God,  the  hope  and 
strength  of  Israel  *   (who  by  the  mouth  of  his  holy  prophet 

*  Exod.  xA\,  13.    Levit.  v.  12.    Psal.  1.  14.    Psal.  cxvL  1. 
VOL.  It.  X 


154 

hath  willed  all  men  in  their  troubles  to  call  upon  him, 
promising  even  then  to  deliver  them),  so  stirred  up  and  opened 
the  hearts  of  my  worshipful  good  friends  to  favor  my  inno- 
cency  and  to  relieve  my  case,  (to  God's  holy  name  be  all 
praise,  honor,  and  glories  for  it),  to  grant  me  at  length  a 
breathing  time  after  my  travels,  yet  intermingled  with  re- 
membrances of  my  former  miseries  and  with  special  warnings 
of  the  Lord  :  all  which  I  most  joyfully  receive  and  with  my 
heart  embrace,  *  considering  that  he  correcteth  whom  he 
loveth,  and  that  the  race  of  my  youth  was  so  unadvisedly  run, 
that  I  have  merited  much  more  grievous  punishment  for  it. 
In  which  time  of  rest  (if  I  may  term  it  a  rest  that  we  enjoy 
while  we  remain  here  in  this  world),  I  have  bestowed  such 
vacant  time  as  my  necessary  business  letted  not,  in  penning 
the  whole  history  of  Christ  our  Saviour,  plainly  as  I  could,  ac- 
cording to  my  simple  capacity  and  knowledge  in  English  metre 
to  be  applied  to  the  tunes  of  sundries  of  David's  Psalms  : 
following  therein  the  four  Evangelists,  dissenting  from  them  in 
nothing,  though  in  the  disposing  of  Christ,  his  acts  and 
doctrines,  (as  near  as  I  could),  to  their  proper  places,  and  as 
they  were  done  in  order  of  time,  1  follow  other  directions. 
Which  work  (howsoever)  to  God's  glory  and  hope,  I  have 
finished,  and  for  two  especial  causes  have  determined  (though 
the  workmanship  be  but,  as  it  were,  rough  he  wen,  yet  in  re- 
spect of  the  matter  that  is  so  worthy),  to  dedicate  the  first 
fruits  of  my  labours  under  your  worship's  name. 

The  first  is,  your  godly  zeal  and  forward  affection  to  the 
hearing  and  reading  of  God  s  word,  much  like  that  noble 
Roman  Csecelia,  which  let  no  day  pass  without  reading  some 
part  of  God's  book,  and  even  carried  about  her,  whithersoever 
tlie  went  (the  f  touchstone  of  our  faith),  the  New  Testament, 

•  Heb.  i.  2,  5,  6.     Tro.  iii.  11,  12.     Rev.  iii.  9. 

t  Rom.  X.  17.     Deut.  vi.  6.     Cap.  xi.  18.     Luke  x.  26.     Job  j.  39. 
Acts  XTU    11. 


It55 

which  rare,  virtues  of  her  mind  much  more  adorned  and 
beautified  her  than  either  her  birth,  though  born  of  honorable 
parentage,  or  her  attire,  how  costjy  soever.  The  book  of 
God  is  indeed  to  be  esteemed  of  greater  value  than  all  other 
jewels:  in  it  is  the  heavenly  manna,  that  *  bread  of  life,  and 
the  waters  whereof  whosoever  drinketh  shall  never  thirst 
offered  us  :  in  it  is  the  way  f ,  the  truth,  and  the  life  taught 
us,  and  by  this  way  only  have  we  access  unto  the  Father. 
The  poets  feign  that  :}:  Ulysses  sailing  between  Italy  and  Sicily, 
was  driven  to  stop  the  ears  of  his  company  with  wax,  and  to 
be  bound  himself  to  the  mast  of  his  ship,  least  by  hearing  the 
songs  and  sweet  melody  of  the  Syrens  that  lay  in  his  way, 
he  and  his  should  fall  into  their  danger:  but  whosoever 
saileth  in  this  ship,  may  safely  unbound,  and  with  open  ears 
pass  by  all  the  Syrens  of  Italy  at  this  day,  which  exceed  (I 
dare  avouch  it),  for  number  and  craft,  an  hundred  to  one 
that  all  Sicily  afforded  in  the  days  of  Ulysses.  In  the  book 
of  God  is  the  true  and  best  trialle  found,  which  delivereth  the 
receiver  from  the  poisoned  cup  of  that  great  Circe  the  Bishop 
of  Rome,  §  who  hath  infected  so  many  thousands,  and  trans- 
formed them  into  swine :  in  it  is  that  notable  whore  of 
Babylon  ||  sitting  on  a  scarlet  coloured  beast  full  of  names  and 
blasphemy  with  seven  heads  and  ten  horns  notably  described  ; 
from  whose  fornications  the  Lord  deliver  us,  while  your 
worship  doth  (as  that  kingly  prophet  David  did),  exercise 
yourself  ^  in  the  same  book  of  the  law  of  the  Lord  day  and 
night,  you  shall  easily  perceive  that  vain  and  wicked  are  the 
trash  and  trumperies  that  Rome  doth  offer  us,  the  which  I 
know  and  can  justly  report,  that  with  all  your  heart  you  utterly 
abhor  them  :  which  gift  of  grace,  as  God  hath  begun  in  you 


•  Job  vi.  48.     Cap,  iv.  14.     Cap.  vii.  38.  t  Job  xiv.  6. 

t  Homer,  Odyss.  lib.  Vi.  §  Revel.  xviiL  3.     Mar.  xvi.  18. 

I  Revel.  xviL  3.  f  Psal,  i.  'J.     Psal.  cxix.    Joshua  i.  18. 


155 

for  your  good,  so  I  beseech  him  to  continue  the  same  to  his 
glory.  In  the  book  of  God  you  shall  see  that  *  ignorance 
(which  the  Romanists  do  account  the  mother  of  devotion), 
can  not  excuse  them  :  that  devotion  without  knowledge  is 
dotage  without  virtue,  ostentation.  And  therein  you  shall  see 
and  find  it  indeed,  f  that  to  pray  to  angels  or  saints,  or  for  the 
dead  (which  they  make  no  small  point  of  their  religion),  is 
plain  superstition,  and  their  counterfeit  holiness  hypocrisy. 

Novelties  in  these  days  delight  dainty  ears,  and  fine  filed 
phrases  to  fit  some  fantasy's,  that  no  book  except  it  abound 
with  the  one  or  the  other,  or  both  of  these,  is  brooked  of 
them.  Some  read  Gascoync,  some  Gueuasia,  some  praise  the 
Palace  of  Pleasure,  and  the  like,  whereon  they  bestow  whole 
days,  yea,  some  whole  months  and  years,  that  scarce  bestow 
one  minute  on  the  Bible,  albeit  the  book  of  God.  And  no' 
marvel  though  hypocritical  Papists  delight  in  any  other  book 
rather  than  the  Bible,  seeing  that  this  (as  the  sun  scorcheth 
the  naked  Ethiopians  skin'),  so  grieveth  the  galled  consciences 
of  some,  that  whether  it  discovereth  their  dissembling,  they 
never  leave  mocking  while  any  Christian  is  in  their  company: 
other  there  be  that  are  more  mild,  who  not  fear  their  offices 
should  fly,  or  their  livings  be  lost,  have  learned  such  con- 
formity, that  they  can  dissemble  with  dear  friends  in  deep 
points  of  religion,  and  seem  outwaixlly  that  which  inwardly  ii> 
heart  they  utterly  abhor :  these  snakes  are  most  venomous 
when  they  cast  their  old  skins.  Are  not  they  gross  and  drunk 
with  the  dregs  of  their  supei;stition,  that  dare  utter  this 
blasphemy  against  God  and  his  word  (to  terrify  and  withdraw 
its  much  as  they  may  the  well-meaning  man  from  so  godly  and 
comfortable  an  exercise) ,  that  it  is  dangerous  for  the  unlearned 
to  read  the  Bible?  If  they  would  considerately  weigh  what 

•  Rom.  i.  20.     Cap.  x.  18.     Psal.  xix.  4.     Wisd.  13. 
t  Psal.   xcvii.    7.      Exod.   xx.    3.       John  xiv,    13.       Cap.   xvi.    23., 
Matth,  lixvii.    Rev.  xix.  10.     Cap.  xiii.  9. 


167 

great  and  grievous  punishments  the  Lord  laid  on  Sennacherib* 
king  of  Assyria,  Nicanor,  and  others,  for  blaspheming  his 
name,  they  would  not  so  rashly  do  the  hke.  If  their  fore- 
fathers had  considered  that  the  word  of  God  is  a  sea,  wherein 
both  the  t  elephant  may  swim  and  the  lamb  may  wade,  the 
greatest  doctor  may  daily  learn  in,  and  the  simplest  man  may 
continually  have  comfort;  and  that  in  the  same  there  is  a 
sovereign  salve  for  every  sore,  they  would  not  (as  I  think), 
have  forbidden  the  reading  of  God's  book,  and  instead  thereof, 
commanded  it  to  be  read  (yea,  and  that  openly  in  churches), 
the  legend  of  lies  rather  than  lives  of  saints :  not  unlike  in 
most  places,  for  method  and  matter,  to  the  monstrous  fables  of 
Garagantua,  Huon  of  Bourdeaux,  and  the  like. 

J  Whosoever  will  (as  Isaac),  continually  meditate  on  God'a 
book,  he  shall,  as  David  saith,  find  it  a  lanthorn  to  his  feet, 
and  a  light  to  his  paths  :  yea,  God's  word  will  be  in  his  mouth 
sweeter  than  honey  and  the  honey  comb.  When  I  perceived 
how  desirous  your  worship  was  to  hear  and  read  God's  word, 
it  greatly  moved  me  to  write  this  book,  persuading  myself  tliat 
it  will  be  to  you  and  all  the  godly,  a  recreation,  to  apply  some 
part  of  this  heavenly  history  of  Christ  our  Saviour  to  the  tune 
of  one  of  the  Psalms  of  David,  that  being  (as  St.  Paul  adviseth 
all  men),  filled  with  the  spirit  of  God,  you  may  still  be  speaking 
unto  yourself  in  psalms  and  hymns  §and  spiritual  songs,  singing 
and  making  melody  unto  the  Lord  in  your  heart,  and  giving 
thanks  always  for  all  things  unto  God  even  the  Father  in  the 
name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  The  second  reason  that 
moved  me  to  take  this  work  in  hand  (besides  the  hope  that  I 
have  thereby  to  benefit  many,  and  especially  such  as  have 
delight  to  be  reading  and  singing  of  ballads  and  other  English 

*  2  Kings  xviii.  60.     1  Mac.  vii.  43. 
t  Ezec.  xlvii.  1.     EsaL  xxxvii.  1.     Levit.  xxiv.  11. 
%  Gen.  xxiv.  63. 
.,f  Ephcs.  V.  18. 


lo8 

metre's,  by  giving  them  better  matter  to  read  and  sing  than 
such  commonly  do  yield  unto  them),  is  to  signify  in  some  part 
my  gratefuhiess  to  God  and  yom"  worship  for  the  manifold 
benefits  and  favors  that  I  and  mine  have  received  at  your 
hands:  to  God  (I  say),  first,  as  the  author,  and  yourself  the 
instrument  that  he  hath  used  to  do  me  much  good.  For,  if 
God  had  not  opened  your  heart  as  he  did  the  *  heart  of  Lydia 
to  hear  the  preaching  of  St.  Paul,  you  had  not  regarded  my 
rnisery  j  and  therefore  with  f  David  I  will  as  long  as  I  live 
receive  the  cup  of  salvation,  and  call  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord  3  for  as  nothing  pleaseth  God  more  than  thankfulness,  so 
nothing  can  displease  God  and  man  more  than  ungratefiilness. 
But,  lest  some  sycophant  should  (seeking  to  deface  my  good 
meaning),  note  or  charge  me  with  adulation,  I  will  rather 
pass  over  the  sundry  and  daily  benefits  I  have  and  do  receive 
by  your  worship's  means,  with  this  slight  remembrance  of 
them,  they  give  him  any  such  advantage,  or  the  least  occasion 
to  carp  at  the  same.  But,  If  any  of  Momus  mates  miilike 
with  my  doings,  either  in  tliis  or  the  rest  of  my  book  (so  that 
the  godly  and  well-disposed,  and  of  them  chiefly  your  worship, 
to  whom  I  offer  my  book  and  myself  to  be  patronized  and 
defended,  do  like  and  allow  of  it),  I  esteem  not  his  detractions 
but  as  trifles,  and  his  flouts  and  follies,  and  therefore  let  him 
content  himself  with  this  answer,  I  took  not  this  travel  for  his 
sake.  And  thus  desiring  your  worship  to  accept  in  good  part 
this  my  humble  duty  and  remembrance  of  you,  as  glad  by 
this  to  impart  the  effect  of  my  affection  towards  you,  as  the 
widow  was  by  two  mites  to  manifest  her  good  meaning  to  the 
treasury,  I  beseech  Almighty  God  to  bless  you  and  all  yours 
with  continual  and  daily  encrease  of  the  riches  of  his  graces 
and  gifts,  that  you  may  ever  go  forward  from  faith  to  faith, 
ready  with  all  your  endeavours  to  maintain  the  quarrel  of 

*  Acts  xvi.  14.  t  Psal.  cxvi.  1?. 


159 

Christ  and  his  churchj  until  you  be  summoned  to  reign  with 
him  in  glory  without  end.  Amen. 

From  Prendergast  the  first  day  of  August,  I5g4. 
Your  worships  in  all  duties, 

Robert  Holland." 

"  To  the  Godly  and  Christian  Reader. 

Gentle  Reader,  I  think  my  labour  well  bestowed  if  th« 
same  may  benefit  any,  and  my  reward  sufficient  if  the  godly 
Uke  and  allow  of  my  book.  I  must  confess,  and  do,  that  this 
work  would  have  required  one  of  gi-eater  reading  and  of  far 
deeper  judgment  than  myself  to  undertake  it :  neither  can  I 
any  way  make  thee  amends  for  my  rashness  herein  unless  thou 
accept  of  my  good  will  for  the  recompence. 

Many  will  mislike  with  it,  because  it  is  in  metre*  (though 
sundry  have  done  the  like  in  Latin  verse),  and  many  with  the 
metre,  because  it  is  rudely  handled.  The  first,  I  hope,  will 
excuse  me,  if  tliey  consider  that  I  seek  not  herein  to  set  forth 
myself  to  the  shew,  but  as  much  as  I  may  to  win  if  not  many, 
yet  some,  to  know  Christ  Jesus  crucified.  Although  this 
history  is  so  brief  and  plain  in  the  writings  of  the  four  Evan- 
gelists, as  no  mortal  man  may  presume  to  amend  it :  and  that 
many  worthy  and  famous  men,  both  for  their  learning  and 
knowledge,  have  in  sundry  languages  commented  at  large,  and 
made  very  godly  and  profitable  expositions  upon  the  same : 
yet  it  hath  not  won  all  men  to  such  liking  thereof  that  they 
can  afford  much  time  to  read  the  one  or  the  other.  If  I  may 
any  way  satisfy  such,  and  hereby  draw  them  to  savour  of  the 

*  Beza  Georg.  Fabri.  hist,  de  nat.  pa.  &  resur.  Christ  carmlna.  Barthol. 
Freu.  celigod.  sacrae  lib.  3.  de  incai-.  reb.  gestis,  &c.  Christi  VVittberg  an. 
159. 1.  Cor.  ij.  2. 


160 


Saviour,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  shall  think  my  time  well 
spent,  and  myself  not  deceived  of  my  desire.  Which  reckoning 
of  mine,  if  it  be  allowed  for  good  payment  of  my  godly 
hostess,  I  mean  the  Christian  congregation  and  church  of  God, 
there  shall  none  of  the  children  of  Belial,  the  brood  of  dark- 
ness, drive  me  to  any  new  accounts.  I  care  not  who  carp  at 
it,  so  that  Christ  may  be  glorified  by  it,  and  the  Christian  and 
godly  Reader  satisfied  with  it ;  to  whose  censure  I  submit  it 
and  myself,  humbly  desiring  the  learned  with  favor  to  find  out 
all  faults,  and  charitably  to  amend  where  I  have  missed. 
Farewell. 

Thine  in  the  Lord  Jesus, 
R.  Holland." 


I6l 
HARLOW'S  HERO  AND  LEANDER* 

The  Argument  of  the  Second  Sestyad. 

"  Hero  ^f  love  takes  deeper  sense. 
And  doth  her  love  more  recompence  : 
Their  first  night's  meeting,  where  sweet  kisses 
Are  til  only  crowns  of  both  their  blisses. 
He  iwims  to'  Abydos  and  returns  : 
Cold  Neptune  with  his  beauty  burns  ; 
Whose  suit  he  shuns,  and  doth  aspire 
Hero's  Jair  Tower,  and  his  desire. 

By  this,  sad  Hero,  with  love  unacquainted. 
Viewing  Leander's  face  fell  down  and  fainted. 
He  kist  her,  and  breath'd  hfe  into  her  lips. 
Wherewith,  as  one  displeas'd,  away  she  trips ; 
Yet  as  she  went,  foil  often  look'd  behind. 
And  many  poor  excuses  did  she  find 
To  Unger  by  the  way,  and  once  she  staid. 
And  would  have  turn'd  again,  but  was  afraid. 
In  offering  parley,  to  be  counted  light : 
So  on  she  goes,  and,  in  her  idle  flight. 
Her  painted  fan  of  curled  plumes  let  fall. 
Thinking  to  train  Leander  there-withal. 
He,  being  a  novice,  knew  not  what  she  meant. 
But  staid,  and  after  her  a  letter  sent  j 
Which  joyful  Hero  answer'd  in  such  sort. 
As  he  had  hope  to  scale  the  beauteous  fort. 

Seep.  129. 


162 

Wherein  the  liberal  Graces  lock'd  their  wealth. 

And  therefore  to  her  tower  he  got  by  stealth. 

Wide  open  stood  the  door  ;  he  need  not  climb  ; 

And  she  herself,  before  the'  appointed  time. 

Had  spread  the  board,  with  roses  strew'd  the  room. 

And  oft'  look'd  out,  and  mus'd  he  did  not  come. 

At  last  he  came  ;  O  who  can  tell  the  greeting 

These  greedy  lovers  had  at  their  first  meeting. 

He  ask — she  gave — and  nothing  was  denied  ; 

Both  to  each  other  quickly  were  affied  : 

Look  how  their  hands,  so  were  their  hearts  united. 

And  what  he  did,  she  willingly  requited. 

Sweet  are  the  kisses,  the  embracements  sweet. 

When  like  desires  and  like  affections  meet ; 

For  from  the  earth  to  heaven  is  Cupid  rais'd. 

Where  fancy  is  in  equal  balance  pois'd. 

Yet  she  this,  rashness  suddenly  repented. 

And  turn'd  aside,  and  to  herself  lamented  : 

As  if  her  name  and  honour  had  been  wrong'd. 

By  being  possess'd  of  him  for  whom  she  long'd  ; 

And  then  she  wish'd,  although  not  from  her  heart,^ 

That  he  would  leave  her  turret  and  depart. 

The  mirthful  God  of  amorous  pleasure  smil'd 

To  see  how  he  this  captive  Nymph  beguil'd  : 

For  hitherto  he  did  but  fan  the  fire. 

And  kept  it  down  that  it  might  mount  the  higher. 

Now  wax'd  she  jealous,  lest  his  love  abated. 

Fearing  her  own  thoughts  made  her  to  be  hated. 

Therefore  unto  him  hastily  she  goes. 

And,  like  light  Salmacis,  her  body  throws 

Upon  his  bosom,  where  with  yielding  eyes 

She  offers  up  herself  a  sacrifice. 

To  slake  his  anger,  if  he  were  displeas'd  : 

O  what  God  would  not  therewith  be  appeas'd  ? 


163 

Like  Esop's  cock,  this  jewel  he  enjoy' d. 

And  as  a  brother  with  his  sister  toy'd. 

Supposing  nothing  else  was  to  be  done. 

Now  he  her  favour  and  goodwill  had  won. 

But  know  you  not  that  creatures  wanting  sense^ 

By  nature  have  a  mutual  appetence  j 

And  wanting  organs  to  advance  a  step, 

Mov'd  by  Love's  force,  unto  each  other  leap? 

Much  more  in  subjects  having  intellect. 

Some  hidden  influence  breeds  like  effect. 

Albeit  Leander,  rude  in  love  and  rav/. 

Long  dallying  with  Hero,  nothing  saw 

That  might  delight  him  more,  yet  he  suspected 

Some  amorous  rites  or  other  were  neglected. 

Therefore  unto  his  body  hers  he  clung. 

She,  fearing  on  the  rashes  to  be  flung, 

Striv'd  with  redoubled  strength  j  the  more  she  striv'd^ 

The  more  a  gentle  pleasing  heat  reviv'd. 

Which  taught  him  all  that  elder  lovers  know. 

And  now  the  same  'gan  so  to  scorch  and  glow. 

As  in  plain  terms,  yet  cunningly,  he'd  crave  it. 

Love  always  makes  those  eloquent  that  have  it. 

* 
* 
* 
* 

Ne'er  king  more  sought  to  keep  his  diadem 
Than  Hero  this  inestimable  gem. 
Above  our  life  we  love  a  stedfast  friend. 
Yet  when  a  token  of  grc;at  worth  we  send. 
We  often  kiss  it,  often  look  thereon. 
And  stay  the  messenger  that  would  be  gone  j 
No  maiTel  then  though  Hero  would  not  yield 
So  soon  to  part  from  what  she  dearly  held. 


* 

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164 

Jewels  being  lost  are  found  again,  this  never, 
'Tis  lost  but  once,  and  once  lost,  lost  ever. 

Now  had  the  morn  espy'd  her  lover's  steeds. 
Whereat  she  starts,  puts  on  her  purple  weeds. 
And  red  for  anger  that  he  staid  so  long. 
All  headlong  throws  herself  the  clouds  among. 
And  now  Leander,  fearing  to  be  mist, 
Embrac'd  her  suddenly,  took  leave  and  kist  j 
Long  was  he  taking  leave  and  loath  to  go. 
And  kist  again,  as  lovers  use  to  do ; 
Sad  Hero  wrung  him  by  the  hand  and  wept. 
Saying,  let  your  vows  and  promises  be  kept. 
Then  standing  at  the  door,  she  turn'd  about. 
As  loth  to  see  Leander  going  out. 
And  now  the  sun,  that  through  the'  horizon  peeps,  - 
As  pitying  these  lovers,  downward  creeps. 
So  that  in  silence  of  the  cloudy  night. 
Though  it  was  morning,  did  he  take  his  flight. 
But  what  the  secret  trusty  night  conceal' d, 
Leander's  amorous  habit  soon  reveal'd. 
With  Cupid's  myrtle  was  his  bonnet  crown' d. 
About  his  arms  the  purple  riband  wound. 
Wherewith  she  wreath'd  her  largely  spreading  hair  j 
Nor  could  the  youth  abstain,  but  he  must  wear 
The  sacred  ring  wherewith  she  was  endow'd. 
When  first  religious  chastity  she  vow'd  : 
Which  made  his  love  through  Sestos  to  be  known. 
And  thence  unto  Abydos  sooner  blown 
Than  he  could  sail,  for  incorporeal  Fame, 
Whose  weight  consists  in  nothing  but  her  name. 
Is  swifter  than  the  wind,  whose  tardy  plumes 
Are  reeking  water  and  dull  earthly  fumes. 
Home  when  be  came,  he  seem'd  not  to  be  there, 
put  like  exiled  air  tlu'ust  from  his  sphere. 


165 

Set  in  a  foreign  place,  and  strait  from  thence, 

Alcides  like,  by  mighty  violence. 

He  would  have  chac'd  away  the  swelling  main. 

That  him  fiom  her  unjustly  did  detain. 

Like  as  the  sun  in  a  diameter. 

Fires  and  inflames  objects  removed  far. 

And  heateth  kindly,  shining  lat'rally  j 

So  Beauty  sweetly  quickens  when  'tis  nigh. 

But  being  separated  and  remov'd. 

Bums  where  it  cherish' d,  murders  where  itjov'd. 

Therefore  even  as  an  index  to  a  book. 

So  to  his  mind  was  young  Leander's  look. 

O  none  but  Gods  have  power  their  love  to  hide. 

Affection  by  the  count'nance  is  descried  j 

The  light  of  hidden  fire  itself  discovers. 

And  love  that  is  conceal'd  betrays  poor  lovers. 

His  secret  flame  apparently  was  seen, 

Leander's  father  knew  where  he  had  been. 

And  for  the  same  mildly  rebuk'd  his  son. 

Thinking  to  quench  the  sparkles  new  begun. 

But  Love  resisted  once  grows  passionate. 

And  nothing  more  than  counsel  lovers  hate  j 

For  as  a  hot  proud  horse  highly  disdains 

To  have  his  head  control'd,  but  breaks  the  reins. 

Spits  forth  his  ringled  bit,  and  with  his  hoofs 

Checks  the  submissive  ground ;  so  he  that  loves. 

The  more  he  is  restrain' d,  the  worse  he  fares ; 

What  is  it  now  but  mad  Leander  dares  ? 

O  Hero,  Hero,  thus  he  cried  full  oft. 

And  then  he  got  him  to  a  rock  aloft. 

Where  having  spied  her  tower,  long  star'd  he  on't. 

And  pray'd  the  narrow  toiling  Hellespont 

To  part  in  twain,  that  he  might  come  and  go. 

But  still  the  rising  billows  answer' d,  no. 


\66 

With  that  he  stript  him  to  the  ivorj^  skin. 

And  crying,  I,ove,  I  come,  leapt  Hvely  in. 

Whereat  the  sapphire-visag'd  God  grew  proud. 

And  made  hi*  cap'ring  Triton  sound  aloud. 

Imagining  that  Ganimed  displeas'd, 

Had  left  the  heavens,  therefore  on  him  he  seiz'd. 

Leander  striv'd,  the  waves  about  him  wound. 

And  puU'd  him  to  the  bottom,  where  the  ground 

Was  strew'd  with  peaH,  and  in  low  coral  groves. 

Sweet-singing  Mermaids  sported  with  their  loves 

On  heaps  of  heavy  gold,  and  took  great  pleasure 

To  spurn  in  careless  sort  the  shipwreck'd  treasure. 

For  here  the  stately  azure  palace  stood. 

Where  kingly  Neptune  and  his  train  abode. 

The  lusty  God  embrac'd  him,  call'd  him  Love, 

And  swore  he  never  should  return  to  Jove. 

But  when  he  knew  it  was  not  Ganimed, 

For  under  water  he  was  almost  dead. 

He  heav'd  him  up,  and  looking  on  his  face. 

Beat  down  the  bold  waves  with  his  triple  mace. 

Which  mounted  up,  intending  to  have  kist  him. 

And  fell  in  drops  like  tears  because  they  mist  him. 

Leander  being  up,  began  to  swim. 

And  looking  up;,  saw  Neptune  follow  him. 

Whereat  aghast  the  poor  soul  'gan  to  ciy, 

O  let  me  visit  Hero  'ere  I  die. 

The  God  put  Helle's  bracelet  on  his  arnrt. 

And  swore  the  sea  should  never  do  him  harm. 

He  clap'd  his  plump  cheeks,  with  his  tresses  play'd. 

And  smiling  wantonly  his  love  beti-ay'd  ; 

He  walch'd  his  arms,  and  as  they  open'd  wide 

At  every  stroke,  betwixt  them  he  would  slide. 

And  steal  a  kiss,  and  then  run  out  and  dance. 

And  as  he  turn'd  cast  many  a  lustful  glance. 


167 

And  threw  him  gaudy  toys  to  please  his  eye. 

And  dive  into  the  water,  and  there  pry 

Upon  his  breast,  his  thighs,  and  every  limb. 

And  up  again,  and  close  beside  him  swim. 

And  talk  of  love:  Leander  made  reply. 

You  are  deceiv'd,  I  am  no  woman,  I ; 

Thereat  smil'd  Neptune,  and  then  told  a  tale. 

How  that  a  shepherd  sitting  in  a  vale, 

Play'd  with  a  boy  so  fair  and  so  kind. 

As  for  his  love  both  earth  and  heaven  pin'd ; 

That  of  the  cooling  river  durst  not  drink. 

Lest  water-nymphs  should  pull  him  from  the  brink. 

And  when  he  sported  m  the  fragrant  lawns. 

Goat-footed  Satyrs,  and  up-staring  Fawns 

Would  steal  him  thence.     'Ere  half  his  tale  was  done. 

Aye  me,  Leander  cried,  the'  enamour' d  sun 

That  now  should  shine  on  Thetis'  glassy  bower. 

Descends  upon  my  radiant  Hero's  tower. 

O  that  these  tardy  arms  of  mine  were  wings  j 

And  as  he  spake,  upon  the  waves  he  springs. 

Neptune  was  angry  that  he  gave  no  ear. 

And  in  his  heart  revenging  malice  bare  : 

He  flung  at  him  his  mace,  but  as  it  went. 

He  call'd  it  in,  for  love  made  him  repent. 

The  mace  returning  back  his  own  hand  hit. 

As  meaning  to  be  veng'd  for  darting  it. 

When  this  fresh  bleeding  wound  Leander  view'd. 

His  colour  went  and  came,  as  if  he  rued 

The  grief  that  Neptune  felt.     In  gentle  breasts 

Relenting  thoughts,  remorse  and  pity  rests  ; 

And  who  have  hard  hearts  and  obdurate  minds. 

But  vicious,  hare-brain'd  and  illiterate  hinds  r 

The  God  seeing  him  with  pity  to  be  mov'd. 

Thereon  concluded  that  he  was  belov'd. 


168 

Love  is  too  full  of  faith,  too  credulous. 

With  folly  and  false  hope  deluding  us  j 

Wherefore  Leander's  fancy  to  surprize. 

To  the  rich  Ocean  for  gift  he  flies. 

'Tis  wisdom  to  give  much,  a  gift  prevails 

When  deep  persuading  oratory  fails. 

By  this  Leander  being  near  the  land. 

Cast  down  his  weary  feet,  and  felt  the  sand* 

Breathless  albeit  he  were,  he  rested  not, 

l^ill  to  the  solitary  tower  he  got : 

And  knock'd  and  call'd,  at  which  celestial  noise. 

The  longing  heart  of  Hero  much  more  joys 

Than  Nymphs  and  Shepherds,  when  the  timbrel  rings. 

Or  crooked  Dolphin,  when  the  sailor  sings  ; 

She  staid  not  for  her  robes,  but  strait  arose. 

And  drunk  with  gladness  to  the  door  she  goes. 

Where  seeing  a  naked  man,  she  screech' d  for  fear  : 

iSuch  sights  as  this  to  tender  maids  are  rare. 

And  ran  into  the  dark  herself  to  hide  : 

Rich  jewels  in  the  dark  are  soonest  spied. 

Unto  her  was  he  led,  or  rather  drawn 

By  those  white  limbs  which  sparkled  thro'  the  lawn  i 

The  nearer  that  he  came,  the  more  she  fled. 

And,  seeking  refuge,  slipt  into  her  bed. 

Whereon  Leander  sitting,  thus  began. 

Through  numbing  cold  all  feeble,  faint  and  wan : 

If  not  for  love,  yet  love,  for  pity's  sake. 

Me  in  thy  bed  and  maiden  bosom  take ; 

At  least  vouchsafe  these  arms  some  little  room. 

Who,  hoping  to  embrace  thee,  cheerly  swuni. 

This  head  was  beat  with  many  a  churlish  billow^^ 

And  therefore  let  it  rest  upon  thy  pillow. 

Herewith  affrighted.  Hero  shrunk  away. 

And  m  her  lukewarm  place  Leander  lay. 


169 

Whose  lively  heat,  like  fire  from  heaven  fet. 
Would  animate  gross  clay,  and  higher  set 
The  drooping  thoughts  of  base-dedining  souls. 
Than  dreary  Mars  carousing  nectar  bowls. 
His  hands  he  cast  upon  her  like  a  snare. 
She,  overcome  with  shame  and  sallow  fear. 
Like  chaste  Diana,  when  A.cteon  spied  her. 
Being  suddenly  betray' d,  div'd  down  to  hide  her. 
And  as  her  silver  body  downward  went. 
With  both  her  hands  she  made  the  bed  a  tent. 
And  in  her  own  mind  thought  herself  secure, 
O'ercast  with  dim  and  darksome  coverture ; 
And  now  she  lets  him  whisper  in  her  ear. 
Flatter,  entreat,  promise,  protest  and  swear ; 
Yet  ever  as  he  greedily  essay' d 
To  touch  those  dainties,  she  the  Harpy  play'd. 
And  every  limb  did,  as  a  soldier  stout. 
Defend  the  fort,  and  keep  the  foeman  out. 
For  though  the  rising  ivory  mount  he  scal'd. 
Which  is  with  azure  circling  lines  empal'dj 
Much  like  a  globe,  a  globe  may  I  term  this. 
By  which  Love  sails  to  regions  full  of  bliss. 
Yet  there  with  Sysiphus  he  toil'd  in  vain. 
Till  gentle  parley  did  the  truce  obtain. 
She  trembling  strove ;  this  strife  of  her's,  like  that 
Which  made  the  world,  another  world  begat 
Of  unknown  joy.     Treason  was  in  her  thought. 
And  cunningly  to  yield  herself  she  sought. 
Seeming  not  won,  yet  won  she  was  at  length ; 
In  such  wars  women  use  but  half  their  strength. 
Leander  now,  like  Theban  Hercules, 
Enter' d  the  orchard  of  the'  Hesperides  j 
Whose  fruit  none  rightly  can  describe,  but  he 
That  pulls  or  shakes  it  from  the  golden  tree. 

VOL.   II.  Z 


170 

Wherein  Leander  on  her  quivering  brea«t. 

Breathless  spoke  something,  and  sigh'd  out  the  rest  j 

Which  so  prevail' d,  as  he,  with  small  ado, 

Enclos'd  her  in  his  arms  and  kist  her  too  : 

And  every  kiss  to  her  was  as  a  charm. 

And  to  Leander  as  a  fresh  alarm  : 

So  that  the  truce  was  broke,  and  she,  alas. 

Poor  silly  maiden,  at  his  mercy  was. 

Love  is  not  full  of  pity,  as  men  say. 

But  deaf  and  cruel  where  he  means  to  prey. 

Even  as  a  Bird  which  in  our  hands  we  wring. 

Forth  plungeth  and  oft'  flutters  with  her  wing. 

And  now  she  wish'd  this  night  were  never  done. 

And  sigh'd  to  think  upon  th'  approaching  sun ; 

For  much  it  griev'd  her  that  the  bright  day-light 

Should  know  the  pleasure  of  this  blessed  night ; 

And  then,  like  Mars  and  Ericine,  display' d 

Both  in  each  others'  arms  chain' d  as  they  laid. 

Again  she  knew  not  how  to  frame  her  look. 

Or  speak  to  him,  who  in  a  moment  took 

That  which  so  long,  so  charily  she  kept. 

And  fain  by  stealth  away  she  would  have  crept. 

And  to  some  corner  secretly  have  gone. 

Leaving  Leander  in  the  bed  alone. 

But  as  her  naked  feet  Avere  whipping  out. 

He  on  tlie  sudden  clung  her  so  about. 

That  mermaid-like  unto  the  floor  she  slid  j 

One  half  appear' d,  the  other  half  was  hid. 

Thus  near  the  bed  she  blushing  stood  upright. 

And  from  her  countenance  behold  ye  might 

A  kind  of  twilight  break,  which  through  the  air. 

As  from  an  orient  cloud,  gleams  here  and  there. 

And  round  about  the  chamber  this  false  mom 

Brought  forth  the  day  before  the  day  was  born. 


171 

So  Hero's  ruddy  cheek  Hero  betray'd. 
And  her  all  naked  to  his  sight  display'd. 
Whence  his  admiring  eyes  more  pleasure  took. 
Than  Dis,  on  heaps  of  gold  fixing  his  look. 
By  this  Apollo's  golden  harp  began 
To  sound  forth  music  to  the  Ocean, 
Which  watchful  Hesperus  no  sooner  heard. 
But  he  the  day  bright-bearing  Car  prepav'd. 
And  ran  before,  as  harbinger  of  light. 
And  with  his  flaming  beams  mock'd  ugly  night. 
Till  she,  o'ercome  with  anguish,  shame  and  rage, 
Dang'd  down  to  hell  her  loathsome  carriage. 

The  end  of  the  Second  Sesiyad. 


"  Pictures  of  Passions^  Fancies,  and  Affectiom :  poeti- 
cally deciphered,  in  variety  of  Characters.  By 
Tho.  Jordan,  Gent. 

Et  veniam  pro  laude  peto,  laudatus  abunde, 
Nonfasfiditus,  si  tihi  lector  ero, 

London,  printed  by  R.  Wood,    (no  date.^     Dedicated 
to  his  much  honoured  friend,  Mr.  Francis  Jordan." 

Thomas  Jordan,  according  to  Ritson*  and  others, 
was  the  professed  pageant-writer  and  poet-laureat  for 
the  city,  and  seems  to  have  possessed  a  greater  share 
of  poetical  merit  than  usually  fell  to  the  lot  of  his  pro- 
fession. The  business  of  city- poet,  we  are  farther  in- 
formed by  Mr.  Malone,  was  to  compose  an  annual 

•  Ancient  English  Songs,  p.  ?77. 


172 

panegyric  on  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  to  write  verses  for 
the  pageants :  an  office  which  has  been  discontinued 
since  the  time  of  Elkanah  Settle,  in  1722.*  According 
to  Langbaine,i-  Jordan  was  not  only  a  writer  but  an 
actor  of  plays,  having  performed  the  part  of  Lepida,  in 
a  play,  entitled  Messalina,  in  1640.  Before  that  period 
he  had  commenced  poet ;  as  one  of  his  many  miscella- 
neous volumes  appeared  in  1637.  He  succeeded  Tatham 
as  the  city  laureat,  between  ]665  and  1671 ;  and  is  sup- 
posed to  have  died  in  1685,  being  himself  succeeded 
by  Taubman.  Such  are  the  brief  memorials  of  a  very 
busy  writer,  who  probably  let  few  years  of  his  life  pass 
by  without  having  offered  some  minor  tribute  from  the 
press.  Winstanley,  the  most  vulgar  of  critics,  spoke 
of  him  as  "  indulging  his  Muse  more  to  vulgar  fancies 
than  to  the  high  flying  wits  of  those  times."J  Wesley, 
in  his  Maggots,  1685,  invoked  the  Muse  of  Jordan  as 
the  inspirer  of  dulness ;  and  Oldham,  that  biting  sati- 
rist, had  a  passing  fling  at  him  in  his  splenetic  verses 
upon  a  printer  who  mangled  his  poetry.  Yet  notwith- 
standing these  confederated  stigmas  on  poor  Jordan, 
whose  deficiency  seems  to  have  been  rather  in  taste 
than  talent,  there  will  be  found  more  merit  perhaps 
in  the  mass  of  his  poesy  than  in  many  of  his  much  ap- 
plauded contemporaries.  I  will  cite  a  few  passages 
from  his  poetical  Characters,  which  appear  to  be  drawu 
with  force,  and  feeling,  and  eft'ecLi 

*  Attempt  to  ascertain  the  order  of  Shakespeare's  PIay». 

t  Drain.  Poets,  p.  'A06. 

t  Lives  of  the  Poet.s  \>   HI. 


173 

The  following  is  a  complimentary  tribute  to  the 
Parliament  of  England  : 

"  It  is  a  sacred  and  transcendant  session. 
Where  the  unblemish'd  purple  daunts  oppression  ; 
The  poor  man's  refuge,  and  the  just  man's  care. 
The  true  man's  trial,  and  the  false  man's  fear. 
The  good  man's  sanctuary,  bad  man's  giief, 
The  weak  man's  prop,  the  wretched  man's  relief. 
The  patient  man's  award,  the  scourge  of  pride. 
The  simple's  safety,  and  the  nation's  guide." 

Here  is  all  the  strong  antithetical  contrast,  and  al- 
most the  mellifluence  of  Pope. 

This  is  the  commencement  of  what  he  characters  as 
"  a  Compleat  Man." 

"  His  life  is  one  best  method,  and  the  Graces 
Compose  him  a  fair  book  of  common  places. 
Directing  to  all  vertues  that  inherit 
The  glorious  microcosm  of  blood  and  spirit. 
His  birth  is  not  his  boast  j  for  he  will  treat 
Of  his  blest  ancestors,  as  good,  not  great ; 
And  though  the  tapers  of  their  fame  wax  dim, 
Th'  illumination  is  supply'd  by  him." 

The  following  portraiture  is  marked  by  much 
strength  of  fancy  as  well  as  just  discrimination. 

A  melancholy  Man, 

"  Is  one  that  lives  in  singlenesse  of  folly. 
Whose  summum  honuvi  is  his  melancholly ; 
A  stray  sheep  from  the  fold,  a  piece  of  earth 
Digg'd  from  a  quarry,  where  the  lead  takes  birth  j 


174 

A  lut«  untun'd ;  a  strange  ttiysterious  fablft 

Of  one  unsociably  sociable. 

His  sighs  are  broken  air,  an3  his  hoafse  hum. 

Like  a  dead  march  beat  on  a  funeral  drum. 

The  pleasures  of  the  world  and  he  agree 

As  fire  and  parchment,  the  antipathie 

Unto  time,  tune  and  mood,  and  wonders  what 

Men  (when  they  laugh)  see  to  be  merry  at.— • 

He  sleeps  with  open  eye-lids,  and  the  theam 

His  fansie  works  on,  is  a  waking  dream 

Of  studied  nothing,  which  at  your  departing 

Vanishcth,  (vision-like)  with  sudden  starting. 

His  the  contriver  of  crosse  arms,  fixt  eyes. 

Treads  trackless  fields,  dark  groves,  and  much  complies 

With  mourning  mirtle,  willow,  ivie,  and 

The  straying  streams  of  an  indented  strand. 

His  walks  are  desarts  :  if  he  chance  to  see 

The  mines  of  an  old  raz'd  priorie, 

Motionlesse  as  the  object  he  appears. 

And  set  his  fansie  back  five  hundred  years. 

His  nights  are  vigils,  where  he  nature  wrongs 

By  measuring  time,  as  choristers  do  songs. 

His  own  distempers  make  him  turn  so  oft 

From  place  to  place,  no  pillow  can  be  soft : 

A  down-bed  is  a  quarry,  a  bare  board 

Hath  as  much  ease  as  feathers  can  afford. 

He  lies,  sits,  treads  on  thorns ;  and  yet  we  may 

Not  hence  infer,  he  is  in  Heaven's  way ; 

For  Hell  accounts  such  haplesse  souls  her  own 

Whom  black  despair  instructs  to  be  alone." 

One  more  may  be  introduced  as  forcibly  charac- 
teristic ;  and  it  will  admit  of  this  further  apology,  that 
all  the  productions  of  Jordan  are  now  of  unfrequent 
occurrence. 


175 


A  rash  Man, 

"  Is  like  a  ship  mis-guided  on  a  shelf, 
Unnaturally  outlaw'd  by  himself. 
He's  reason's  renegado ;  one  with  whom 
The  word  consider  is  too  troublesome, 
That  doth  obey  his  passion  and  affection  ; 
Whose  cogitation  is  the  childe  of  action. 
He  loves  and  hates,  but  is  too  quick  in  both. 
Accounting  contemplation  a  cold  sloth. 
He  doth,  and  then  disputes :  he  is  a  man 
Milde  as  a  brook,  wilde  as  an  ocean. 
Fierce  as  a  lion,  loving  as  a  lamb. 
He's  folly's  fire,  and  fickle  fortune's  frantic. 
Passion's  petar,  love's  blast,  and  anger's  antick. 
His  brain  is  flint,  heart  steel ;  his  wild  desire 
Is  tender  ;  he  that  crosses  him,  strikes  lire. 
With  all  his  undertakings  he  goes  on 
At  the  same  minute  they  are  thought  upon. 
He  says — consideration  is  a  crime 
Fetter'd  with  lazinesse,  it  loseth  time  ; 
And  therefore,  like  a  forward  man,  wiU  be 
Always  before  his  opportunity  : 
But  by  that  kinde  of  care,  he  finds  the  fate 
That  coming  early  only,  makes  him  late. 

He  is  a  wild,  head-strong,  unbroken  colt, 
A  wise  man's  warning-piece,  and  the  fool's  bolt ; 
The  coward's  only  terrour,  nature's  bubble. 
The  mad  man's  disputant,  the  mild  man's  trouble. 

But  now  I  think  on't,  how  shall  all  my  wit 
Secure  me,  should  he  reade  what  I  have  writ  ? 
Tie  ask  his  pardon,  and  He  vow  withall. 
When  I  next  write  to  make  him  rash- on- all." 

The/)?m  ii^  th^s  last  line  is  indeed  most  constrained, 


17() 

and  from  such  injudicious  trifles  it  often  happens  tliat 
sarcasm  is  furnished  with  congenial  food,  and  the  name 
of  a  meritorious  writer  is  branded  with  overwhelm- 
ing contempt.  The  remaining  Characters  consist  of 
a  Drunkard,  a  plundering  Coward,  a  valiant  Man  at 
arms,  a  complimental  Man,  a  Rustick,  a  Seaman,  a 
common  Souldier,  a  Usurer,  a  Prison,  a  corrupt  Law- 
yer, a  noble  Spirit,  a  Mountebank,  a  Whore,  and  a 
virtuous  Wife. 

As  a  bibliographical  appendage  to  this  article,  1 
subjoin  a  collective  list  of  Jordan's  various  publica- 
tions. 

1.  Poetical  Varieties,  or  Varietie  of  Fancies,  &c.  4to.  1637. 

2.  Love's  Dialect,  or  Poeticall  Varieties  digested  into  a  mis- 

cellanie  of  various  fancies,  4to.  1 646. 

3.  Divine  Raptures,  or  Pietie  in  Poesie,  digested  into  a  quaint 

diversity  of  sacred  fancies,  4to.  l646. 

4.  Rules  to  know  a  royal  King  from  a  disloyal  Subject,  &c. 

4to.  1647. 

5.  The  Walks  of  Islington  and  Hogsdon,  with  the  Humours 

of  Wood-street  Compter,  a  Comedy,  4to.  1657.  This 
was  licensed  to  be  acted  in  1641 3  and  its  success  was 
such,  as  to  have  had  a  run  of  nineteen  days. 

6.  Fancy's  Festivals,  a  masque,  4to.  1657. 

7.  Love  hath  found  out  his  eyes,  a  play,  not  printed,  but 

entered  on  the  stationer's  books,  June  2Q,  166O. 

8.  A  royal  Arbor  of  loyal  Poesie,  consisting  of  poems  and 

songs,  digested  in  Triumphs,  Elegy,  Satire,  Love,  and 
Drollery,  Svo.  1662. 

9.  A  new  Droll,  or  the  Counter  Scuffle :  acted  in  the  middle 

of  high  Lent,  between  the  goalers  and  the  prisoners, 
4to.  1663.  This  is  said  in  the  tide  to  be  by  J.  Jordan, 
but  the  J.  may  be  a  misprint  for  T. 


377 

10.  Money  is  au  Ass,  a  comedy,  4to.  1668.     Langbalne  con- 

ceives this  to  be  older  than  the  date  of  publication. 

1 1 .  London's  Resurrection  to  Joy  and  Triumph,  a  city  pageant, 

4to.  1671. 

12.  London  Triumphant,  or  the  City  in  jollity  and  splendour, 

4to.  1672. 

13.  London  in  its  Splendour,  4to.  1673. 

14.  The   Goldsmith's  Jubilee,   or  London's  Triumphs,   4to. 

1674. 

15.  A  Cabinet  of  Mirth  in  2  parts  :  consisting  of  jests,  stories, 

&c.  8vo.  1674, 

16.  The  Triumphs  of  London,  4to.  1675. 
37.  London's  Triumphs,  4to.  1676,  1677. 

18.  The  Triumph  of  London,  4to.  1678. 

19.  London  in  luster,  4to.  1679. 

20.  London's  Glory,  or  the  Lord  Mayor's  Show.  4to.  168O. 

21 .  London's  Joy,  or  the  Lord  Mayor's  Show,  4to.  168I. 

22.  The  Lord  Mayor's  Show,  4to.  l6S2. 

23.  The  Triumphs  of  London,  4to.  l683.     This  has  no  name, 

but  is  concluded  to  be  the  production  of  Jordan. 

24.  London's  Royal  Triumph  for  tlie  City's  loyal  Magistrate, 

4to.  l684. 

25.  "Wit  in  a  Wildernesse  of  promiscuous  Poesie,  8vo.  no  date. 

26.  Divinity  and  Moraiiry  in  Robes  of  Poetry :  composed  for 

the  recreations  of  the  courteous  and  ingenious,  8vo.  no 
date. 

27.  Jewels  of  Ingenuity  set  in  a  coronet  of  poetry,  8vo.  no 

date 

28.  The  Muses'  Melody  in  a  Consort  of  Poetrie,  with  diverse 

occasional!  and  compendious  epistles,  8vo.  no  date. 

29.  Piety  and  Poesy  contrasted,  8vo.  no  date. 

30  Claraphil  and  Clarinda,  in  a  Forrest  of  Fancies,  8vo.  r^o 

date. 
31.  A  Nursery  of  Novelties,  in  variety  of  poetry,  Svq.  ^lodatc. 

VOL.   11.  2  A 


178 

32.  Musick  and  Poetry,  mixed  in  variety  of  Songs  and  Poems, 

consisting  of  Love,  Honour,  Rallery,  and  Drollery.  8vo. 
no  date. 

33.  Death   Dissected:   or  a  Fort  against  Misfortune,   in  a  cor- 

diall  compounded  of  many  pious  and  profitable  Medi- 
tations on  Man's  Mortality.  8vo.  no  date. 

34.  A  Rosary  of  Rarities  in  a  Garden  of  Poetry.  8vo.  no  date. 

Several  of  these  pieces,  without  date,  were  undoubt- 
edly published  much  earlier  than  they  are  here  arranged, 
though  it  might  not  be  easy  to  fix  their  order  of  suc- 
cession :  many  of  the  poetical  articles  appeared  under 
more  than  one  title,  either  from  their  popularity  or  the 
author's  parsimony. 


Pieti/  and  Poesy  contrasted.    By  Thos.  Jordan,  Gent. 

Tiie  numerous  publications  of  Jordan  are  now  all 
become  scarce,  ais  has  been  observed  in  a  former  article 
relating  to  the  same  poet.  The  following  extracts  are 
given  from  a  copy  to  which  the  title  is  wanting,  and 
are  creditable  to  the  writer's  energy  of  thought,  acute- 
ness  of  observation,  and  conciseness  of  expression  in 
several  passages. 

"  On  Lot's  IVife  looking  lack  to  Sodom. 

Could  not  the  angel's  charge,  weak  woman  !  turn 
Thy  longing  eyes  from  seeing  Sodom  burn  ? 


179 

What  consolation  couldst  thou  think  to  see 

In  punishments  that  were  as  due  to  thee  ? 

For  'tis,  without  dispute,  thy  only  sin 

Had  made  thee  one,  had  not  thy  husband  been  : 

His  righteousness  preserv'd  thee,  who  went  on 

Without  desire  to  see  conftision 

Rain  on  the  wretched  citizens,  but  joy'd 

That  God  decreed  thou  shouldst  not  be  destroy 'd, 

Nor  thy  two  daughters,  who  did  likewise  flie 

The  flaming  plague,  without  casting  an  eye 

Tow^ird  the  burning  towers.     What  urg'd  thee  then. 

Since  they  went  on,  so  to  look  back  again  ? 

But  God,  whose  mercy  would  not  let  his  ire 

Punish  thy  crime,  as  it  did  theirs,  in  6re; 

With  his  divine  compunction  did  consent 

At  once  to  give  the  death  and  monument : 

Where  I  perceive,  engraved  on  thy  stone. 

Are  lines  that  tend  to  exhortation  ; 

Which,  that  by  thy  offence  I  may  take  heed, 

I  shall  with  sacred  application  read. 

The  Inscription. 

In  this  pillar  do  I  lie 
Buried,  where  no  mortal  eye 
Ever  could  my  bones  descry. 

When  I  saw  great  Sodom  burn. 
To  this  pillar  I  did  turn. 
Where  my  body  is  my  urn. 

You  to  whom  my  corpse  I  show. 
Take  trae  warning  by  my  woe. 
Look  not  back  when  God  cries  Go. 

They  ihat  tovi'ard  Virtue  high, 
If  but  back  they  cast  an  eye. 
Twice  as  far  do  from  it  flie. 


1 80 

Counsel  then  I  give  to  thosr 
Which  the  path  to  bliss  have  chose  : 
Turn  not  back,  ye  cannot  lose. 

That  way  let  your  whole  hearts  lie  : 
If  ye  let  them  backward  flie, 
Tliey'U  quickly  grow  as  hard  as  I. 

On  holy  Fasting  and  on  holy  Hunger. 

An  holy  fasting  may  be  called  a  feast, 
U  feeds  the  fainting  soul  and  gives  it  rest. 
He  that  would  gain  a  life  for  everlasting, 
By  God's  account,  is  only  full  with  fasting. 
A  holy  hunger  doth  suppresse  all  evil. 
That  kinde  of  hunger  famisheth  the  devil. 


D^ 


Sapiens  dominahitur  Jstris. 

Gave  the  Star  light  to  th'  three  wise  men  from  far  ? 
No;  'twas  their  Faith  gave  light  unto  the  Star. 

On  our  Saviour's  saying,  he  brought  a  Sivord. 

Our  Saviour  said — he  came  to  bring  a  sword 
Into  the  world  :   'tis  true,  that  was  his  word. 
Lord  !  strike  our  hearts  with  that ;  and  so  assure  us. 
That  way  of  wounding  is  the  means  to  cure  us. 

On  the  words  Scriptum  est. 

Our  Saviour  gives  the  perfect  revelation 

To  his  disciples  of  his  death  and  passion, 

"When  wise  men  see  known  dangers  they  prevent  'era : 

Yet  Christ  foresaw  his  wrongs,  but  underwent  'em. 

He  did  expect  no  quiet,  ease,  or  rest. 

Until  he  had  perform'd  quod  Scriptum  est." 


181 


Some  elegiac  poems  follow  the  religious  ones,  froiu 
which  a  few  are  selected. 

"  Epitaph  on  Mr.  John  Stexvard. 

Underneath  this  marble  lies 
Youth's  decay^  that  merchant's  prize 
Who  trades  for  what  is  just  and  wise. 

On  this  urn  let  no  man  laugh; 
Reader,  if  thou  keep  him  safe. 
His  name  shall  be  thy  epitaph. 

Let  no  one  here  presume  to  read. 
Unless  he  be  by  sorrow  led 
To  drop  a  tear  upon  the  dead. 

It  shall  be  but  lent ;  for  when 
Thou  com'st  to  th'  period  of  all  men. 
His  friends  shall  pay  thy  drops  agen. 

On  the  most  worthily  honour  d  Air.  John  Sidney,  whu  dyed 
full  of  the  small  pox. 

In  this  sacred  urn  there  lies. 
Till  the  last  trump  make  it  rise^, 
A  light  that's  wanting  in  the  skies. 

A  corpe  inveloped  with  stars. 
Who,  though  a  stranger  to  the  wars. 
Was  mark'd  with  many  hundied  scars. 

Death,  at  once,  spent  all  his  store 
Of  darts,  which  this  fair  body  bore. 
Though  fewer,  had  klU'd  many  more. 

For  him  our  own  salt  tears  we  quaff. 
Whose  virtues  shall  preserve  him  safe 
Beyond  the  power  of  Epitaph. 


182 

An  Elegie  on  the  lamented  Death  of  the  -Artuous  Mrs.  Anne 
Phillips;  addressed  to  her  son  and  heir,  Mr.  Edmund 
Phillips. 

Religious  creature  !  on  thy  sacred  herse 

Let  my  sad, muse  ingrave  a  weeping  verse 

In  watry  characters,  which  nere  shall  dry 

Whilst  men  survive  to  write  an  Elegy. 

Dull  brass,  proud  marble,  and  Arabian  gold 

(Though  they  tyre  time  and  ruine)  shall  not  hold 

Their  aged  letters  half  so  long  as  we 

Shall  keep  thy  living  worth  in  memory. 

Obedience  was  thy  study,  truth  thy  aim, 

Wisdome  thy  worship,  fortitude  thy  fame. 

Patience  thy  peace  j   and  all  good  eyes  might  see 

Thou  didst  retain.  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity. 

Within  the  holy  treasurie  of  thy  mind 

Were  the  choise  vertues  of  all  women-kind. 

Nothing  that  had  affinity  with  good. 

But  livd  within  thy  spirit  or  thy  blood. 

No  costly  marble  need  on  thee  be  spent, 

Thy  deathlesse  worth  is  thine  own  monument." 

The  following  punning  play  upon  the  name  of  the 
person  commemorated  is  in  the  glaring  false  taste  of 
Jordan's  age. 

"  Epitaph  on  my  worthy  friend  Mr.  John  Kirk. 

Reader,  within  this  dormitory  lies 

The  wet  memento  of  a  widdow's  eyes  : 

A  Kirk,  though  not  of  Scotland  ;  one  in  whom 

Loyalty  liv'd,  and  faction  found  no  room  : 

No  conventicle-Christian  ;  but  he  died 

A  Kirk  of  England  by  the  mother's  side." 

% 


183 


».^#<s#<s«>®< 


*'  ClarapJdl  and  Clarinda:    in  a   Forrest  of  Fnncief;. 
Bi/  Tho.  Jordan,  Gent. 

Sat  mihi  sunt  pauci  lectores,  est  satis  itnus. 
Si  me  nemo  legat,  sat  mihi  nullus  erit. 

hondon,  printed  by  R.  Wood." 
Small  8vo. 

This  pnblication  borders  more  upon  the  licentious 
facetiae,  or  popular  drolleries  of"  the  17th  century,  than 
upon  the  performances  of  Jordan  already  introduced. 
But  it  contains  much  variety,  and  some  specimens 
that  may  seem  to  bear  transcription. 

The  following  becomes  interesting  from  having 
been  written  on  the  marriage  of  Thomas  Stanley,  the 
elegant  poet  and  philosopher,  with  Mrs.  Dorothy  En- 
yon,  daughter  of  Sir  James  Enyon,  whom  he  married 
when  young.* 

"  An  Epithalamium  on  the  much  honoured  pair,  T.  S.  Esquire, 

and  Mrs.  D.  E. 

So  at  the  first  the  soul  and  body  met. 

When  the  Creator  did  in  council  sit. 

To  make  a  httle  world  command  the  great. 

Nor  are  your  flames  less  innocent  than  they. 
Before  the  grand  Impostor.did  betray 
Their  fatal  freedoms  to  the  world's  decay. 

*  Vide  Fasti  Oxon.  i.  :i84.  See  tliis  marriage  discusstd  in  the  Prclacc 
to  the  fbrth-coraing  reprint  of  Staulev's  Poems. 


J8i 

Therefore  let  all  that  Heaven  can  dispense 
To  royal  mankinde,  in  the  soule  and  sense. 
Possess  ye  with  seraphick  influence. 

May  all  the  promis'd  blessings  on  each  nation. 
From  Genesis  to  John's  high  revelation. 
Contribute  to  your  cordial  coronation. 

May  lovers  light  their  torches  at  your  flame. 
And  may  the  power  of  Stanley's  single  name 
Prove  the  sublimest  epithet  of  fame  ! 

May  your  hearts  fix  above  the  force  of  fate. 
May  neither  prince's  frown,  nor  people's  hate 
Your  fair  affections  dis-unanimate. 

May  ye  have  all  ye  can  desire  !  and  when 
Your  wishes  have  ont-vied  the  thoughts  of  men. 
Some  power  direct  you  how  to  wish  agen  !" 

A  posthumous  tribute  "■  on  the  honoured  services  of  the  mvsf 
worthy  Col.  Itohehy,  under  the  command  of  Monsieur  Ga- 
shioti,  the  French  general,  against  the  Spanish  forces,  ann* 
1646-7,"  commences  thus  : 

"  Sir,  since  in  ages  past  verses  have  been 
The  balm  to  valour,  and  preserved  green 
The  acts  of  antique  heroes,  such  as  made 
The  reader  ravish'd  with  the  royall  trade 
Of  righteous  war,  upon  the  crest  of  those 
Whom  fate  and  disaffection  made  their  foes ; 
I  hope  my  maimed  Muse,  late  trodden  down 
By  the  red  fury  of  Rhamnusia's  frown. 
May  re-erect  her  drooping  head,  and  be 
A  tomb  to  royal  Rokeby's  nipmory." 


185 

The  following  specimen  of  his  lyric  verse  is  one 
perliaps  of  the  least  exceptionable. 

"  A  Song  sung  ly  Mr.  Bushel' i  Miners  in  Devonshire,  written 

in  1645. 

Ladies  of  love  and  leisure. 

Where  is  your  greatness  gone  ? 
What  sudden  high  displeasure 

Hath  forc'd  ye  fi-om  your  own  ? 
Whilest  we  live  here  obscurely 

In  cottages  unknown. 
No  cares  or  fears 

We  ever  think  upon. 

Our  walls  are  highest  mountains. 

For  we  live  In  a  coomb ; 
We  drink  of  flowing  fountains. 

Our  dwelling  is  our  tomb  ; 
Nor  look  to  be  exalted 

Before  the  day  of  doom. 
Where  scibes,*  for  bribes. 

Shall  nere  deny  us  room. 

We  hear  a  dreadfull  summons 

Up  in  the  high  countrey  ; 
Our  gracious  King  and  Commons 

They  say  cannot  agree  : 
This  hanest  is  for  cedars. 

And  no  such  shrubs  as  we  ; 
Yet  still  we  will 

Pray  for  a  unity. 

The  day  we  spend  in  working, 
And  chanting  harmless  songs ; 

•  Qii. 
VOL.    II.  '2  K 


186 

No  malice  here  lies  lurking. 

Our  thoughts  are  free  from  wrongs : 

And  those  that  civil  wars  do  love. 
We  wish  they  had  no  tongues. 

No  drums,  no  guns. 
Or  what  to  war  belongs. 

We  wound  the  Earth's  hard  bowels. 

Where  hidden  treasure  glows. 
With  twibell,  sledge,  and  trowells. 

Pick-ax  and  iron  crows. 
We  search  for  sinful!  silver. 

Which  all  dissension  sows. 
Their  health  and  wealth 

Men  do  so  ill  dispose. 

We  eat  the  bread  of  labour. 

And  what  endeavour  brings ; 
Sorrow  is  no  next  neighbour. 

Our  eyes  they  are  no  springs ; 
Unless  we  shed  a  tear  or  two. 

When  as  we  pity  kings. 
The  fates  of  states 

To  us  are  Hebrew  things." 

The  closing  poem  in  this  miscellaneous  volume 
has  an  elevation  and  elegance  which  may  remind  the 
Reader  of  some  of  Ben  Jonson's  best  effusions. 

An  Elegie  on  a  good  Man. 

"  You  that  did  love  with  filial  fear 
The  soul  that  shines  in  yonder  sphere. 
Whose  shadow  is  enslirined  here, — 
Put  on  your  sackcloth,  and  appear. 


187 

Here  lies  the  map  of  martyrdom  ; 
Let  all  therefore  avoid  the  room 
But  those  that  can,  when  as  they  come, 
With  tears  and  ashes  build  a  tomb. 

For  here  the  cause  of  all  your  cares 
Lies  floating  in  the  church's  tears. 
Who  did  expire,  as  it  appears. 
Not  for  his  faults,  but  others'  fears. 

You  that  are  valiant,  great,  and  wise. 
Attend  his  sacred  obsequies } 
For  on  this  holy  herse  there  lies 
A  theme  for  tears  in  unborn  eyes. 

Although  he  was  not  understood. 
Yet  from  his  spirit  and  his  blood 
Did  flow  a  fair  and  fertile  flood 
Of  all  that  men  call  great  and  good. 

Religion  was  his  daily  guest ; 
Within  the  treasure  of  his  brest 
Was  more  than  language  ere  exprest ; — 
Angels  can  only  tell  the  rest." 


f 


188 

"  Emblems  with  elegant  ^'Figures,  nezclj/  publis/tcd.     Bt/ 
J .  //.*  Esquire.     London,  printed  by  R.  Daniel. 

"  To  the  most  honourable  virtuous  Lady,  Mrs.  Dorol/iy'Sia'nley.^ 
Madam, 

No  one  can  wonder  that  I  brins:  these 
Emblems  under  your  protection.  For  I  and  this  Book  have 
acquired  so  near  a  relation,  that  I  must,  for  my  own  sake,  do 
it  what  good  I  can  :  And  the  best  way  1  know  to  advance  its 
condition,  is  to  prefix  your  name.  Had  they  been  high  dis- 
courses of  the  best  Philosophy,  whether  ancient  or  modern,  or 
choice  pieces  of  Philology,  I  should  have  offered  them  to  your 
iioble  Husband,  Mr.  Thomas  Stanley,  whom  our  Island  stands 
admiring  to  see  him  now  (as  once  the  great  Alexander)  conquer 
the  world,  when  'tis  scarce  thirty  years  since  first  he  came  into 
it ;  there  being  no  glory  that  Gr^ce  or  Borne,  or  their  succes- 
sors can  boast,  which  his  matchless  Genius  hath  not  made  his 
own,  and  ours  too,  by  a  noble  communication.  Therefore  to 
him  also  I  ascribe  these  Emblems.  I  am  bold  thus  to  present 
them,  that,  as  Chapels,  which  before  were  but  lime,  and  stone, 
they  may  grow  venerable  by  their  Dedication,  and  likewise  be 
an  Emblem  of  the  humble  respect  and  services  of.  Madam, 
your  most  obedient  servant, 

R.  D."t 

The  Preface  to  the  Header. 

"  These  Emblems  falling  under  my  perusal,  I  could  not 
do  less  than  acknowledge  what  I  find  to  be  truth,  which  is, 
that  Helicon  hath  found  another  channel  in  a  full  stream  to 

*  John  Hali. 

t  See  the  Preface  to  the  new  Edition  of  the  Poems  of  Thomas  Stanley, 
Esq.  first  priuted  1651. 
%  R.  Daniel, 


189 

<-  lide  to  Heaven,  Virtue  is  embalmed  by  verse,  and  divine  Love 
so  enamoured  with  human  Wit  and  Art,  that,  by  an  holy  co- 
pulation, they  have  both  together  brought  forth,  without  adul- 
tery, this  happy  Child  of  such  heavenly  Beauty,  that  it  wounds 
the  reader,  not  as  other  poesies,  with  darts  of  wanton  sensuality^ 
but  with  the  influence  of  that  Divine  Love  wherewith  itself 
is  so  replenished,  and  feeds  the  soul  with  excess  of  appetite. 
But  high  encomiums  do  but  too  often  serve  but  to  perplex  se- 
curity with  doubt,  and  breed  a  superstition  tliat  either  the  Au- 
thor wanted  worth,  or  the  impression  vent ;  the  last  of  which 
concerns  the  Printer,  the  other  myself     As  for  the  Printer,  I 
am  confident  that  his  hopes  are  that  the  Buyer  will  be  a  greater 
gainer  than  the  Seller  ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  must  confess  it  is 
nothing  but  the  worth  of  the  Book  that  prompted  me  to  these  : 
and  although  it  needs  no  warmth  from  another  flame,  it  being 
its  own  abundant  commendation,  yet  I  must  ingenuously  con- 
fess and  add  this  verdit.  On  my  credit  'tis  good,  and  being  read 
with  an  impartial  eye,  if  it  finds  thee  not  prone  to  approbation, 
it  will  make  thee  so.     But  whether  the  matter  be  more  full  o 
Divinity,  or  the  style  of  Learning  and  Art,  I  leave  as  a  Query  : 
•r.id  so  farewell. 

A 

John  Quarles." 

The  PrcEludiam. 

"  Frown  on  me,  shades,  and  let  not  day 
Steal  in  a  needle  pointed  ray 
To  make  discoveries  ;  wrap  me  here 
In  folds  of  night,  and  do  not  fear 
The  sun's  approach,  so  shall  I  find 
A  greater  light  possess  my  mind. 

O  do  not,  Children  of  the  Spring  I 
Hither  your  charming  odours  bring. 
Nor  with  your  painted  smiles  devise 
To  captivate  my  wandering  eyes : 


]90 

Tliey  have  stray" d  too  much,  but  now  hco'ia 

Wholly  to'  employ  themselves  within. 

What  do  I  now  on  Earth  ?  O  why 

Do  not  these  embers  upward  fly  ? 

And  force  a  room  among  the  stars. 

And  there  my  greaten'd  self  disperse 

As  wide  as  thought.     What  do  I  here 

Spread  on  soft  down  of  Roses ;  there 

That  spangled  curtain,  which  so  wide 

Dilates  its  lustre,  shall  me  hide. 

Mount  up,  low  thoughts,  and  see  what  sweet 

Reposure  Heaven  can  beget  j 

Could  you  the  least  compHance  frame. 

How  should  I  all  become  one  flame 

And  melt  in  purest  fires  ?    O  how 

My  warmed  heart  would  sweetly  glow. 

And  waste  those  dregs  of  earth,  that  stay 

Glued  to  it,  then  it  might  away. 

And  still  ascend  till  that  it  stood 

Within  the  centre  of  all  grood  : 

There  prest,  not  overwhelm'd,  with  joys. 

Under  its  burthen  fresh  arise  : 

There  might  it  lose  itself,  and  then 

With  losing  find  itself  again  : 

There  might  it  triumph,  and  yet  be 

Still  in  a  bless'd  Captivity  : 

There  might  it— oh,  why  do  I  speak. 

Whose  humble  thoughts  be  far  too  weak 

To  apprehend  small  notions  ?  nay. 

Angels  be  non-plus' d,  though  the  day 

Break  clearer  on  them,  and  they  run 

In  anogees  more  near  the  sun. 

But  oh,  what  pulls  me  ?  how  I  shall 
In  the  least  moment  headlong  fall ! 


191 

Now  I'am  on  earth  again  ;  not  diglit 
As  formerly  in  springing  light  ; 
The  self-same  objects  please,  that  I 
Did  even  now  as  base  deny  ; 
Now  what  a  powerful  influence 
Has  Beauty  on  my  slavish  sense : 
How  rob  I  nature,  that  I  may 
Her  wealth  npon  one  cheek  display  ? 
How  doth  the  Giant  Honour  seem 
"Well  statur'd  in  my  fond  esteem  ? 
And  gold,  that  bane  of  men,  I  call 
Not  poisonous  now,  but  cordial  j 
Since  that  the  world's  great  eye,  the  sun. 
Hath  not  disdain'd  to  make't  his  own  ; 
Now  every  passion  sways,  that  I 
Tamely  admit  their  tyranny  ; 
Only  with  numerous  sighings  say. 
The  basest  things  is  breathing  clay. 

But  sure  these  vapours  will  not  e'er 
Draw  curtains  o'er  my  hemisphere. 
Let  it  clear  up,  and  welcome  day. 
It's  lustre  once  again  display  j 
Thou,  O  my  Sun  !  awhile  may'stlie 
As  intercepted  from  mine  eye ; 
But  love  shall  fright  those  clouds,  and  thou 
Into  my  purged  eyes  shalt  flowj 
Which  melted  by  my  inward  fires. 
Which  shall  be  blov.-n  by  strong  desires. 
Consuming  into  tears  shall  feel 
Each  tear  into  a  pearl  congeal. 
And  every  pearl  shall  be  a  stem 
In  my  celestial  diadem."' 


19^ 
SPARKLES  OF  DIVINE  LOVE. 

EMBLEM  VII. 

Take  up  and  read;  take  up  and  read.     Aug.  lib.  8.  cap.  12. 

I. 

Unhappy  Boy ! 
How  art  thou  now  become 
Thyself  thy  Tomb  ! 
Within  what  darkness  dost  thou  lie  ! 
Such  as  that  glorious  Prince  of  Light, 
Whose  smiles  enamel  every  flower. 
Cannot  afltright. 
But  that  these  vapours  still  condense  the  more. 

n. 

How  are  thine  eyes 
Courted  with  whatsoe'er 
The  teeming  ear 
Of  pregnant  Nature  can  devise  ! 
Yet  what  a  winter  is  within  ! 
What  marble  freezings  which  congeal ! 
Though  they  have  been 
Bath'd  in  warm'd  showers,  which  from  thine  eyes  did  steal, 

HI. 

Insatiate  Soul ! 
Which  hast  devour' d  each  art. 
Yet  hungry  art. 
And  like  an  empty  ship  dost  rolf : 
Where  wilt  thou  once  contented  rest. 
Exempt  from  all  this  fluctuation. 
And  fix'd  thy  breast 
Where'  it  may  repose  in  a  secured  station. 


193 
IV. 

Turn  but  thine  eye. 
And  view  that  folded  oracle. 
That  lately  fell : 
Heard'st  not  thou  some  soft  murmur  cry  ? 
Take  up  and  Read  ?    there  is. 
If  thou  canst  ope  thy  purged  ear. 
High  mysteries. 
That  can  direct  thy  feet  j  thine  eyesight  clear. 

V. 

Thou  never  took 
In  hand  a  harder  lesson,  than 
Thou  did' St  begin 
Prying  the  secrets  of  this  Book  j 
For  it  will  teach  thee  how  to  set. 
In  paths,  that  cannot  tread  awry. 
Thy  wandering  feet : 
And  shew  thee  where  the  source  of  bliss  doth  lie. 

EPIGRAM  VII. 

Take  up  these  leaves ;  within  that  little  Room 
Lie  endless  depths  j  'tis  God's  Autographum. 
The  hardest  Book,  and  easiest :  which  can  give 
Death  to  the  dying :  Life  to  them  that  live. 


"VOL  II.  2  c 


194 


"  Humours  Heav'n  on  earth ;  with  the  civile  Warres  of 
Death  and  Fortune,  as  also  the  Triumph  of  Death: 
or  the  Picture  of  the  Plague,  according  to  the  Life ; 
as  it  was  in  Anno  Domini,  1603.  By  John  Dauies 
of  Hereford. 

O  'its  a  sacred  kinde  of  excellence^ 

That  hides  a  rich  truth  iti  a  Tale's  pretence. 

Printed  at  London  hy  A.  I.  I609." 
sm.  8vo.  pp.  260, 


•>»<©©^00>*' 


Mr.  Beloe  having  given  rather  a  brief  account  of 
this  httle  volume  in  his  Anecdotes  of  Literature,  I 
proceed  to  particularize  its  contents^  as  the  book  is  of 
rare  occurrence. 

After  the  title  follows  a  dedication  of  two  pages,  in 
verse,  to  Algernon,  Lord  Percy ;  which  the  punning 
Poet  thus  concludes— 

"  Reade,  little  Lord,  this  riddle  learne  to  reade. 

So  first  appose  :  then  tell  it  to  thy  peeres : 
So  shall  they  hold  thee,  both  in  name  and  deed, 

A  perfect  Pierc-ey  that  in  darknesse  cleeres. 
A  Pierc-ey,  or  a  piercing  eie  doth  shew 

Both  wit  and  courage  :  and  if  thou  wilt  learne 
By  morall  tales  sinnes  mortall  to  eschew. 

Thou  shalt  be  wise,  and  endlesse  glorie  earne  : 
That  so  thou  mai'st  the  meanest  Tutors  praise ; 

So  Percie's  fame  shall  pierce  the  eie  of  daies. 


195 

Then,  by  those  raies  my  pen  (inflam'd)  shall  runne 
Beyond  the  raoone,  to  make  thy  moone  a  sunne  ! 

Meane  while,  and  ever,  I  rest  prest 

To  honour  thee  with  my  poore  uttermost, 

John  Davies." 

A  second  dedication  follows,  thus  inscribed  :  "  The 
last  Booke  (being  a  picture  according  to  the  Life)  de- 
dicated to  the  no  lesse  high  in  birth  then  honourable 
in  disposition  (right  noble  in  either)  the  Ladie  Dorothie 
and  Ladie  Lucie  Percies."  This  is  a  quatorzain,  and 
is  subscribed  "  Your  Ladiship's  unworthie  Tutor,  John 
Davies,"  Two  commendatory  sonnets  are  addressed 
to  their  beloved  master,  by  Edw.  Sharphell,  and  Ro. 
Cox ;  a  third  to  the  reader  in  praise  of  the  author  is 
signed  Anth.  Greys ;  all  names  of  no  poetic  note.  The 
former  of  them  declares  to  Davies— 

"  "With  weighty  matter  so  thou  load'st  thy  lines. 
As  to  dimme  sights  they  oft  seem  dark  as  hell : 
But  those  cleere  eies  that  see  their  deepe  designes. 
Do  joy  to  see  much  matter  coucht  so  well." 

It  seems  almost  necessary  that  the  '  mind's  eye*  of 
the  reader  should  be  coucht  before  he  can  possibly  be 
enabled  to  see  clearly  this  author's  '  deep  designs ;'  who 
probably  intended  to  try  his  inferior  pen  in  something 
like  a  philosophical  poem,  tempted  by  the  successful 
issue  of  his  learned  name-sake,  Sir  John  Davies,  whose 
*  ^osce  Teipsum'  had  passed  through  two  editions.  The 
effort  was  presumptuous  and  vain  :  for  of  the  present 
production  I  have  only  witnessed  two  or  three  copies, 


196 

while  that  of  Sir  John  has  been  ten  times  reprinted, 
and  may  be  found  in  every  library. 

'  Humours  Heaven  on  Earth'  is  announced  by  its 
author  as  '  an  old  wife's  tale,'  and  is  a  kind  of  allegori- 
cal argumentation  between  Logus  (Reason)  chief  guide 
of  Psyche  (the  Soul)  aided  by  the  lady  Aletheia  (Truth) 
and  the  Senses,  Appetites,  Passions,  and  Affections  of 
body  and  mind  ;  characterised  under  a  variety  of  ap- 
pellations, derived  from  Grecian  etymology :  but  the 
whole  is  conducted  in  a  very  confused,  desultory,  and 
unintelligible  strain — the  prevailing  defect  of  the  works 
of  Davies  of  Hereford. 

His  second  tale  is  a  colloquial  contention  between 
*  Death  and  Fortune,'  and  is  not  much  more  distin- 
guished by  perspicuity  or  poetical  pretension  than  the 
former.  The  following  stanza  however  conveys  a 
collateral  interest  beyond  its  fellows,  because  the  ini- 
tials W.  S.  and  R.  B.  are  likely  to  allude  to  Shakspeare 
and  Burbage,  who  are  meritoriously  spoken  of,  and  as 
not  sufficiently  rewarded  according  to  their  deserts. 

*'  Some  followed  her*  by  actingf  all  men's  parts. 
These  on  a  stage  she  rals'd  (in  scorne)  to  fall  j 
And  made  them  mirrors,  by  their  acting  arts. 
Wherein  men  saw  their  J  faults,  thogh  ne'er  so  small : 
Yet  some  she  guerdon' d  not  to  their  §  desarts ; 
But,  other  some,  were  but  ill-action  all  j 
"Who  while  they  acted  ill,  ill  staid  behinde, 
(By  custom  of  their  maners)  in  their  minde." 

*  i.  e.  Fortune.  t  Stage  plaiers. 

)  Shewing  the  vices  of  the  time. 

§  W.  S.  R.  B.  [An  allusion  of  a  similar  kind  was  pointed  out  in  Davies*s 
Microcoamos,  1605,  in  the  Europ.  Mag.  either  by  Mr.  Steevens  or  Reed.] 


197 

The  concluding  stanza  of  this  piece  may  be  cited 
as  a  curious  specimen  of  the  author's  quibbling  pro- 
pensity. 

"  And  thus  with  death,  that  all  in  fine  doth  end. 
We  end  our  tale  : — and,  if  a  lie  it  be. 
Yet  naked  Truth  dares  such  a  He  defend  j 
Because  such  lies  do  lie  in  veritie : 
But  though  loude  lies  do  lie,  they  will  not  bend 
So  lowe  as  most  profound  moralitie  : 
Then,  be  it  lie,  or  be  it  what  it  will. 
It  lies  too  high  and  low  for  death  to  kill." 

A  third  portion  of  this  volume  intitled  '  The  Triumph 
of  Death/  contains  a  representation  of  the  plague  that 
took  place  in  London  during  the  year  l603.  The  au- 
thor says  this  was  taken  *  according  to  the  life ;'  but  it 
contains  little  of  that  striking  verisimilitude  and  vivid 
colouring  which  Wither  gave  to  the  same  fearful  sub- 
ject, in  the  succeeding  pestilence  of  1625  :  as  may  be 
seen  in  Censura  Literaria,  vol.  v.  The  following  are 
selected  as  some  of  the  most  prominent  or  interesting 
passages. 

'^  London  now  smokes,  with  vapors  that  arise,' 
From  his  foule  sweat,  himselfe  he  so  bestirres  : 
'  Cast  out  your  dead' — the  carcase-carrier  cries. 

Which  he  by  heapes,  in  groundless  graves  interres.— 

Now  like  to  bees,  in  summer's  heate,  from  hives. 
Out  flie  the  citizens,  some  here,  some  there ; 

Some  all  alone,  and  others  with  their  wives  : 
With  wives  and  children  some  flie,  all  for  feare  J 


198 

Here  stands  a  watch,  with  guard  of  partisans 
To  stoppe  their  passages,  or  to  or  fro. 

As  if  they  were  not  men,  nor  Christians, 

But  fiends  or  monsters,  murdering  as  they  go. 

Each  village,  free,  now  stands  upon  her  guard  : 
None  must  have  harbour  in  them  but  their  owne ) 

And  as  for  life  and  death,  all  watch  and  ward. 
And  flie  for  life  (as  death)  the  man  unknowne ! 

Here  crie  the  parents  for  their  childrens'  death  j 
There  howle  the  children  for  their  parents  losse. 

And  often  die  as  they  are  drawing  breath 
To  crie  for  their  but  now  inflicted  crosse. 

The  last  survivor  of  a  familie. 

Which  yesterday  perhaps  were  all  in  health, 
Now  dies  to  beare  his  feliowes  company. 

And  for  a  grave  for  all,  gives  all  their  wealth. 

The  London  lanes  (themselves  thereby  to  save) 
Did  vomit  out  their  undigested  dead. 

Who  by  cart-loads  are  carried  to  the  grave  ; 
For  all  those  lanes  with  folke  were  overfed. 

The  king  himselfe  (O  wretched  times  the  while  !) 
From  place  to  place,  to  save  himselfe  did  flie. 

Which  from  himselfe  himselfe  did  seek  t'exile. 
Who  (as  amaz'd)  not  safe  knew  where  to  lie. 

For  hardly  could  one  man  another  meete. 
That  in  his  bosom  brovight  not  odious  death ; 

It  was  confusion  but  a  friend  to  greet. 

For,  like  a  fiend,  he  banned  with  his  breath. 

Now  fall  the  people  unto  publike  fast. 
And  all  assemble  in  the  church  to  pray  -, 


199 

Early  and  late  their  soules  there  take  repast. 
As  if  preparing  for  the  later  day. 

The  pastors  now  steep  all  their  words  in  brine. 

With  '  woe,  woe,  woe,' — and  nought  is  heard  but  woe : 

^  Woe  and  alas !  (they  say)  the  powers  divine 
'  Are  bent  mankind,  for  sinne,  to  overthrow. 

*  Repent,  repent,  (like  Jonas  now  they  crie) 
'  Ye  men  of  England !  O  repent,  repent ! 

'  To  see  if  so  ye  maie  move  pittie's  eye 
'  To  looke  upon  you,  ere  you  quite  be  spent.* 

And  oft  whilst  he  breathes  out  these  bitter  words. 
He,  drawing  breath,  drawes  in  more  bitter  bane ; 

For  now  the  aire  no  aire,  but  death  affords. 
And  lights  of  art  (forhelpe)  were  in  the  wane. 

The  ceremonie  at  their  burialls 

Is  '  ashes  but  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust  ;* 
Nay,  not  so  much  :  for  straight  the  pit-man  falls 

(If  he  can  stand)  to  hide  them  as  he  must. 

But  if  the  pit-man  have  not  so  much  sense 

To  see,  nor  feele  which  way  the  winde  doth  sit 

To  take  the  same,  he  hardly  comes  from  thence. 
But  for  himself,  perhaps,  he  makes  the  pit. 

For,  look  how  leaves  in  autumn  from  the  tree 

With  wind  do  fall,  whose  heaps  fill  holes  in  ground ; 

So  might  ye,  with  the  plague's  breath,  people  see 
Fall  by  great  heaps,  and  fill  up  holes  profound. 

No  holy  turf  was  left  to  hide  the  head 
Of  holiest  men  ;  but  most  unhallow'd  grounds. 

Ditches  and  highwaies,  must  receive  the  dead. 
The  dead  (ah,  woe  the  while  !)  so  o'er-abound. 


1200 

Time  never  knew,  since  he  begunne  his  houres, 
(For  aught  we  reade)  a  plague  so  long  remaine. 

In  any  citie,  as  this  plague  of  ours. 

For  now  six  yeares  in  London  it  hath  laine. 

But  Thou,  in  whose  high  hand  all  hearts  are  held. 
Convert  us,  and  from  us  this  plague  avert : 

So  sin  shall  yield  to  grace,  and  grace  shall  yield 
The  Giver  glory  for  so  dear  desert. 

In  few,  what  should  I  say  ?  the  best  are  nought 
That  breathe,  since  man  first  breathing  did  rebell : 

The  best  that  breathe  are  worse  than  may  be  thought^ 
If  thought  can  thinke,  the  best  can  do  but  well : 

For  none  doth  well  on  earth  but  such  as  will 

Confesse,  witligriefe,  they  do  exceeding  ill !" 

The  volume  closes  with  a  Sonnet  to  the  Author's 
''  Much  honored  scholler  Sir  Philip  Carey,  with  a  se- 
cond to  his  deere  scholler  Sir  Humpry  Baskervile  of 
Earsley,  Knt.  and  the  no  lesse  lovely  than  vertuous 
Lady  his  wife ;"  22  lines  to  his  "  deere,  meeke,  modest, 
and  intirely  beloved  Mistris  Elizabeth  Dutton,  Mistris 
Mary,  and  Mistress  Vere  Egerton,  three  sisters  of 
hopeful!  destinies ;"  and  a  Sonnet  inscribed  "  To  my 
worthy  and  worthily  beloved  scholer,  Thomas  Boden- 
ham,  squire,  sonne  and  heire  apparent  of  Sir  Roger  B. 
of  Rotherwas,  knight  of  the  Bathe." 

The  following  Sonnet  to  Drummond  of  Hawthorn- 
den  was  printed  without  signature  in  the  8vo.  edition 
of  his  poems,  1656  :  but  in  the  4to.  of  I6l6,  it  was  ap- 
propriated to  an  author  who  had  before  been  noticed 
in  Restituta. 


201 


To  the  Author. 

The  Sister  Nymphs,  who  haunt  the  Thespian  sprmgs, 

Ne're  did  their  gifts  more  liberally  bequeath. 

To  them  who  on  their  hills  suck'd  sacred  breath. 

Than  unto  thee — by  which  thou  sweetly  sings. 

Ne're  did  Apollo  raise  on  Pegase  wings 

A  Muse  more  neare  himselfe,  more  farre  from  earth. 

Than  thine  :  whether  thou  weep  thy  Ladie's  death. 

Or  sing  those  sweet-sowre  pangs  which  passion  brings. 

To  write  our  thoughts  in  verse  doth  merit  praise. 

But  on  our  verse  to  gild  in  Fiction's  ore. 

Bright,  rich,  delightfuU,  doth  deserve  much  more. 

As  thou  hast  done  these  thy  melodious  layes. 

Thy  Muses'  morning,  doubtlesse,  dotli  bewray 

The  swift  approach  of  a  more  glistring  day. 

D.  MUSKAY." 


f 


VOL.  II. 


2  D 


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tc 


A  true  report  of  ^  the  laste  voyage  into  the  j^  West 
and  Northwest  regi-  M  ons,  S^c.  1577-  worthily  at- 
chie-  M.  ued  by  Capteine  Frobisher  of  M  the  sayde 
voyage  the  first  "^finder  and  Ge-  3^  nerall.  M 

"  With  a  description  of  the  people  M  there  inhabiting, 
and  other  M  circumstances  M  notable.  ^ 

*'  Written  by  Dionyse  Settle,  one  of  M  the  companie  in 
the  sayde  voy  5^  age,  and  seruant  to  the  Right  M 
Honourable  the  Earle  M  of  Cumberland.  ^ 

Nil  mortalibiis  arduum  est. 

"  Imprinted  at  Lon-^  M  don  by  Henrie  Middle-  ^  ton- 
Anna.    1577" 

4 

"  A   rijihme  Decasyllalicall,  vpo7i  this  last  luckie  voyage  oj 
worth'ie  Capteine  Frobisher.  15/7. 

Tluough  sundrie  foming  fretes,  and  storming  streightes. 
That  ventrous  knight  of  Ithac'  soyle  did  saile  : 
Against  the  force  of  Syrens  baulmed  heightes. 
His  noble  skill  and  courage  did  preuaile. 
His  hap  was  hard,  his  hope  yet  nothing  fraile. 
Not  ragged  rockes,  not  sinking  syrtes  or  sands 
His  stoutnesse  staide,  from  viewing  foreign  lands. 

That  Poet's  penne  and  paines  was  well  employ'd. 

His  brains  bedeaw'd  with  dropps  of  Parnasse  spring  i 

Whereby  renowne  deserued  he  enioy'd. 

Yea,  nowe  (though  dead)  the  Muses  sweetly  sing. 

Melodiously  by  note,  and  tuned  string. 

They  sound  in  th'  earcs  of  people  tarre  and  neere, 
Th'  exceeding  praise  of  that  approued  Peere. 


203 

A  nght  herolcall  heart  of  Britanne  blood, 
Vlysses  match  in  skill  and  martiall  might : 
For  Princes  fame,  and  countrie's  speciall  good. 
Through  brackish  seas  (where  Neptune  reignes  by  right) 
Hath  safely  sail  d,  in  perils  great  despight : 
The  golden  fleece  (like  lason)  hath  he  got. 
And  rich  return' d,  saunce  losse  or  lucklesse  lot. 

O  that  I  had  old  Homer's  worthy  witt, 
O  that  I  had,  this  present  houre,  his  head  : 
With  penne  in  hand,  then  musing  would  I  sitt. 
And  our  Vlysses'  valiant  venture  spread 
In  >-&unting  verse,  tliat  when  his  corps  is  dead, 
(Which  long  may  liue)  his  true  renowne  may  rest. 
As  one  whome  God  aboundantly  hath  blest. 

Abraham  Fleming," 

'•'  To  the  Righi  kortouralle  and  my  singular  good  Lord,  George 
Earle  of  Cumberland,  Baron  Clifford,  Lord  of  Skipton  and 
Vessie :    his  humble  seruavnt  Dionyse  Settle,  wisheth  the 
fulnesse  of  all  perfect  feliciiie. 

It  both  is,  and  hath  beene,  (Right  Honourable)  the  bountje 
of  a  noble  mynde,  not  to  expect  remuneration  or  satisfaction  for 
liberalitie  frankly  bestowed.  It  both  is,  and  also  hath  beene 
accounted  a  greate  vice,  to  seerae  vnthankfull,  or  at  the  least 
not  something  carefuU,  of  whom,  when,  and  how,  we  should 
xeceiue  liberalitie.  I  am  not  obliuious,  neither  carelesse,  when, 
and  how,  your  Honour  (aboue  my  expectation)  nobly  satisfied 
the  request  of  me  your  humble  seruant.  I  am  most  assured, 
that  the  vertue  of  your  noble  heart  expecteth  nothing  of  me, 
but  that  your  goodnesse  might  abound  to  my  profite  :  vppon 
which  occasion,  and  bicause  I  would  not  be  accounted  ingrate- 
fuU,  I  haue  both  boldly  passed  the  limittes  of  my  duetie,  and 
also  vnlearnedly  taken  vpon  me  to  set  foorth  some  thing  wor- 


204 


thie  notice,  in  this  last  voyage  of  our  Capteine  and  Getierall, 
Maister  Martaine  Frobisher,  your  Honour's  worthie  Countrie 
man  :  vnder  whome  (as  your  Honour's  vnworthie  seruani)  I 
•was  one  in  the  said  voyage.  By  his  great  diligence,  the  voyage 
is  worthily  finished  :  whereby  I  am  persuaded  that  he  will  re- 
fell  the  rchearsall  of  those  opprobrious  wordes,  namely,  that, 
Jll  euiLL  Cometh  from  or  hath  origiiiall  in  the  North :  not  onely 
he,  but  many  worthie  subiectes  more. 

I  haue  published  this  scantling,  vnder  the  noble  title  of  your 

Honor,  to  whom  I  offer  the  same  in  dedication  :  which,  though 

it  be  not  decorated  with  good  learning,  apte  for  the  setting 

foorth  of  so  notable  a  matter  :  yet,  the  same  is  beautified  with 

good  will  and  trueth.    Wherein  your  Honour,  (if  it  shall  so 

please  you)  for  recreation'  sake,  may  vnderstand,  what  people, 

countries,  and  other  commodities  we  haue  found  out,  since  our 

depfirture  from  England,  which  haue  not  been  knowne  before. 

T^s  presuming  vpon  hopeand  assuranceof  your  Honour's  pardon 

for  my  bolde  attempt  herein,  T  reste  humbly  at  your  Lordship's 

commaundement :  wishing  your  time  so  spent  in  this 

world,  that  you  may  inioy  the  felicitie  in 

the  worlde  to  come. 

Amen. 

Your  Lordship's  most  humble 

seruaunt  to  commaund, 

DioNYSE  Settl^." 


205 


"  To  the  Christian  Reader. 

Svch  countries  and  people,  (good  Christian  Reader)  which 
almost  from  the  deluge,  or  at  the  least,  so  long  as  anye  humane 
creature  hath  had  habitation  on  the  earth,  haue  of  late  yeres,  by 
the  industrie  of  diligent  searchers  ben  explored  :  it  hath  likewise 
pleased  God,  that  they  should  be  found  out  by  those  people, 
which  for  the  temperature  of  their  habitation,  are  most  apt  to 
atchiue  the  same.  As  for  example,  the  Spaniards,  the  West 
Indies.  Spaine  is  situated  much  more  neere  the  Tropike  of 
Cancer,  then  other  Christian  countries  be :  wherby,  the  Spa- 
niards are  better  able  to  tolerate  Phoebus'  burning  beames,  then 
others  which  are  more  Septentrional  then  they.  Wherfore,  I 
suppose  them  the  most  apte  men  for  the  inioying  of  the  habi' 
tation  of  the  West  Indies  :  and  especially  so  much,  as  is  vexed 
with  continual  heate,  or  that  is  agreeable  to  their  temperature, 
God  hath  ben  pleased  that  tliey,  as  the  most  apt  people,  should 
both  explore  and  inioy  the  same.  Semblably,  the  Portugals, 
whose  temperature  is  correspondent  to  the  Spaniards,  God  is 
also  contented,  that  they  haue  explored  Africa,  euen  through 
the  burning  zone,  botli  the  West  and  South  coast,  with  al  the 
coast  of  Asia,  vnto  the  Oriental  cape  therof,  and  the  Islands 
ddiacent  to  them  both :  wherefore,  both  for  their  habitation, 
and  temperature,  I  account  them  the  most  apt  people  to  at- 
chieue  tlie  same,  and  to  reape  the  benefite,  whereabout  they 
haue  taken  no  small  paines  and  labor.  In  like  maner,  the 
French  men,  where  the  Spaniards  thought  the  place  not  apt  for 
their  temperature,  discouered  Noua  Francia,  and  other  places 
in  America  :  wherfore,  I  iudge  them  worthie  the  commoditie 
thereof,  as  people  most  apt  to  inioy  and  possesse  the  same. 
Lastly,  it  hath  plesed  God,  at  this  present,  by  the  great  dili- 
gence and  care  of  our  worthie  Countrieman,  Master  Martine 
Frobisher,  in  the  18,  and  ip.  yeare  of  oure  Queenes  Maiestie's 
reigne,  to  discouer,  for  the  vtilitie  of  his  Prince  and  Countvie, 


2(>(5 

other  regions  more  Septentrional,  then  those  before  riehearsed  : 
which,  from  the  beginning,  as  vnknowne  till  nowe,  haue  bene 
concealed  and  hidden.  Which  discouerie,  I  iudge  most  apt 
forvs  English  men,  and  more  agreeing  to  our  temperature,  then 
others  aboae  rehearsed.  I  leaue  the  famous  discouerie  of  Mos- 
couie,  and  other  countries  on  those  partes,  (whiche  of  late  yeares 
haue  bene  explored  by  the  Industrie  of  other  our  worthie  coun- 
triemen)  to  the  diligent  Reader :  whereby  he  may  consider, 
that  this  our  countrie,  hath  fostered  vp  men  of  no  lesse  value 
and  excellencie,  then  those,  which  are  intituled.  The  second, 
thirde,  and  fourth  Neptune.  And  doubtlesse,  hee,  by  whose 
endeuour  this  last  discouerie  of  the  world  is  explored,  may  bee 
celebrated  as  well  with  the  title  of  Aeolus,  as  also  of  Neptune. 
By  whose  singular  knowledge  and  cunning,  God  hath  presemed 
vs  in  this  voyage,  from  bothe  their  cruell  daungers. 

Thus  (Christian  Reader)  thou  maist  perceiue,  that  the 
worlde,  of  late  yeares,  hath  been  discouered  by  sundrie  regions 
of  this  our  Europe  :  which  God  hath  so  diuided  in  the  exploring 
of  the  same,  that  it  seemeth  apt  and  agreeable  to  the  discouerer, 
more  then  to  any  other,  to  inioy  all  such  commodities  as  they 
yealde  and  afFoorde.  Consider  also,  that  Christians  haue  dis- 
couered these  countries  and  people,  which  so  long  haue  lyen 
vnknowne,  and  they  not  us  :  which  plainly  may  argue  that,  it 
is  God's  good  will  and  pleasure,  that  they  should  be  instructed 
in  his  diuine  seruice  and  religion,  whiche  fi-om  the  beginning, 
haue  beene  nouzeled  and  nourished  in  Atheisme,  grosse  igno- 
rance, and  barbarous  behauiour.  Wherefore,  this  is  my  iudge- 
mant,  in  conclusion)  that  who  so  euer  can  winne  them  from 
their  infidelitie,  to  the  perfect  knowledge  of  his  diuine  insti- 
tutions and  seruice,  hee  or  they  are  worthie  to  receiue  the 
greatest  rewarde  at  God's  hands,  and  the  greater  benefites  from 
those  countries,  which  he  haih  discouered.     Fare  well," 


207 

"  A  true  report  of  Capteine  Frohisher  his  last  voyage  into  the 
West  and  Northwest  regions,  this  present  yere  1577.  Witk 
a  description  of  the  people  there  inhabiting. 

On  Whitsunday  last  past,  being  the  26.  of  May,  in  this 
present  yeare  of  ome  Lorde  God  1577>  Capteine  Frobisher 
departed  from  Blacke  Wall,  with  one  of  the  Queenes  Male?- 
tie's  shippes,   called  The  Aide,  of  nine  score  tunne,  or  there 
aboutes  :   and  two  other  little  Barkes  likewise,  the  one  called 
The  Gabriel,  whereof  Maister  Fen  ton  a  Gentleman  of  my  Lord 
of  Warwik's  was  Capteine:  and  the  other.  The  Michael,  where-, 
of  Maister  Yorke  a  Gentleman  of  my  Lorde  Admeral's  was 
Captein,  accompanied  with  seuenscore  gentlemen,  souldiers  and 
saylers,  well  furnished  with  victuals,  and  other  prouision  neces- 
sarie  for  one  halfe  yere,  on  this  his  seconde  voyage,  for  the 
further  discouering  of  the  passage  to  Cataia,  and  other  countries 
there  vnto  adiacent,  by  West  and  Northwest  Nauigations : 
whiche  passage,  or  way,   is  supposed  to  be  on  the  North  and 
Northwest  partes  of  America  :  and  the  sayd  America  to  be  an 
Islande  inuironed  with  the  sea,  where  through  our  Merchaunts 
might  haue  course  and  recourse  with  their  merchandize,  from 
tliese  our  northernmost  parts  of  Europe,  to  those  oriental  coasts 
of  Asia,  in  much  shorter  time,  and  with  greater  benefit  then 
any  others,  to  their  no  little  commoditie  and  profite  that  do  or 
shall  traffique  the  same.     Oure  sayd  Capteine  and  Generall  of 
this  present  voyage  and  companie,  hauing  the  yere  before,  with 
two  httle  Pinnisies,  to  his  great  daunger  and  no  small  commen- 
dations, giuen  a  worthy  attempt,   towardes  the  performaunce 
thereof,  is  also  prest  (when  occasion  shall  be  ministred,  to  the 
benefite  of  his  Prince  and  natiue  countrie)  to  aduenture  him- 
sclfe  fiarther  therein.     As  for  this  second  voyage,  it  seemeth 
bufiicient  that  he  that  better  explored  and  searched  the  com- 
modities of  those  people  and  countries,  with  sufficient  commo- 
ditie vnto  the  aduenturers,  which  in  his  first  voyage  the  yeare 
before  he  had  found  out. 


S08 

Upon  which  considerations,  the  day  and  yeare  before  ex- 
pressed, we  departed  from  Black  e  Wall  to  Harwiche,  where 
making  an  accomplishment  of  thinges  necessarie,  the  last  of 
Maye  we  hoysed  vp  sailes,  and  with  a  mery  winde  the  7.  of 
June  we  arriued  at  the  Islands  called  Orchades,  or  vulgarly 
Orkney,  being  in  number  30.  subiect  and  adiacent  to  Scotland, 
where  we  made  prouision  of  fresh  water  :  in  the  doing  where- 
of, our  Generall  licensed  the  Gentlemen  and  Souldiers,  for 
their  recreation,  to  go  on  shoare.     At  our  landing,  the  people 
fled  from  their  poore  cotages,  with  shrikes  and  alarums,  to 
warne  their  neighbors  of  enimies :    but  by  gentle  persuasions 
we  reclaimed  them  to  their  houses.     It  seemeth  they  are  often 
frighted  with  pirates,  or  some  other  enimies,  that  moueth  them 
to  such  soudeine  feare.     Their  houses  are  verie  simple  buylded 
with  pibble  stone,  without  any  chimneys,  the  fire  being  made 
in  the  middest  thereof.     The  good  man,  wife,  children,  and 
other  of  their  familie,  eate  and  sleepe  on  the  one  side  of  the  house, 
and  their  cattel  on  the  other,  very  beastly  and  rudely  in  respect 
of  ciuility.     They  are  destitute  of  wood,  their  fire  is  turfFes  and 
cowe  shardes.   They  haue  come,  bigge,  and  oates,  with  which 
they  pay  their  kinge's  rent,  to  the  maintenaunce  of  his  house. 
They  take  great  quantitie  of  fishe,  which  they  drie  in  the  winde 
and  sunne.     They  dres^e  their  meate  verie  filthily,  and  eate  It 
without  salt.     Their  apparel  is  after  the  rudest  sort  of  Scotland. 
Their  money  is  all  base.    Their  churche  and  religion  is  reform- 
ed according  to  the  Scots. '  The  fisher  men  of  England  can 
better  declare  the  dispositions  of  those  people  than  I :  where- 
fore I  remit  other  their  vsages  to  their  reportes,  as  yearely  re- 
pairers thither,  in  their  course  to  and  from  Island  for  fish. 

We  departed  herehence,  the  8.  of  June,  and  followed  our 
course  between  West  and  Northwest,  vntill  the  4.  of  Julie  : 
all  which  time  we  had  no  night,  but  that  easily,  and  without 
any  impediment,  wee  had  when  wee  were  so  disposed,  the 
fruition  of  our  bookes,  and  otlier  pleasures  to  passe  awaye  the 
^inie  :  a  thing  of  no  small  momeat,  to  suche  as  wander  in  vn- 


209 

knowiie  seas  and  long  nauigations,  especially,  when  both  tho 
whides  and  raging  surges,  do  passe  their  common  and  wonted 
course.  This  benefite  endureth  in  those  partes  not  sixe  weekes, 
whilest  the  sune  is  neere  tlie  tropike  of  Cancer  :  but  where  the 
pole  is  raised  to  JO.  or  80.  degrees,  it  continueth  the  longer. 

AH  along  these  seas  after  we  were  6,  dayes  sayling  from 
Orkney,  we  met  floting  in  the  sea  great  firre  trees,  which  as 
wee  iudged,  were  with  the  furie  of  greate  fioudes  rooted  vp, 
and  so  driuen  into  the  sea.  Island  hath  almost  no  other  wood 
nor  fewel,  but  suche  as  they  take  vp  vpon  their  coastes.  It 
seemeth,  that  these  trees  are  driuen  fi-om  some  parte  of  the 
Newfound  land,  with  the  current  that  setteth  from  the  West  to 
the  East. 

The  4.  of  Julie,  we  came  within  the  making  of  Freeseland. 
From  this  shoare  10.  or  12.  leagues,  we  met  great  Islands  of 
yce,  of  halfe  a  mile,  some  more.,  some  lesse  in  compasse,  shew- 
ing aboue  the  sea  30.  or  40.  fathomes,  and  as  we  supposed,  fast 
on  ground,  where,  with  oure  leade  wee  coidd  scarse  sound  the 
bottome  for  deapth. 

Here,  in  place  of  odoriferous  and  fragrant  smelles  of  sweete 
gummes,  and  pleasant  notes  of  musicall  birdes,  which  other 
countries  in  more  temperate  zone  do  yeeld,  we  tasted  the  most 
boisterous  Boreall  blasts,  mixt  with  snow  and  haile,  in  the 
moneth  of  June  and  Julie,  nothing  inferior  to  om-  vntemperate 
Winter  :  a  soudeine  alteration,  and  especially  in  a  place  or  pa- 
ralele,  where  the  pole  is  not  eleuate  aboue  6l.  degrees:  at 
which  height  other  countries  more  to  the  North,  yea,  vnto  70. 
degrees,  shewe  themselues  more  temperat  than  this  doth. 

All  along  this  coast  ycelyeth,  as  a  continuall  buUworke,  and 
so  defendeth  the  countrie,  that  those  whiche  would  lande  there, 
incurre  great  daunger.  Our  Generall  three  dayes  together,  at- 
tempted with  tlie  shippboate  to  have  gone  on  shoare,  whiche, 
for  that  without  great  daunger  he  could  not  accomplishe,  he 
deferred  it  vntil  a  more  conuenient  time.  All  along  the  coast 
lye  very  highe  mounteins  couered  with  snowe,  except  in  such 

VOL.   II.  2  E 


210 

places,  where,  through  the  steepnesse  of  the  mounteines,  of 
force  it  must  needes  fall. 

Foure  dayes  coastiiige  along  this  land,  we  found  no  signe  of 
habitation.  Little  blrdes,  whiche  we  iudged  to  haue  lost  the 
shoare,  by  reason  of  thicke  fogges,  which  that  countrie  is  much 
subiect  vnto,  came  fleeing  to  oure  shippes,  which  causeth  vs  to 
suppose,  that  the  countrie  is  both  more  toUerable,  and  also  ha- 
bitable within,  then  the  outward  shoare  maketh  shewe  or  sio'ni- 
fication. 

From  hence  we  departed  the  eight  of  Julie  :  and  the  1 6.  of 
the  same,  we  came  within  the  making  of  land,  whiche  land  our 
Generall,  the  yeare  before,  had  named  The  Queene's  foreland, 
beeing  an  island,  as  we  iudge,  lying  neere  the  supposed  conti- 
nent with  America  :  and  on  the  other  side,  opposite  to  the  same, 
one  other  island  called  Halle's  Isle,  after  the  name  of  the  maister 
of  the  shippe,  neere  adiacent  to  the  firme  lande,  supposed  con- 
tinent with  Asia.  Betweene  the  whiche  two  islandes,  there  is 
a  large  entrance  or  streight,  called  Frolishef  s  streight,  after  the 
name  of  our  Generall,  the  firste  finder  thereof.  This  saide 
streight,  is  supposed  to  haue  passage  into  the  sea  of  Sur,  which 
I  Jeaue  vnknowen  as  yet. 

It  seemeth,  that  either  heere,  or  not  farre  hence,  the  sea 
should  haue  more  large  entrance,  than  in  other  partes,  within 
the  frosen  or  vntemperate  zone :  and  that  some  contrary  tide, 
either  from  the  East  or  West,  with  maine  force  casteth  out  that 
great  quantity  of  yce,  which  commeth  floating  from  this  coast, 
euen  vnto  Freesland,  causing  that  countrie  to!seeme  more  vn» 
temperate  than  others,  muche  more  northerly  than  the  same. 

I  cannot  iudge,  that  any  temperature  vnder  the  pole,  beeing 
the  time  of  the  sunne's  northerne  declination,  halfe  a  yeare  to- 
gether and  one  whole  day,  (considering,  that  the  Sunne's  ele- 
uation  surmounteth  not  23.  degrees  and  30.  minutes,)  can  haue 
power  to  dissolue  such  monstruous  and  huge  yce,  comparable  to 
great  mounteines,  except  by  some  other  force,  as  by  swift  cur- 
rents and  tydes,  with  the  helpe  of  the  said  day  of  halfe  a  yeare. 


211 

Before  we  came  within  the  making  of  these  landes,  we 
tasted  cold  stormes,  in  so  much  that  it  seemed,  we  had  chaun- 
ged  summer  with  winter,  it  the  length  of  the  dayes  had  not  re- 
moued  vs  from  that  opinion. 

At  our  first  comming,  the  streightes  seemed  to  be  shutt  vp 
with  a  long  mure  of  yce,  whiche  gaue  no  little  cause  of  discom- 
fort vnto  vs  all :  but  our  Generall,  (to  whose  diligence,  immi- 
nent daungei's,  and  ditficult  attemptes  seemed  nothing,  in  re- 
spect of  his  willing  mind,  for  the  commoditie  of  his  Prince  and 
countrie,)  with  two  little  pinnises  prepared  of  purpose,  passed 
twise  thorouohe  them  to  the  East  shoare.  and  the  islands  there- 
vnto  adiacent  :  and  the  shippe,  with  the  two  barks,  lay  off  and 
on  something  further  into  the  sea,  from  the  daungerof  the  yce. 

Whilest  he  was  searching  the  countrie  neere  the  shoare, 
some  of  the  people  of  the  countrie  shewed  themselues,  leaping 
and  daunsing,  with  straunge  shrikes  and  cryes,  whiche  gaue  no 
little  admiration  to  our  men.  Our  Generall  desirous  to  allure 
them  vnto  him  by  faire  meanes,  caused  kniues,  and  other 
thinges,  to  be  proferred  vnto  them,  whiche  they  would  not 
take  at  our  handes :  but  beeing  layd  on  the  ground,  and  the 
partie  going  away,  they  came  and  tooke  vp,  leaning  something 
of  theirs  to  counteruaile  the  same.  At  the  length,  two  of  them 
leauing  their  weapons,  came  downe  to  our  General!  and  Mai- 
ster,  who  did  the  like  to  them,  commaunding  the  companie  to 
stay,  and  went  vnto  them :  who  .after  certeine  dumbe  signes 
and  mute  congratulations,  began  to  lay  handes  vpon  them,  but 
they  deliuerly  escaped,  and  ranne  to  their  bowes  and  arrowes, 
and  came  fiercely  vppon  them,  (not  respecting  the  rest  of  our 
companie,  which  were  ready  for  their  defence)  but  with  their 
arrowes  hurt  diuerse  of  them  :  we  tooke  the  one,  and  the  other 
(pscaped. 

Whilest  our  Generall  was  busied  in  searching  the  countrie 
and  those  islands  adiacent  on  the  East  shoare,  the  ship  and 
barckes  hauing  great  care,  not  to  put  farre  into  the  sea  from 
him,  for  that  he  had  small  store  of  victuals,  were  forced  to 


212 

abide  in  a  cruell  tempest,  chancing  in  the  night,  amongst  and 
in  the  thickest  of  the  yce,  which  was  so  monstraous,  that  eueii 
the  least  of  a  thousand  had  beene  of  force  sufficient,  to  haue 
shiuered  our  shippe  and  barkes  into  small  portions,  if  God  (who 
in  all  necessities,  hath  care  vpon  the  infii*mi(ie  of  man)  had  not 
prouided  for  this  ourextremitie  a  sufficient  remedie,  through  the 
light  of  the  night,  whereby  we  might  well  discerne  to  flee  from 
suche  imminent  daungers,  whiche  we  auoyded  with  14.  bourdes 
in  one  watch  the  space  of  4  houres.  If  w^e  had  not  incurred 
this  danger  amongst  these  monstrous  islandes  of  yce,  wee  should 
haue  lost  our  Generall  and  Maister,  and  the  most  of  our  best 
sailers,  which  were  on  the  shoare  destitute  of  victualls :  but  by 
the  valure  of  our  Maister  Gunner,  being  expert  both  in  nauiga- 
tion  and  other  good  qualities,  we  were  all  content  to  incurre  the 
dangers  afore  rehearsed,  before  we  woulde,  with  our  owne 
safetie,  runne  into  the  seas,  to  the  destruction  of  our  sayd  Ge- 
nerall and  his  companie. 

The  day  following,  being  the  IQ.  of  Julie,  our  Capteine  re- 
turned to  the  shippe,  with  good  newes  of  great  riches,  which 
shewed  it  selfe  in  the  bowelles  of  those  barren  mounteines, 
wherewith  we  were  all  satisfied.  A  souden  mutation.  The 
one  parte  of  vs  being  almost  swallowed  vp  the  night  before, 
with  cruell  Neptune's  force,  and  the  rest  on  shore.,  taking 
thought  for  their  greedie  paunches,  how  to  finde  the  way  to 
Newfound  land  :  at  one  moment  we  were  all  rapt  with  ioye,  for- 
getting, both  where  we  were,  and  what  we  had  suffered.  Be- 
hold the  glorie  of  man,  to  night  contemning  riches,  and  rather 
looking  for  death  than  otherwise  :  and  to  morrowe  deuising 
how  to  satisfie  his  greedie  appetite  with  golde. 

Within  four  days  after  wee  had  ben  at  the  entrance  of  the 
streightes,  the  Northwest  and  West  windes  dispersed  the  yce 
into  the  sea,  and  made  vs  a  large  entrance  into  the  streightes, 
that  without  any  impediment,  on  the  ig.  of  Julie,  we  entred 
them,  and  the  20.  therof  our  Generall  and  Maister,  with  great 
diligence,  sought  out  and  sounded  the  West  shoare,  and  found 


213 

out  a  fair  harborough  for  the  ship  and  baikes  to  ride  in,  and 
named  it  after  our  Maister's  mate,  lackmans  soiinde,  and  brought 
the  ship,  barkes,  and  all  their  companie  to  safe  anchor,  except 
one  man,  whiche  dyed  by  God's  visitation. 

Who  so  maketh  nauigations  to  these  contries,  hath  not  only 
extreme  winds,  and  furious  seas,  to  encounter  witliall,  but  also 
many  monstrous  and  great  islandes  of  yce :  a  thing  both  rare, 
wonderfuU,  and  greatly  to  be  regarded. 

We  were  forced,  sundrie  times,  while  the  ship  did  ride  here 
at  anchor,  to  haue  continuall  watch,  with  boates  and  men  readie 
with  halsers,  to  knit  fast  vnto  such  yce,  which  with  the  ebbe 
and  floud  were  tossed  too  and  fro  in  the  harborough,  and  with 
force  of  oares  to  hale  them  away,  for  indaungering  tlie  ship. 

Our  Generall,  certeine  dayes  searched  this  supposed  conti- 
nent with  America,  and  not  finding  the  commoditie  to  aunswere 
his  expectation,  after  he  had  made  tryall  thereof,  he  departed 
thence  with  two  little  barkes,  and  men  sufficient,  to  the  East 
shoare,  being  the  supposed  continent  of  Asia,  and  left  the  ship 
with  most  of  the  Gentlemen,  Souldiers,  and  Saylers,  vntil  such 
time  as  he,  eytlier  thought  good  to  send,  or  come  for  them. 

The  stones  of  this  supposed  continent  with  America,  be  alto- 
gether sparkling,  and  glister  in  tlie  sunne  like  gold  :  so  like- 
wise dotli  the  sande  in  the  bright  water,  yet  they  verifie  tlie 
olde  prouerbe  :  All  is  not  golde  that  glisterelh. 

On  this  West  shoare  we  found  a  dead  fish  floating,  whiche 
had  in  his  nose  a  home  streight  and  torquet,  of  lengthe  two 
yardes  lacking  two  ynches,  being  broken  in  the  top,  where  we 
might  perceiue  it  hoUowe,  into  which  some  of  our  Saylers  put- 
ting spiders,  they  presently  dyed.  I  sawe  not  the  tryall  hereof, 
but  it  was  reported  vnto  me  of  a  truth :  by  the  vertue  whereof, 
we  supposed  it  to  be  the  sea  Unicorne. 

After  our  Generall  had  fouude  out  good  harborough  for  the 
ship  and  barkes  to  anchor  in  :  and  also  suche  store  of  golde  aure 
as  he  thought  him  self  satisfied  withall,  he  sent  backe  our  Mai- 
ster  with  one  of  the  barkes,  to  conducte  the  great  ship  vnto 


^ 


214 

him,  who  coasting  along  the  West  shoare,  percelued  a  faire 
harborough,  and  wiUing  to  sound  the  same,  at  the  enterance 
thereof  they  espyed  two  tents  of  scale  skhines. 

At  the  sight  of  oure  men,  the  people  fled  into  the  moun- 
feines :  nenerthelesse,  our  sayde  Maister  went  to  their  tents, 
and  left  some  of  our  trifles,  askniues,  bels,  and  glasses,  and  de- 
parted, not  taking  any  thing  of  theires,  excepte  one  dogge  to 
our  shippe. 

On  the  same  day,  after  consultation  had,  wee  determined 
to  see,  if  by  fayre  meanes  we  could  either  sHure  them  to  fami- 
liaritie,  or  otherwise  take  some  of  them,  and  so  atteine  to  some 
knowledge  of  those  men,  whome  our  Generall  lost  the  yeare 
before. 

•  At  our  comming  backe  againe,  to  the  place  where  their 
tentes  were  before,  they  had  remoued  their  tentes  further  into 
the  said  bay  or  sound,  where  they  might,  if  they  were  driuen 
from  the  lande,  flee  with  their  boates  into  the  sea.  Wee  part- 
ing our  selues  into  two  companies,  and  compassing  a  mounteine, 
came  soudeinely  vppon  them  by  land,  who  espying  vs,  widiout 
any  tarying  fled  to  their  boates,  leaning  the  most  part  of  their 
cares  behind  them  for  hast,  and  rowed  downe  the  bay,  where 
our  two  pinisses  met  them,  and  droue  them  to  shoare  :  but,  if 
they  had  had  all  their  oares,  so  swift  are  they  in  rowing,  it  had 
bene  lost  time  to  haue  chased  them. 

When  they  were  landed,  they  fiercely  assaulted  oure  men 
with  their  bowes  and  arrowes,  who  wounded  three  of  them 
with  our  arrowes  •  and  perceyuing  them  selues  thus  hurt,  they 
desperately  leapt  oflf  the  rocks  into  the  sea,  and  drowned  them- 
selues  :  which  if  they  had  not  done,  but  had  submitted  them 
selues:  or  ifby  any  meanes  we  could  haue  taken  themaliuC;  (being 
their  enimies  as  they  iudged)  we  would  both  haue  saued  them,  and 
also  haue  sought  remedie  to  cure  their  woundes  receiued  at  our 
handes.  But  they,  altogether  voyde  of  humanitie,  and  ignorant 
what  mercy  meanetli,  in  extremities  looke  for  no  other  then 
death  :  and  perceiuing  they  should  fall  into  our  hands,   thus 


215 

hiiserably  by  drowning  rather  desired  death,  then  otherwise  to 
be  saued  by  vs  :  the  rest,  perceiuing  their  fellowes  in  this  dis- 
tress, fled  into  the  highe  mounteines.  Two  women,  not  being 
so  apt  to  escape  as  the  men  were,  the  one  for  her  age,  and  the 
other  being  incombred  with  a  yong  childe,  we  tooke.  The  olde 
wretch,  whome  diuers  of  oure  Saylers  supposed  to  be  eyther  a 
diuell,  or  a  witch,  had  her  buskins  plucked  off,  to  see  if  she 
were  clouen  footed,  and  for  her  ougly  hewe  and  deformitie,  we 
let  her  goe :  the  young  woman  and  the  childe,  we  brought 
away.  We  named  the  place  where  they  were  slayne,  Bloudie 
point :  and  the  bay  or  harborough,  Yorkes  sound,  after  th« 
name  of  one  of  the  Capteines  of  the  two  barkes 

Hauing  this  knowledge  both  of  their  fiercenesse  and  crueltie, 
and  perceiuing  that  fayre  meanes,  as  yet,  is  not  able  to  allure 
them  in  familiaritie,  we  disposed  our  selues  contrarie  to  our  in- 
clination, something  to  be  cruel,  returned  to  their  tentes,  and 
made  a  spoyle  of  the  same.  Their  riches  are  neyther  gold,  sil- 
uer,  or  precious  draperie,  but  their  sayde  tentes  and  boates, 
made  of  the  skinnesof  reddeare  and  sealeskinnes  :  also,  dogges 
like  vnto  woolues,  but  for  the  most  part  black,  with  otlier  trifles, 
more  to  be  wondred  at  for  their  strangenesse,  then  for  any  other 
coramoditie  needeful  for  our  vse. 

Thus  returning  to  our  ship,  the  3.  of  August,  we  departed 
from  the  West  shoare,  supposed  firme  with  America,  after  we 
had  anchored  there  13.  dayes  :  and  so,  the  4.  thereof,  we  came 
to  our  Generall  on  the  East  shoare,  and  anchored  in  a  fayre 
harborough  named  Anne  JVhrrwicke  s  sound,  vnto  which  is  an- 
nexed an  islande  both  named  after  the  Countesse  of  Warrwicke, 
Anne  IVhrrwicke' s  sound  and  hie. 

In  this  isle,  our  Generall  thought  good,  for  this  voyage,  to 
frayght  both  the  ship  and  barkes,  with  suche  stone  or  gold  mi- 
nerall,  as  he  iudged  to  counteruaile  the  charges  of  his  flrst,  and 
this  his  second  nauigatlon  to  these  contrles,  with  sufiicient  Inte- 
rest to  the  venturers,  wherby  they  might  bothe  be  satisfied  for 
this  time,  and  also  in  time  to  come,  (if  it  please  God  and  our 


216 


t*rmce,)  to  expect  a  much  more  large  benefitej  out  of  the 
bowells  of  thosr  septentrionall  paralels,  which  long  time  hath 
concealed  it  self,  til  at  this  present,  through  the  wonderfiill  dili- 
gence, and  great  danger  of  our  Generall  and  others,  God  is 
contented  with  the  reuealing  thereof.  It  riseth  so  aboundantly, 
that  from  the  beginning  of  August,  to  the  22.  thereof,  (euery 
man  following  the  diligence  of  our  Generall)  we  rajsed  aboue 
grounde  200.  tunne,  which  we  iudged  a  reasonable  fraight  for 
the  shippe  and  two  barkes,  in  the  sayde  Anne  Wdrrwick's  Isle. 

In  the  time  of  our  abode  here,  some  of  the  countrie  people, 
came  to  shewe  them  selues  vnto  vs,  sundrie  times  on  the  maine 
shoare,  neere  adiacent  to  the  sayd  isle.  Our  Generall,  desirous 
to  haue  some  newes  of  his  men,  whom  he  lost  the  yeare  before, 
with  some  companie  with  him  repayred  with  the  ship  boat,  to 
common,  or  signe  with  them  for  familiaritie,  wherevnto  he  is 
persuaded  to  bring  them.  They,  at  the  first  shewe,  made  to- 
kens, that  three  of  his  fiue  men  were  aliue,  and  desired  penne, 
ynck,  and  paper,  and  that  within  three  or  foure  dayes,  they 
would  returne,  and  (as  we  iudged)  bring  those  of  our  men^ 
whiche  were  liuing,  with  them. 

They  also  made  signes  or  tokens  of  their  king,  whom  they 
called  Cacough,  and  how  he  was  carried  on  men's  shoulders,  and 
a  man  farre  surmounting  any  of  our  companie,  in  bignesse  and 
stature. 

With  these  tokens  and  signes  of  writing,  penne,  yncke,  and 
paper  was  deliuered  them,  which  they  woulde  not  take  at  our 
handes  :  but  being  layde  vpon  the  shoare,  and  the  partie  gone 
away,  they  took  vp  :  which  likewise  they  doe,  when  they  de- 
sire any  thing  for  chaunge  of  theirs,  laying  for  that  which  is  left, 
so  much  as  they  think  wil  counteruaile  the  same,  and  not  com- 
ming  neare  together.  It  seemeth  they  haue  bene  vsed  to  this 
trade  or  traffique,  with  some  other  people  adioyning,  or  not  farre 
distant  from  their  countrie. 

After  4.  dayes,  some  of  them  shewed  themselues  vpon  the 
firme  land,  but  not  where  they  were  before.    Our  General, 


217 

reiy  glad  thereof,  supposing  to  heare  of  our  men,  went  from 
the  islande,  with  the  boate,  and  sufficient  companie  with  him* 
They  seemed  very  glad,  and  allured  him,  about  a  certeine  point 
of  the  land :  behind  which  they  might  perceiue  a  companie  of 
the  craftie  villains  to  lye  lurking,  whome  our  Generall  woulde 
not  deale  withall,  for  that  he  knew  not  what  companie  they 
\vere,  and  so  with  fewe  signes  dismissed  them,  and  returned  to 
his  companie. 

An  other  time,  as  our  said  Generall  was  coasting  the  contrie, 
with  two  little  pinisses,  whereby  at  oure  returne  hee  might 
make  the  better  relation  thereof,  three  of  the  craftie  villains, 
with  a  white  skin  allured  vs  to  them.  Once  againe,  our  Gene- 
rall, for  that  he  hoped  to  heare  of  his  men,  went  towardes 
them  :  at  oure  comming  neere  the  shoare,  whereon  they  were, 
^ve  might  perceiue  a  number  of  them  lie  hidden  behinde  great 
stones,  and  those  tliree  in  sight  labouring  by  al  meanes  possible, 
that  some  woulde  come  on  land  :  and  perceyuing  wee  made 
no  hast  by  words  nor  friendly  signes,  which  they  vsed  by  clap- 
ping of  their  handes,  and  beeing  without  weapon,  and  but  three 
in  sighte,  they  sought  further  meanes  to  provoke  vs  there vnto. 
One  alone  layd  flesh  on  the  shoare,  which  we  tooke  vpp  with 
the  boate  hooke,  as  necessarie  victualls  for  the  relieuing  of 
the  man,  woman,  and  child,  whom  we  had  taken  :  for  that  as 
yet,  they  could  not  digest  oure  meate  :  whereby  they  perceiued 
themselues  deceiued  of  their  expectation,  for  all  their  craftie  al- 
lurements. Yet  once  againe,  to  make  (as  it  were)  a  full  shewe 
of  their  craftie  natures,  and  subtile  sleightes,  to  the  intent  there- 
by to  haue  intrapped  and  taken  some  of  our  men,  one  of  them 
counterfeyted  hiraselfe  impotent  and  lame  of  his  legges,  who 
seemed  to  descend  to  the  water  side,  witli  great  difficultie :  and 
to  couer  his  craft  the  more,  one  of  his  fellowes  came  downc 
with  him,  and  in  such  places,  where  he  seemed  unable  to  passe, 
hee  tooke  him  on  his  shoulders,  set  him  by  the  water  side,  and 
departed  from  him,  leauing  him  (as  it  should  seeme)  all  alone, 
who  playing  his  counterfcite  pageant  very  well,  thought  thereby 
VOL.  II.  2  F 


218 


to  prouoke  some  of  vs  to  come  on  shoare,  not  fearing,  but  that 
anyone  of  vs  might  make  our  partie  good  with  a  lame  man. 

Our  Generall,  hauing  compassion  of  his  impotencie,  thought 
good  (if  it  were  possible)  to  cure  him  thereof :  wherefore,  hee 
caused  a  souldiour  to  shoote  at  him  with  his  caleeuer,  which 
grased  before  his  face.  The  counterfeite  villeine  dehuerly  fled, 
without  any  impediment  at  all,  and  gott  him  to  his  bowe  and 
arrowes,  and  the  rest  from  their  lurking  holes,  with  their  wea- 
pons, bowes,  arrowes,  slings,  and  dartes.  Our  Generall  caused 
some  caleeuers  to  be  shot  off  at  them,  whereby  some  being 
hurt,  they  mighte  hereafter  stand  in  more  feare  of  vs. 

This  was  all  the  aunswere,  for  this  time,  wee  could  haue  of 
our  men,  or  of  our  Generall's  letter.  Their  craftie  dealing,  at 
these  three  several  times,  being  thus  manifest  vnto  vs,  maye 
plainely  shewe,  their  disposition  in  other  thinges  to  be  corres- 
pondent. We  iudged,  that  they  vsed  these  stratagemmes,  there- 
by to  haue  caught  some  of  vs,  for  the  deliuering  of  the  man, 
woman,  and  child  whome  we  haue  taken. 

They  are  men  of  a  large  corporature,  and  good  proportion : 
their  colour  is  not  much  vnlike  the  suune  burnte  countrie  man, 
wholaboureth  daily  in  the  sunne  for  his  liuing. 

They  weare  their  haire  somethinge  long,  and  cut  before, 
either  with  stone  or  knife,  very  disorderly.  Their  women 
weare  their  haire  long,  and  knit  vp  with  two  loupes,  shewing 
forth  on  either  side  of  their  faces,  and  the  rest  foltred  vp  on  a 
knot.  Also,  some  of  their  women  race  their  faces  proportion- 
ally, as  chinne,  cheekes,  and  forehead,  and  the  wristes  of  their 
handes,  wherevpon  they  lay  a  colour,  which  continueth  darke 
azurine. 

They  eate  their  meate  all  rawe,  both  fieshe,  fishe,  and  foule, 
or  something  perboyled  with  bloud  and  a  little  water,  whiche 
they  driuke.  For  lacke  of  water,  they  wil  eate  yce,  that  is 
hard  frosen,  as  pleasantly  as  we  will  doe  sugar  candie,  or  otlxer 
sugar. 

If  they,  for  necessitie's  sake,  stand  in  neede  of  the  premisseSji. 


219 

such  grasse  as  the  counti'ie  yeeldeth  they  plucke  vppe,  and  eate, 
not  deintily,  or  sallet  wise,  to  allure  their  stomaches  to  appetite: 
but  for  necessitie's  sake,  without  either  salt,  oyles  or  washing, 
like  brute  beasts  deuouring  the  same.  They  neither  vse  table, 
stoole,  or  table  cloth  for  comelinesse  :  but  when  they  are  im- 
brued with  bloud,  knuckle  deepe,  and  their  kniues  in  like  sort, 
they  vse  their  tongues  as  apt  instruments  to  licke  them  cleane  : 
in  doeing  whereof,  they  are  assured  to  loose  none  of  their  vic- 
tuals. 

They  franck  or  keep  certeine  doggs,  not  much  vnlike 
wolues,  whiche  they  yoke  together,  as  we  do  oxen  and  horses, 
to  a  sled  or  traile  :  and  so  carrie  their  necessaries  ouer  the  yce 
and  snowe,  from  place  to  place  :  as  the  captiue,  whom  we  haue, 
made  perfecte  signes.  And  when  those  dogges  are  not  apt  for 
the  same  vse  :  or  when  with  hunger  they  are  constreyned,  for 
lacke  of  other  victuals,  they  eate  them  :  so  that  they  are  ns 
needefuU  for  them,  in  respect  of  their  bignesse,  as  our  oxen  are 
for  vs. 

They  apparell  themselues  in  tjie  skinnes  of  such  beastes  as 
they  kill,  sewed  together  with  the  sinewes  of  them.  All  the 
fowle  which  they  kill,  they  skin,  and  make  thereof  one  kinde 
of  garment  or  other,  to  defend  them  from  the  cold. 

They  make  their  apparell  with  hoods  and  tailes,  which  tailes 
they  giue,  when  they  thinke  to  gi-atifie  any  friendshippe  shewed 
vnto  them  :  a  great  signe  of  friendshippe  with  them.  The  men 
haue  them  not  so  syde  as  the  women. 

The  men  and  women  weare  their  hose  close  to  their  legges, 
from  the  wast  to  the  knee,  without  any  open  before,  as  well 
the  one  kinde  as  the  other.  Uppon  their  legges,  they  weare 
hose  of  lether,  with  the  furre  side  inward,  two  or  three  paire  on 
at  once,  and  especially  the  women.  In  those  hose,  they  put 
their  kniues,  needles,  and  other  thinges  needefull  to  beare  about. 
They  put  a  bone  vv'ithin  their  hose,  whiche  reacheth  from  the 
foote  to  the  knee,  wherevpon  they  drawe  tlieir  said  hose,  and 


220. 


so  in  place  of  garters,  they  are  holden  from  falling  downc 
aboute  their  feete. 

They  dresse  their  skinnes  very  softe  and  souple  witli  the. 
haire  on.  In  cold  weather  or  winter,  they  weare  the  furre  side 
inwai"d :  and  in  summer  outward.  Other  apparel  they  haue 
none,  but  the  said  skinnes. 

Those  beasts,  fishes,  and  fowles,  which  they  kil,  are  their 
meate,  drinke,  apparel,  houses,  bedding,  hose,  shooes,  thred, 
and  sailes  for  theh-  boates,  with  many  other  necessaries,  wherer 
of  they  stand  in  neede,  and  almost  all  their  riches. 

Their  houses  are  tentes,  made  of  scale  skinnes,  pitched  vp> 
w^ith  4.  firre  quarters,  foure  square,  meeting  at  tlie  toppe,  and 
the  skinnes  sewed  together  with  sinewes,  and  layd  therevpon  : 
they  are  so  pitched  vp,  that  the  enti'aunce  into  them,  is  alwayes 
South,  or  against  the  sunne. 

They  haue  other  sortes  of  houses,  which  wee  founde,  not 
to  be  inhabited,  which  are  raised  with  stones  and  whalbones, 
and  a  skinne  layd  ouer  them,  to  withstand  the  raine,  or  other 
weather :  the  entraunce  of  them  beeing  not  much  vnlike  an 
ouen's  mouth,  whereto,  I  thincke,  they  resort  for  a  time,  to 
lishe,  hiant,  and  fowle,  and  so  leaue  them  vntill  tlie  next  time 
they  come  thether  againe. 

Their  \\'eapons  are  bowes,  arrowes,  dartes,  and  slinges. 
Their  bowes  are  of  wood,  of  a  yard  long,  sinew  ed  on  the  back 
with  strong  sinews,  not  glued  too,  but  fast  girded  and  tyed  on. 
Their  bowe  stringes  are  likewise  sinewes.  Their  arrowes  are 
three  peece?,  nocked  with  bone,  and  ended  with  bone,  with 
those  two  ends,  and  the  wood  in  the  middst,  they  passe  not  in 
engthe  halfe  a  yarde  or  a  little  more.  They  are  fethered  with 
two  fathers,  the  penne  end  being  cutte  away,  and  the  fethers 
layd  vppon  the  arrowe  M'ith  the  broad  side  to  the  wood  :  in  so- 
much  that  they  seeme,  when  they  are  tyed  on,  to  haue  foure 
fethers.  They  haue  likewise  three  sortes  of  heades  to  those  ar- 
rowes :  one  sort  of  stone  or  yron,  proportioned  like  to  a  heart : 


£21 


the  second  sort  of  bone,  much  hke  vntoa  stopte  head,  with  a 
hooke  on  the  same  :  the  thirde  sort  of  bone  hkewisc,  made 
sharpe  at  both  sides,  and  sharpe  pointed.  They  are  not  made 
very  fast,  but  hghtly  tyed  to^,  or  else  set  in  a  nocke,  that  vppon 
small  occasion,  the  arrowe  leauetli  these  heades  behinde  them  : 
and  they  are  of  small  force,  except  they  be  very  neere^  when 
they  shoot. 

Their  darts  are  made  of  two  sorts  :  the  one  with  many 
forkes  of  bone  in  the  fore  ende,  and  likewise  in  the  middest : 
their  proportions  are  not  much  vnlike  our  toasting  yrons,  but 
longer  :  these  they  cast  out  of  an  instrument  of  wood  very  rea- 
dily. The  other  sorte  is  greater  than  the  first  aforesayde,  with 
a  long  bone  made  sharp  on  both  sides,  not  much  vnlike  a  rapier, 
A\'hich  I  take  to  be  their  most  hurtfull  weapon. 

They  haue  two  sorts  of  boates,  made  of  lether,  set  out  on 
the  inner  side  with  quarters  of  wood,  artificially  tyed  together 
widi  thongs  of  the  same  :  the  greater  sort  are  not  much  vnlike 
our  wherries,  wherein  sixteene  or  twentie  men  may  sitte  :  they 
haue  for  a  sayle,  drest  the  guttes  of  such  beastes  as  they  kyll, 
very  fine  and  thinne,  which  they  sewe  together :  the  other 
boate  is  but  for  one  man  to  sitte  and  rowe  in,  with  one  oare. 

Their  order  of  fishing,  hunting,  and  fowling,  are  with  these 
sayde  weapons  :  but  in  what  sort,  or  how  they  vse  them,  we 
haue  no  perfect  knowledge  as  yet. 

I  can  not  suppose  their  abode  or  habitation  to  be  here,  for 
that  neither  their  houses,  or  apparell,  are  of  such  force  to  with- 
stand tlie  extremitie  of  colde,  that  the  countrie  seemeth  to  be 
Infected  with  all :  neyther  doe  I  see  any  signe  Ukely  to  performe 
the  same. 

Those  houses,  or  rather  dennes,  which  stand  there,  haue  no 
s':gne  of  footw'ay,  or  any  thing  else  troden,  whiche  is  one  of  the 
CiTiefest  tokens  of  habitation.  And  those  tents,  which  tliey 
bring  with  them,  when  they  haue  sufficiently  hunted  and  fished, 
they  remoue  to  other  places  :  and  when  they  haue  sufficiently 
stored  them  of  suche  victuals,  as  the  countrie  yeldetb,  or  bring- 


ith  foorth,  they  returne  to  their  winter  stations  or  habitations. 
This  coniecture  do  I  make,  for  the  infertihtie,  which  I  perceiue 
to  be  in  that  countrie. 

They  haue  some  yron,  whereof  they  make  arrowe  heades, 
kniues,  and  other  little  instrumentesj  to  woorke  their  boates, 
bowes,  arrowes,  and  dartes  withal,  whiche  are  very  vnapt  to 
doe  any  thing  withall,  but  with  great  labour. 

It  seemeth,  that  they  haue  conuersation  with  some  •ther 
people,  of  whome,  for  exchange,  they  should  receiue  the  same. 
They  are  greatly  delighted  with  any  thinge  that  is  brighte,  or 
giueth  a  sound. 

What  knowledge  they  haue  of  God,  or  what  idol  they 
adore,  wee  haue  no  perfect  intelligence.  I  thincke  them  rather 
Anthropophagi,  or  devourers  of  man's  fleshe,  then  otherwise  : 
for  that  there  is  no  flesh  or  fishe,  which  they  finde  dead,  (smell 
it  neuer  so  filthily)  but  they  will  eate  it,  as  they  finde  it,  without 
any  other  dressing.  A  loathsome  spectacle,  either  to  the  be- 
holders, or  hearers. 

There  is  no  maner  of  creeping  beast  hurtful,  except  some 
spiders  (which,  as  many  affirme,  are  signes  of  great  store  of 
golde :)  and  also  certeine  stinging  gnattes,  which  bite  so  fierce- 
ly, that  the  place  where  they  bite,  shortly  after  swelleth,  and 
itcheth  very  sore. 

They  make  signes  of  certeine  people,  that  weare  bright 
plates  of  gold  in  their  forheads,  and  other  places  of  their  bodies. 

The  countries,  on  both  sides  the  streightes,  lye  very  highe 
with  roughe  stonie  mounteynes,  and  great  quantitie  of  snowe 
thereon.  There  is  very  little  plaine  ground,  and  no  grasse,  ex- 
cept a  little,  whiche  is  much  like  vnto  niosse  that  groweth  oh* 
soft  ground,  such  as  we  gett  turfes  in.  There  is  no  wood  at  all. 
To  be  briefe,  there  is  nothing  fitte,  or  profitable  for  the  vse  of 
man,  which  that  countrie  with  roote  yeeldeth,  or  bringeth  forth : 
howbeit  there  is  great  quantitie  of  deere,  whose  skinnes  are  like 
vnto  asses',  their  heads  or  homes  doe  farre  exceed,  as  wel  in 
length  as  also  in  breadth,  any  in  these  our  partes  or  countrie: 


223 

their  feete  likewise,  are  as  greale  as  oure  oxen's^  which  we 
measured  to  be  seven  or  eiglit  ynches  in  breadth.  There  are 
also  hares,  wolues,  fishing  beares,  and  sea  foule  of  sundiie 
sortes. 

As  the  countrie  is  barren  and  vnfertile,  so  are  they  rude  and 
of  no  capacitie  to  culture  the  same,  to  any  perfection  :  but  are 
contented  by  their  hunting,  fishing,  and  fowling,  with  rawe 
flesh  and  warme  bloud,  to  satisfie  their  greedie  panches,  whiche 
is  their  onely  glorie. 

There  is  great  likelyhood  of  earthquakes,  or  thunder  :  for 
that  huge  and  monstruous  mounteynes,  whose  greatest  sub- 
staunce  are  stones,  and  those  stones  so  shaken  with  some  ex- 
traordinarie  meanes,  that  one  is  separated  from  another,  whiche 
is  discordant  from  all  other  quarries. 

There  are  no  riuers,  or  running  springes,  but  such,  as  through 
tlie  heate  of  the  sunne,  with  such  water  as  descendeth  from  the 
mounteines  and  hills,  whereon  great  driftes  of  snowe  doe  lie, 
are  ingendred. 

It  argueth  also,  that  there  should  be  none :  for  that  the 
earth,  which  with  the  extremitie  of  the  winter,  is  so  frosen 
within,  that  that  water,  whiche  should  haue  recourse  within 
the  same,  to  mainteine  springes,  hath  not  his  motion,  whereof 
great  waters  haue  their  original!,  as  by  experience  is  scene 
otherwhere.  Such  valleies,  as  are  capable  to  receiue  the  water, 
that  in  tlie  summer  time,  by  the  operation  of  the  sunne,  de- 
scendeth from  greate  abundance  of  snow,  which  continuall)'- 
lyeth  on  the  mounteines,  and  hath  no  passage,  sinketh  into  the 
earth,  and  so  vanisheth  awaye,  without  any  runnell  aboue  the 
earth,  by  which  occasion,  or  continual  standing  of  the  said  wa- 
ter, the  earth  is  opened,  and  the  great  frost  yeldeth  to  the  force 
thereof,  whiche  in  other  places,  foure  or  fiue  fathoms  within 
the  ground,  for  lacke  of  the  said  moysture,  (the  earth,  euen  in 
the  very  summer  time,)  is  frosen,  and  so  combinelh  the  stones 
together,  that  scarcely  instruments,  Avith  great  force,  can  vn- 
knitte  theui. 


224. 

Also,  where  the  water  hi  those  vaUies  can  haue  lio  such 
ipassage  away,  by  the  continuaunce  of  time,  in  such  order  as  is 
before  rehearsed,  the  yearely  descent  jfi'om  the  mounteines,  fiU- 
eth  them  ful,  that  at  the  lowest  banck  of  the  same,  they  fall 
into  the  next  vallie,  and  so  continue,  as  fishing  pondes  or  stagnes 
in  the  summer  time  full  of  water,  and  in  the  winter  hard  frosen: 
as  by  skarres  that  remaine  thereof  in  summer,  may  easily  be 
perceiued  :  so  that,  the  heate  of  summer,  is  nothing  compara- 
ble, or  of  force,  to  dissolue  the  extremitie  of  colde,  that  com- 
meth  in  winter. 

Neuerthelesse,  I  am  assured,  that  belowe  the  force  of  the 
frost,  within  the  earth,  the  waters  haue  recourse,  and  emptie 
themselues  out  of  sighte  into  the  sea,  which  through  the  extre- 
mitie of  the  frost,  are  constreyned  to  doe  the  same,  by  which 
occasion,  the  earth  within  is  kept  the  warmer,  and  springes 
haue  their  recourse,  which  is  the  onely  nutriment  of  gold  and 
minerals  within  the  same. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  of  the  commodities  of  these  coun- 
tries, which  are  couched  within  the  bowels  of  tlie  earth,  which 
I  let  passe  till  more  perfect  triall  be  made  thereof. 

Thus  coniecluring,  till  time,  with  the  earnest  industrie  of 
our  Generall  and  others  (who  by  al  diligence  remaine  prest  to 
explore  the  truth  of  that  which  is  vnexplored,  as  he  hath  to  his 
euerlasting  praise  found  out  that  whiche  is  like  to  yeelde  an  in- 
numerable benefite  to  his  Prince  and  countrie :)  ofier  further 
triall,  I  conclude. 

The  23.  of  August,  after  we  had  satisfied  our  mindes  with 
frayght  sufficient  for  oure  vessels,  though  not  our  couetous  de- 
uires,  with  such  knowledge  of  the  countrie  people  and  otlier 
commodities  as  are  before  rehearsed,  the  24.  therof  wee  de«^ 
parted  therehence :  the  ]  7.  of  September  we  fell  with  tlie 
land's  end  of  England,  and  so  to  Milford  hauen,  from  whence 
©ut  General  rode  to  the  Court,  for  order,  to  what  port  or  hauen 
to  conduct  the  shippe. 

We  lost  our  two  barkes  in  the  way  homeward,  the  one,  the 


225 

2g.  of  August,  tlie  other,  the  31.  of  the  same  moneth,  by  oc- 
casion of  great  tempest  and  fogge.  Howbeit,  God  restored  the 
one  to  Bristowe,  and  the  other  making  his  course  by  Scotland 
to  Yermouth.  In  this  voyage  wee  lost  two  men,  one  in  the 
waye  by  God's  visitation,  and  the  other  homewarde  cast  ouer 
borde  with  a  surge  of  the  sea. 

I  could  declare  vnto  your  Honour,  the  latitude  and  longi- 
tude of  such  places  and  regions,  as  wee  haue  beene  at,  but  not 
altogether  so  perfect  as  our  Maister's  and  others',  with  many 
circumstances  of  tempests  and  other  accidents  incident  to  sea- 
faring men,  which  seeme  not  altogether  straunge,  I  let  passe 
to  their  reportes  as  men  most  apte  to  sett  forth  and  declare  the 
same.  I  haue  also  left  the  names  of  the  countries  on  both  the 
shoares  vntouched,  for  lacke  of  vnderstanding  the  people's  lan- 
guage :  as  also  for  sundrie  respectes,  not  needfuU  as  yet  to  be; 
declared. 

Countries  new  explored,  where  commodltie  is  to  be  looked 
for,  doe  better  accord  widi  a  new  name  giuen  by  the  explorers, 
then  an  vncerteine  name  by  a  doubtfull  authour. 

Oui"  Generall  named  sundrie  islands,  mounteines,  capes,  and 
harboroughs  after  the  names  of  diuers  noble  men,  and  other 
gentlemen  his  friends,  as  wel  on  the  one  shoare,  as  also  on  the 

other ;  not  forgetting  amongest  the  rest  your  Lordship  : 

which  hereafter  (when  occasion  serueth) 

are  to  be  declared  in  his  own 

mapps  or  charts." 


VOL.   II.  '2  G 


"  A  Sermon,  M  preached  at  the  Funerall  of  that  ^  most 
Honourable  and  worthie  M  Knight  S.  Richard  ie- 
ueson,  Fice-s^  Admirall  of  England:  M  Who  dyed 
at  London  the  2.  of  August,  M  and  was  interred  at 
Wooluer  Hampton  in  SI  the  Countie  of  Stafford, 
the  2.  day  Sit  of  September  following.  ^  Jnno  Domi. 
1605.  M  By  Samvel  Page,  Batchelour  in  Diui-  ^ 
nitie,  and  Vicar  of  Deptforde  in  Kent.  M 

**  London,  printed  by  William  White,  dwel-  M  ling  in 
;        Cow-lane  neere  M  Holborne  Conduit.  M  1605."  M 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  his  especiall  good  Lord,  the  Earte 
of  Nottingham,  the  Lord  high  Admirall  of  England,  ^c. 
Samvel  Page  wisheth  all  encrease  of  Honour. 

My  especiall  good  Lord,  the  lone  which  that  Honorable 
Knight  Sir  liichard  Leueson  did  deserue  from  mee,  hath  made 
my  eai"e  so  impatient  of  any  imputation  by  which  he  may  be 
traduced  to  the  world,  that  passing  amongst  the  throng  of  va- 
riable censures,  and  obseruing  how  emulation  and  enuie  of  his 
worth,  striueth  to  burie  his  honour  in  the  same  dust  with  his 
life-lesse  body :  I  could  not  but  wonder,  that  so  many  faire 
parts  of  vertue  and  goodnes  in  him,  could  be  so  slightly  skipt 
ouer,  and  that  so  cursory  eyes  as  beheld  them,  could  so  dwell 
vpon  the  errours  and  mis-heedings  of  his  youth.  It  concernetli 
mee  (whom  he  chose  out  of  all  his  acquaintance,  to  breath  his 
last  words  in  my  eares,  and  to  make  me  the  eye,  and  the  tongue 
witnesse  of  his  ende,)  to  doe  him  this  right,  to  satisfie  with  my 
testimonie  such,  who  being  better  acquainted  with  his  course 
of  life  then  my  selfe  was,  might  finde  in  it  more  to  dislike,  and 
might  therefore  suspect  his  death :  to  those,  and  for  discharge 


227 

of  my  duetie  to  my  honourable  friende,  though  departed,  I 
haue  caused  these  papers  to  speake  more  pubHquely  that,  which 
in  a  full  hearing  I  deliuered  to  those  which  were  present  at  his 
Funerals,  and  I  protest  herein  my  sinceritie ;  for  as  al  my  ser- 
uice  done  to  him,  had  beginning  in  my  loue  of  his  vertue  j  So 
neither  my  labour  was  mercenary  with  him,  nor  my  penne  hi- 
red :  for  it  is  sufficiently  knowen,  that  I  neuer  receiued  from 
him  more  than  the  rich  reward  of  his  thanks,  and  acknowledg- 
ment of  that  comfort  which  he  receiued  from  mee ;  which  I 
hold  so  deare  a  recompence,  that  I  could  sow  dayly,  to  reape 
but  such  an  harvest. 

What  I  haue  herein  deliuered,  I  present  vnto  your  Honour, 
beseeching  you,  who  haue  vouchsafed  to  be  the  Patrone  of  my 
studies,  *to  receiue  this ;  and  herewithall  my  most  humble 
duetie. 

Debtford  this  6.  Decemler,  l605. 

Your  Honour's  Chaplaine  in 

all  duetie  and  seruice, 

Samuell  Page." 


3«*c>0©C!0**<: 


2  Sam.  3.  vers.  38. 

*'  And  the  King  said  to  his  Sernants,  Know  ye  not  that  a  Pjince  and 
a  great  Man  is  fallen  this  day  in  Israel  ?" 

"  Abner  is  dead,  David  the  King  is  become  a  mourner  j 
liee  followed  the  beare  of  Ahner  to  the  graue  :  When  hee  came 
to  the  sepulchre,  hee  lift  vp  his  voyce  and  wept :  He  bomoned 
his  death  to  the  people :  hee  refused  his  meate  till  the  sunne 
was  downe.  And  in  this  verse  he  pleadeth  the  cause  of  his 
griefe  to  his  seruantes,  and  makes  them  sensible  of  his  losse.; 
Know  ye  not  that  there  is,  l2'c. 


228 

See  how  artlficiall  sorrow  is,  in  telling  of  her  owne  tale"; 
lieere  is  not  a  word  in  this  speach  of  the  Kinge's,  but  it  hath 
■the  taste  and  the  relish  of  the  grieued  heart  where  it  grew. 

Though  I  haue  found  as  much  difference  betweene  man 
and  man,  as  betweene  high  and  low,  rich  and  poore,  great  and 
-small ;  yet  I  haue  set  mine  eye  in  the  second  place,  vpon  the 
•mortalitie  of  Great  Men,  because  my  text  saith,  A  great  man 
"is  fallen.  It  hath  cost  the  liues  of  the  greatest  to  exemplifie 
•this  to  vs  from  Adam,  the  father  of  vs  all ;  by  whose  disobe- 
^dienc©  sinnne  came  into  the  world  ;  and  by  sinne,  death,  euen 
to  this  moment  of  time  wherein  thousands  are  breathing  their 
■last  in  sundry  places,  and  by  sundry  sorts  of  death. 

"Where  be  those  great  ones,  euen  the  greatest  of  the  sonnes 
-of  men,  which  haue  ouerrunne  kingdomes  and  people,  with  an 
inundation  of  power,  and  taught  the  earth  to  groane,  and  trem- 
ble vnder  the  burthen  of  their  armes  ? 

Did  not  God  blow  vpon  them,  and  they  withered  ?  And 
did  not  the  whirlewind  take  them  away  as  stuble  ?  Esa.  xl.  24. 
When  lob  was  out  of  taste  with  his  life,  he  wisht  that  he 
bad  gone  immediately  from  the  wombe  to  the  graue  :  for  sayth 
hee,  I  should  haue  slept  then,  and  been  at  rest,  with  the  kinges 
and  counsaylours  of  the  earth,  which  haue  builded  them  selues 
desolate  places :  or  with  the  princes  that  had  gold,  and  haue 
filled  their  houses  with  siluer.  lob  m.  13. 

Dignitie,  friends,  followers,  wealth,  plentie,  the  best  sup- 
porters that  euer  the  world  could  find  (of  temporall  happines^ 
giue  way  when  death  commeth.  The  Centurion  sayth  to  his 
&eruant  Goe,  and  he  goeth :  Death  sayth  to  the  Centurion 
Come,  ajid  he  commeth.  Death's  nettes  are  not  cobwebbes  to 
take  none  but  small  flyes,  nor  snar's  for  none  but  small  birdes  : 
If  great  men  should  not  die,  small  men  should  not  liue.  Vnre- 
Strayned  greatnes  growes  saluage :  but  the  thought  of  death 
makes  it  come  to  hand,  and  become  tame. 

All  the  life  of  some,  is  a  rize  from  one  aduancement  to 
another,  till  they  iiaue  lost  thenaselues  in  their  owTie  greatnes  .- 


229 

"bttt  they  shall  fall  euen  from  the  greatest.  It  was  so  decreed  in 
Paradice,  when  wee  were  all  yet  in  the  loynes  of  our  first  pa- 
rents, before  there  was  any  such  difference  betweene  vs  in  dig- 
-nitie :  For  out  of  it  wert  thou  taken,  because  thou  art  dust,  and 
to  dust  shalt  thou  returne.  Gen.  iii.  I9.  Dust  is  our  first,  and 
last.  The  most  neat,  and  the  most  curious  amongst  vs,  shall 
not  brush  off  this  dust,  till  we  rise  againe,  euen  till  our  mortall 
do  put  on  immortalitie. 

In  a  lesse  matter  in  2  Reg.  vi.  7-  when  a  woman  in  the 
famine  of  Samaria,  cryed,  Helpemy  Lord,  O  King.  The  King 
of  Israel  sayd  :  Seeing  the  Lord  doth  not  succotire  thee,  how 
should  I  helpe  ivith  the  Barne  or  the  Winepressc  ? 

Kings  then  haue  their  winges  dipt:  God  wil  haue  them 
knowne  to  be  but  men :  the  winde  blowes  on  them,  the  sunne 
heates  them,  the  raine  doth  wet  them  :  griefe  and  care  is  as  or- 
dinary a  giiest  with  them,  as  with  theu*  meanest  subjectes:  iheir 
great  friendes  fall  also  like  other  men  :  Mors  a'qun  pulsat pede, 
it  goes  with  an  euen  foote,  and  carryeth  an  indifferent  hand, 
and  leaues  Kinges  that  onely  remedy,  to  sitte  downe  and  weepe 
ouer  their  dead,  as  Dauidheere  doth  ouer  Abner. 

It  is  not  long  since  our  eyes  saw  the  fall  of  Maiestle,  the 
death  of  the  great  Lady  of  these  realmes,  the  Soueraigne  of  all 
■the  honest  hearts  vnder  these  her  dominions,  the  wonder  of  her 
5exe,  deseruing  better  of  her  people,  then  we  haue  words  to 
expresse ;  as  much  aboue  my  prayse,  as  I  was  beneath  her 
greatnes,  the  holy  annoynted  seruant  of  God,  hath  not  she  read 
vs  a  lecture  of  mortality,  and  shewed  vs  out  of  what  pit  Princes 
are  digged  ? 

I  would  my  words  could  go  so  neare  the  hearts  of  the  great- 
est in  this  assemblie,  as  to  perswade  them  to  lay  thus  much  to 
heart,  and  to  make  it  their  philosophy  and  best  learning,  to 
learne  to  die. 

This  meditation  were  enough  to  kill  the  moath  in  their  gar- 
ments, and  to  scoure  off  the  rust  from  their  gold,  and  to  set 
their  imprisoned  money  at  liberty :  it  were  enough  to  cloath 


230 

the  naked,  to  feede  the  hungry,  to  comfort  the  oppressed,  to 
make  rich  men  hue  to  God,  and  not  to  themselues,  or  to  regard 
themselues  chiefly  for  a  common  good. 

It  were  enough  to  distaste  to  men  that  anxious  and  solicitous 
impropriation  of  all  their  respects  vnto  themselues,  and  to  en- 
large their  heartes  to  the  pursuite  of  the  good  of  their  brethren. 

This  meditation  were  enough  to  reare  vp  Temples  to  God, 
Colledges  for  Artes  and  Learning,  Hospitals  for  the  poore  and 
diseased :  for  there  is  nothing  that  killes  Charitie  and  Good 
workes  sooner,  then  hope  of  long  life. 

I  beseech  you,  if  your  eare  be  open,  to  entertaine  this  need- 
ful instruction,  let  it  be  tenible  in  your  remembrance  also,  that 
whilst  you  Hue,  you  may  do  good  to  all :  and  that  when  yoa 
die,  your  workes  may  follow  you :  not  the  merite  of  your 
workes :  for,  your  well  doing  extendeth  not  to  God. 

This  were  condignitie  on  your  part :  but  the  reward  of  your 
workes :  for  God  rewardeth  abundantly  those  that  do  well  t 
this  is  gratiuitie  on  God's  part.  It  is  sayd  of  them  that  die,  thus, 
raef ya  dvlujv.  Their  owne  workes  follow  them,  that  they  might 
nbt  depende  hopefully  on  the  workes  of  other  men,  much  lesse 
vpon  their  multiplyed  reiterations  of  prayers  for  them.  It  is 
also  sayd,  dKoXov^&l,  which  signifieth  immediately  following, 
and  therefore  no  stay  by  the  way,  fj^sToivlwy  euen  with  them- 
selues. 

It  is  the  reproch  of  Protestants,  and  the  shame  of  our  pro- 
fessours  at  this  day  :  It  is  spoken  of  in  Gath,  and  it  is  proclaim- 
ed in  the  streets  of  Askelon  j  the  Church  of  Roome  doth  iustly 
charge  vs  with  it :  Good  workes  liue  in  exile  from  vs :  encroach- 
ments vpon  our  Church-reuenewes,  and  bequeathments  of 
dying  men  to  holy  vses,  euen  for  the  maintenance  of  good  artes 
and  learning. 

The  reentries  of  the  Laye  vpon  the  rentes  of  God,  are  fre- 
quent :  the  Church  hath  not  the  ouerflowings  now  of  the  fullest 
cuppe ;  it  is  honour  enough  to  them,  that  inuade  not  these 
consecrate  and  hallowed  beneuolences^  that  make  a  conscience 


231 

of  this  gripple  seasure,  and  vnrighteous  intrusion,  though  ihef 
give  nothing  themsekies. 

What  are  the  walls  about  our  strongest  townes,  but  heape* 
of  stone  and  congestions  of  earth  ?  Theopompus  in  Plutarch  to 
One  that  shewed  him  the  walles  of  his  cittie,  asking  him  if  they 
were  not  goodly  and  strong  ?  A  answered  well,  £iyvvaiKOv,  no, 
if  your  cittie  hold  none  but  women.  Our  shippes  are  but  walles 
of  wood ;  our  ordinance  but  tlie  messengers  of  death :  and 
there  must  be  some  to  sende  these  messengers  abjoade. 

Indeed  all  our  defence,  our  strongest  bulwarkes  and  propug- 
nacles  of  our  land,  what  are  they  without  the  ministerie  and 
seruice  of  men,  but  as  shaftes  and  arrowes  hunge  vp  against  the 
wall  ?  And  what  are  men,  without  order  and  discipline,  but  as 
drones  of  wilde  beastes  ?  So  did  disordered  confusion  fashion 
thevnschool'd  minoritie  of  the  world,  euen  then  when  the  Ro- 
mane  Empire,  like  a  young  budd  of  greatnesse,  was  first  inocu- 
late in  the  ranckstocke  of  vndisciplin'd  times :  So  say  th  a  learned 
Romane, 

Disciplina  militaris  acriler  retenta,  &c, 

Millitarie  discipline  seueerely  retained,  made  Rome  spread  ouer 
towne  and  countrie,  land  and  sea,  and  bredd  the  empire  of  all 
the  earth,  in  the  poore  cottage  of  Romulus, 

And  was  not  all  this  performed  by  the  vertue  of  men  of  ac- 
tion, and  vndertaking,  such  as  are  called  Great  men  ? 

Philip  of  Macedon  had  wont  to  call  the  Athejiians  an  hippie 
people  ;  because  they  had  such  store  of  Great  Men  of  worth, 
as  yeerely  to  choose  tenn  fitt  to  be  leaders :  whereas  he  had  in 
all  his  time,  found  none  but  Parmenio,  worthy  to  take  char'^e 
vnder  him.  But  now  I  begin  to  see  how  I  do  idle  the  time,  to 
shew  you  how  great  a  misse  a  state  may  haue  of  Worthy  meU;, 
and  to  endeare  to  you  men  of  action. 

For  we  haue  put  off  our  armour,  and  our  swordes  and 
shieldes  hang  vp  rather  as  monumentes  of  old,  then  instru- 
raentes  of  new  warres  :  our  ships  are  double  moor'd,  our  men 


232 

of  wane  haue  wafted  ouer  welcome  peace  into  our  borders  j. 
Abner  hath  leaue  to  die,  and  men  of  action  could  neuer  haue 
been  better  spared  :  Smooth  and  euen  is  the  face  and  outside 
of  all  things  amongst  vs.  Let  not  our  eyes,  O  Lord,  nor  the 
eyes  of  our  vnborne  children  and  nephewes,  euer  see  it  wrinck- 
led  any  more :  Let  vs  all  ioyne  in  prayre  always  for  the  peace 
of  our  lerusalem,  and  let  them  prosper  that  loue  it. 

Yet  by  the  faire  leaue  of  a  gentle  peace,  let  vs  consider  that 
the  sonnes  of  Zeruiah  may  be  too  hard  for  vs,  and  therefore  let 
not  Alner  die  without  sence  of  a  publique  losse,  euen  without 
an  vniuersal  condolement  of  the  State  wherein  he  liues,  and  of 
which  he  hath  deserued  well. 

It  is  our  great  fault  that  when  God  giueth  any  such  blow 
to  our  State,  the  smart  of  it  is  too  soone  past,  and  their  memorie 
Juried  in  the  same  graue  with  them.  This  is  a  great  disheart- 
ning  of  Worthy  men,  from  great  vndertakinges :  For  this  land 
hath  buried,  in  our  memorie,  of  Worthies  tliat  are  all  dead,  their 
actes,  tlieir  name  and  all ;  such  an  honourable  breed,  as  lining 
eyes  cannot  find  paragons  too,  and  our  present  hopes  (which 
yet  are  our  franckest  promises,)  cannot  apprehend  :  Let  them 
all  goe  witli  this  honour  done  them  in  heauen.  In  memoria 
cBterna  erit  iustus. 

Concerning  this  occasion  of  meeting,  let  me  also  borrow 
your  patience  and  attention. 

Though  I  know  you  haue  saued  me  a  labour  in  the  appli- 
cation :  and  your  vnderstandings  in  their  cleare  light,  haue 
scene  that  this  honorable  Knight,  of  whom  there  is  now  but 
thus  much  left,  euen  a  morsell  fitte  for  the  wormes,  and  a  tenant 
for  the  house,  and  a  guest  for  the  bedd  in  the  darke,  of  which 
Joh  speaketh.  He  hath  heme  viy  Teate,  the  Jbner,  the  Great 
and  Worthie  man  whom  I  haue  personated  all  tliis  while  :  and 
our  sceane  heth  in  our  Israel,  and  that  this  fight  is  the  catastro- 
phe of  our  tragedy. 

Yet  I  beseech  you,  let  mee  pay  the  debt  which  I  owe  to  his 


233 

loue  of  mee,  and  the  duetie  which  I  acknowledge  tributarie  fo 
his  memory,  at  least  to  say  to  you  of  him,  as  Dauid  did  of  his 
Ahner :  Know  ye  not  that  a  great,  &c, 

A  man  great  in  his  birtli  and  descent,  as  you  all  know,  link- 
ed by  marriage  in  a  most  honorable  fmiilie,  of  a  goodly  and 
lonely  personage,  of  an  easie  and  afllible  nature  where  his  dis- 
cretion found  It  fitt  to  be  so :  of  a  daring  and  hcirdie  spirit,  of  a 
Sterne  and  sower  aspect  against  the  enemies  of  his  Soueraigne, 
magnanimously  valiant  in  his  vndertakinges,  wise  in  his  coun- 
sailes,  speedy  and  resolute  in  his  executions  ;  valuing  his  worthy 
life  lesse,  then  the  common  good  of  his  countrey :  Witnesse 
that  aduenturous  expedition  of  his,  in  his  Irish  seruice  ;  wheie 
he  wrote  his  valour  in  blood,  of  the  opposites,  and  filled  the 
eare  of  this  kingdome  with  the  welcome  tydinges  of  his  victo- 
ries. 

Hee  was  iudicious  in  the  finding  out  of  Virtue,  magnificent 
and  bounteous  in  the  reward  of  it :  spare  in  speach  ;  but  when 
occasion  prompted  him,  rather  performing,  then  promising  his 
fauoure  and  loue,  where  he  saw  desert. 

Great  in  the  fauoure  of  the  late  Maiestie  of  this  land  ;  and 
succeeding  in  his  loue,  who  succeeded  in  her  greatnes :  great 
in  his  employment  and  otfice  of  trust  and  charge :  and  (for 
which  he  forgate  not  his  duetie  to  God  in  all  humble  thankes 
giuing  amongst  his  dying  meditations)  very  fortunate  and  suc- 
cessful! :  ori  eat  in  the  loue  of  the  common  men  that  went  vnder 
his  charge  ;  for  the  eye  that  saw  him,  blessed  him  ;  and  euery 
tongue  of  theirs,  beare  witnesse  of  his  righteous  dealing. 

Great  in  his  estate  and  meanes  of  maintenance  ;  for  like  a 
tree  planted  by  the  riuers  of  waters,  so  hee  grew,  and  so  did 
God  giue  him  a  plentiful!  encrease :  But  tliat  which  maketh 
all  this  greatnesse  a  great  deale  greater,  hee  had  an  vnderstand- 
ing  to  know  God,  and  an  affection  to  loue  him. 

I  must  not  flatter  the  remembrance  of  flesh  and  blood  >:o 
farre,  as  to  exempt  him  from  offending  (with  other  men:  )  I 
know  that  humanitie  and  infirmitie  are  indiuiduall :    But  1  am 

VOL.  II.  'Z  11 


23^ 

his  witnesse,  tliat  he  lodked  vpon  his  life  past,  with  a  censorious 
eye  :  hee  charged  hiniselfe  with  his  defauhinges  without  excuse 
or  mitigation  of  his  sinues,  euen  with  detestation  of  his  vn- 
thriftines  of  good  bowers,  and  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  so  pretious 
minutes,  that  should  haue  been  better  spent,  and  with  most  se- 
rious deprecaticn  of  God's  wrath. 

It  pkased  him  in  my  attendaunce  vpon  his  honourable  Fa- 
ther in  law  into  Spayne,  wherein  this  worthy  Knight  had  a 
great  place  of  coramaund  and  charge :  it  pleased  him  in  tliis 
expedition,  to  take  knowledge  of  mee,  and  often  to  vouchsafe 
mee  his  conference  :  and  being  desirous  to  sing  the  song  of  the 
Lord  in  a  strange  land,  he  receiued  at  my  hands  the  Sacrament 
of  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ,  accompanied  with  many  wor- 
thy Knights,  and  Gentlemen  of  quaiitie,  in  one  of  the  harbo- 
roughs  of  that  land ;  where  there  was  peace  for  our  persons, 
but  not  for  our  religion  :  Yea,  many  wayes  he  testified  to  mee, 
his  loue  of  God  and  of  our  religion :  He  looked  iudicially  into 
.the  diiTerence  betweene  vs  and  the  Church  of  R.ome,  touched 
with  commiseration  of  the  darkncs  wherein  they  lyued,  and 
wishing  encreasc  of  zeale  amongst  vs,  and  knowledge  with 
them. 

After  his  returne,  it  pleased  Almighty  God  by  his  last  sick- 
lies, to  put  him  in  minde  that  he  must  set  his  hojise  in  order.' 
For  he  must  die.  This  he  maturely  regarded:  and  after  the 
settling  of  his  estate,  he  resemeil  the  remaine  of  his  time,  as  a 
vacation  from  all  tempor4ll  thoughts,  and  consecrated  it  to  his 
preparation  for  his  remooue  of  the  body,  that  he  might  dwell 
with  the  Lord. 

It  pleased  him  then,  to  remember  his  acquaintaunce  with 
mee  }  and  when  hee  had  dispatched  a  messenger  with  his  letters 
to  mee,  to  entreat  my  resort  to  him,  I  preuented  expectation  : 
for  the  vn welcome  newes  of  his  dangerous  sicknesse,  was  to 
mee  messenger  enough  to  call  vpon  mee  to  doe  so  honourable 
a  friende  my  last  seruice. 

He  receiued  my  free  and  voluntarie  visitation^  witli  more 


^235- 

then  tliankes  :  and  desirous  to  be  priuate  with  me,  to  thib  pur- 
pose he  bespake  mee. 

First,  he  tolde  me  of  his  present  weaknes,  and  appeared  to 
mee  sensible  of  his  danger  and  death,  and  therefore  protested  an 
earnest  desire  to  spend  that  short  time  of  hfe  limited  then  to 
him,  in  a  religious  preparation  for  that  end. 

Hee  began  at  the  accusing  of  his  former  leawd  life,  (so  he 
was  pleased  to  call  it,  with  a  sorrowfull  detestation  of  it)  and 
complayning  to  mee  of  his  present  iniirmitie,  which  had  so 
weakened  his  memorie  and  vnderstanding,  that  he  could  not 
lay  him  selfe  so  open  before  God  as  he  desired,  nor  comprehend 
in  fitte  wordes  his  suite  to  God  for  pardon  of  his  sinnes,  and  the 
assistance  of  his  holy  Grace  to  the  last  gaspe,  as  he  wished  : 
Hee  earnestly  desired  mee  to  conceiue  a  forme  of  confession  of 
his  sinnes  to  God,  and  a  prayer  for  those  mercies  which  I  might 
leaue  with  him  when  I  should  depart  from  him. 

This  I  soone  sati.sfied  him  in,  for  I  had  more  vse  herein  of 
my  memorie  of  that  which  he  had  deliuered  to  mee,  then  of  my 
inuention  for  that  which  I  Avas  to  delyuer  to  him  :  His  sorrowes 
had  the  trae  face  of  woe ;  and  his  feeling  of  his  owne  griefe 
for  sinne,  was  so  sensible,  his  zeaie  so  feruent,  his  humiliation 
made  him  so  deiected,  that  I  saw  in  him  a  trae  mirrour  and 
president  of  repyenting  in  good  earnest. 

0  let  mee  heare  the  tongue  speake  which  is  prompted  by  a 
soule  traely  humbled  before  God.  Hee  vsed  this  forme  of 
prayer,  with  an  affection  sanctitied,  and  a  spirit  wayned  from 
this  world  :  And  this  done,  he  desired  mee  now  to  supply  the 
weakenes  of  his  memorie,  by  calling  into  his  remembraunce 
those  thinges  which  are  most  fitte  to  be  the  last  thoughts  of  a 
dying  man. 

1  spared  not  my  best  endeauour  herein,  and  entertained  hira 
with  all  the  comfortes  which  I  could. 

Hee  heard  mee  attentiuely,  vnderstandingly,  conscntfully, 
and  beleeuingly  :   And  confessed  this  doctrine  of  peace,  wliich 


236 

paiselh  all  vnderstandiug,  to  be  the  best  phisickej  and  that 
onely  which  now  he  desired. 

Thus  commending  him  in  my  earnest  prayers  to  God,  hee 
dismissed  mee,  protesting  that  he  had  much  cheared  and  re- 
freshed his  ouercharged  spirit  with  these  holy  exercises ;  hee 
desired  mee  to  repaire  to  him  the  morning  following  betimes  : 
this  I  did  gladly,  and  full  of  hope  that  the  Lord  would  haue 
mercy  on  vs,  that  he  might  liue. 

When  I  came,  hee  gaue  mee  a  louing  and  chearefaU  wel-. 
come,  and  then  desired  mee  not  to  depart  from  him,  till  I  had 
seene  the  last  of  him.  Hee  told  mee  of  the  sorroM^es  which  he 
had  sustained  the  night  past,  and  that  he  saw  no  possibilitie  of 
life  beyonde  the  morning  following,  he  found  such  decay  in 
himselfe :  then  I  vnderstood  how  in  the  night  past,  he  had 
called  vpon  God,  and  what  good  watch  he  kept,  that  if  at  mid- 
night, or  at  the  dawning,  God  had  sent  for  him  hence,  hee 
might  not  be  vnprouided. 

Hee  then  in  the  hearing  of  vs  all  present,  made  his  confes- 
sion of  sinnes,  and  prayers  to  God  so  earnestly  and  effectually, 
that  when  he  requested  vs  all  to  pray  to  God  for  him,  hee 
taught  vs  to  be  importunate,  and  that  it  past  not  good  manners 
to  take  no  nay  of  our  God.  I  neuer  sowed  my  comfej't  in  a 
better  ground ;  for  I  began  to  reape,  ere  I  had  done  sowing. 
Hee  heard  our  prayers  for  him,  with  great  content  and  com- 
fort. 

This  whole  day  was  spent  in  prayers,  and  reading  of  those 
things  to  him  which  might  best  endeare  to  him  the  ioyes  of 
Heauen :  and  when  he  felt  his  decay  more  sensible,  he  desired 
our  prayers  to  God  for  him  againe,  as  loth  to  loose  the  aduan- 
tiige  of  any  minute  of  that  short  time  of  his  hfe  :  and  after  vs, 
hee  sayd  tlie  Lord's  Prayer,  to  our  great  reioycing  in  his  zeale^ 
who  grieued  so  much  for  his  w  eaknesse  j  and  he  testified  to  vs 
witnesses,  the  religion  and  fayth  wherein  hee  died. 

I  desired  him  to  be  plaine  and  true  to  me  in  one  demaunde  : 
I  shewed  him  how  those  that  are  in  miserie  (as  lob  speaketh) 


237 


seeke  after  death,  and  reioyce  when  they  can  finde  the  gi-aue ; 
but  their  miserie  and  wearines  of  suiFering,  bringeth  foorth  in 
them  these  desires  :  But  for  him  who  had  plentie  of  all  that  his 
heart  could  wish  for  his  meanes  of  maintenance,  greatnesse  in 
his  place,  honour  in  his  employments,  grace  with  his  Soue- 
raigne,  loue  with  the  multitude,  and  the  common  language  of 
all  men  to  applaude  his  noble  desertes  of  the  state  in  which  hee 
liued  :  I  enquired  therefore  if  hee,  who  had  so  many  prouoca- 
tions  to  desire  to  line,  could  be  content  to  forsake  this  life,  and 
all  these  thinges  ?  Hee  smiled  cheerefully,  and  protested  that 
hee  dyed  as  willingly,  as  that  poore  man  mentioned  in  loh,  that 
had  nothing  but  miserie  to  forsake  j  for  Heauen  was  his  hope, 
and  God  his  exceeding  great  reward. 

Shortly  after,  hee  began  to  decay  more  and  more,  and 
slumbripg  out  a  little  time,  after  some  pange  and  strong  con- 
vulsions, hee  fell  into  this  last  sleepe,  leaning  teares  in  euery 
beholder's  eye,  and  diuiding  amongst  vs  his  friends  and  fol- 
lowers, a  well  witnest  sorrow  :  and  leaning  this  body  of  clay  to 
these  our  last  obsequies. 

Thus  leaning  him  with  God ;  and  to  God  commending  onr 
selues,  I  conclude.  I  haue  but  planted  and  watered ;  the  Lord 
giue  the  encrease." 


^38 


BtosrapljtaM* 


1.  Dr.  Isdac  Bar  grave,  Dean  of  Cantcrburj/,  died  in 

1642. 

'— ^^^SAAC  BARGRAVE,  son  of  Robert  Bar- 
grave,  of  Bridge,  in  the  county  of  Kent, 
Esq.  being  Canon  of  tiiis  Church,  was 
promoted  to  be  Dean,  anno  l625,  and 
died  1642.  He  was  buried  on  Jan.  23, 
near  his  predecessor.  Dr.  Boys.  His  pic- 
ture, fair  drawn  to  the  life  upon  copper, 
is  fixed  upon  the  wall,  near  his  grave;  and  under  it  is  this  in- 
scription : 

"  Isaacus  Bargrave,  Cnntianus,  S.  T.  P.  hiijus  Ecclcsiae  Deca- 
nus,  et  ingens  decus :  amteno  ingenio  pietatem  et  eniditionem 
ornavit:  in  sasculo  novitatis  nimium  avido,  vixit  moribus  anti- 
quis,  gentibus  exteris  domique  nobilibus  gratissimus  hospes,.  hos- 
pitlo  generosissimo  reposuit.  Bello  Civili  expertibus  rcgiis  Caroli 
Martyris  stetit  et  cecidit. 

**  Post  varia  per  Europam  itinera  hie  tandem  fixus,  obiit  anno 
salutis  reparatae  1642,  aet.  56. 

"  Johannes  Bargrave,  S.  T.  D,  Canon,  postero rum  expensis 
ponendum  curavit,  A.D.  1679." 

"  Isaacus  Bargrave,  S.  T.  D.  ad  ecclcsiam  de  Eythorne  in 
Com.  Cant,  admissus  18  Oct.  l6l4  :  Carolo  Principi  a  sacris  :  ad 
canonlcatum  ecclesiae  Cant.  6  Nov.  l622:  ad  ecclesiam  de  Char- 
tham  ab  Archicpiscopo  collatus  die  5  Januar.  1627  :  ad  decana- 
tum  Cant.  14  Oct.  l623.  Obiit  l642,  aetat.  36.  Uxorem  duxit 
Elizabethan!  Dering  :  nepotem  habuit  Johannem  Bargrave  ejus- 
dem  demum  ecclesia;  Canonicum,  qui  obiit  xi  Mail,  168O." 

Sir  Anthony  Weldon  in  his  Court  of  K.  James  saith  that  Dr. 
Bargrave  was  promoted  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  to  whom  he 
paid  an  annual  pension  out  of  his  Deanery. 


^239 

Mr.  Lloyd  in  his  Memoirs  (Fol.)  p.  687,  says.  Dr.  Isaac  Bar- 
grave,  Dean  Boys's  brother  in  law,  and  himself  Dean  of  Canter- 
bury, a  gentleman  of  an  unwearied  study,  great  travels,  intimate 
acquaintance  with  Padre  Poulo  of  Venice,  who  told  him  that  the 
doctrine  and  discipline  of  the  Church  of  England  were  the  most 
primitive  of  any  in  the  world  ;  and  of  great  esteem  with  the  Par- 
liament, 1622,  1623,  1624,  1626,  1627,  1628,  who  took  the  sa- 
crament constantly  at  his  hands  at  St.  Margaret's,  Westminster, 
where  he  was  many  years  the  faithful  minister;  and  advice  from 
his  mouth  often  at  Convocation,  whereof  he  was  several  times  an 
eminent  and  active  member.  He  had  suffered  for  his  zeal  in  a 
sermon  before  the  Parliament,  l623,  upon  the  text,  /  tvill  wash 
mine  hands  in  innocence  and  compass  thine  altar,  against  popery, 
evil  counsellors,  and  corruption ;  and  now  suffered  for  being  a 
patron  of  both  j  his  house  being  ransacked  ;  his  fiimily  frighted 
and  abused  ;  the  will  of  Dr.  Boys,  and  some  gold  they  found  in' 
his  wife's  (now  80  years  of  age)  chamber,  threatened  to  be  em- 
bezzled ;  his  wife  led  up  and  down  the  house  in  her  morning 
gown  at  midnight ;  his  son  carried  prisoner  to  Dover  Castle ;  at 
last  the  Dean  himself  seized  at  Gravesend,  and  sent  prisoner  to 
the  Fleet;  with  sorrow  for  which  usages  from  one,  the  commander 
in  this  business,  whom  he  had  saved  from  the  gallows  at  Maid- 
stone some  years  before,  he  died  broken-hearted. 

Extract  of  a  Letter  from  K.  Charles  to  Archbishop  Laud  in 
the  Tower* 

"  We  are  informed  that  Dr.  Isaac  Bargrave,  Dean  of  our 
Cathedral  of  Canterbury,  is  very  lately  deceased  ;  and  by  his  death 
the  parsonage  of  Chartham  near  Canterbury  become  void.  Many 
good  motives  and  reasons  have  inclined  us  to  favour  therewith 
John  Reading,  clerk,  now  beneficed  at  Dover.  Given  at  our 
Court  at  Oxford  the  27th.  of  January,  1042." 

See  History  of  the  Troubles  and  Trial  of  Ahp.  Laud.  Fol. 
p  200,  207. t 

The  aforesaid  Dr.  John  Bargrave  was  Canon  in  the  5th.  Pre- 

*  Prynne's  Abp.  Laud,  p.  32. 
t  For  full  memoirs  of  Dean  Bar^Tave  see  Toild's  Deans  of  Caaltrbary,  8vo. 


240 

bend  of  the  Cathedral  at  Canterbury.  He  died  anno  168O,  Mar 
11,  and  was  Interred  in  this  church,  near  to  the  going  into  the 
Martyrdom,  where  a  flat  marble  lies  over  him,  with  this  short 
inscription  : 

"  Hie  asservantur  exuvire 

Johannis  Bargrave  S.  T.  D. 

Hujus  ecclesije  Canonici, 

Qui  obiit  xi  die  Maii,  168O, 

70  aetatis  sua;  anno."* 


2.  Francis  Eous,  Provost  of  Eton  College,  died  Jan.  7. 

165S-9. 

He  wrote 
*•  The  Arte  of  Happieness,  consisting  of  three  parts  :  whereof  the 
Jirst  searcheth  out  the  happieness  of  man :  the  second  pariicu- 
(arly  discovers  and  approves  it :  the  third  shewcth  the  nieanes 
to  attaine  and  encrease  it.  By  Francis  Rous.  London^ 
printed  for  John  Parker,  1G19."  8vo. 

In  the  Epistle  dedicatory  to  his  most  honoured  Father  he  says, 
"  A  son  cannot  present  his  labours  more  fitly  than  to  a  Father, 
especially  when  they  bring  with  them  so  excellent  a  thing  as 
blessedness.  I  began  the  study  of  the  Law,  until  a  storm  from 
Heaven  chased  me  away  to  the  study  of  eternity."  Dated  from  my 
house  in  Lausake,  April  29. 

Wood  says  he  was  a  younger  son  of  Sir  Anthony  Rous,  by 
Elizabeth  his  first  wife,  daughter  of  Thomas  Sonthcote,  Gent, 
was  born  at  Hallon  in  Cornwall,  and  at  13  years  of  age  became  a 
Commoner  of  Broadgate  Hall,  I59I  ;  where  continuing  under  a 
constant  and  severe  discipline,  he  took  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Arts:  he  went  afterwards  as  it  seems  to  the  Inns  of  Court,  though 
some  there  be  (he  continues)  that  would  needs  persuade  me  that 
he  took  holy  orders,  and  became  minister  of  Saltash  in  Cornwall. 
A  man  of  parts  devoted  to  the  puritanic  party,  elected  by  the  men 
of  Truro  in  his  own  county  to  serve  in  Parliament."  &c.* 

•  Keunet'i  MSS. 


241 


3.  Dr.  JohnJegon,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  died  March  15, 

1617. 

"  He  was  master  of  Benet  College.  He  was  a  severe  governor, 
yet  of  a  facetious  disposition.  I  will  produce  an  instance  while 
Master  of  the  College,  He  chanced  to  punish  all  under  graduates 
for  some  general  offence ;  and  the  penalty  was  put  upon  their 
heads  in  the  Butter)'.  And  because  he  disdained  to  convert  the 
money  to  any  private  use,  it  was  expended  in  new  whiting  the 
College  Hall,  whereon  a  scholar  set  up  these  verses  on  the  screen : 

"  Dr.  Jegon,  Benet  College  Master, 
Broke  the  scholars'  heads,  and  gave  the  wall  a  plaister." 

To  these  the  Doctor  subscribed  extempore  : 

"  Knew  I  the  wag  that  made 
These  verses  in  a  bravery, 
J  would  commend  him  for  his  wit. 
And  whip  him  for  his  knavery. 

He  died  March  13,  1617,  and  was  buried  at  Aylsham,  in  Nor- 
folk. In  1619  his  widow  Lilia  was  remarried  to  Sir  Charles 
Cornwallis."* 


4.    Robert   Wi/nter,  Esq.   and  Stephen  Lyttelton,   Gent, 
two  of  the  Gunpowder  Traitors,  l605. 

"  These  are  thus  described  in  the  proclamation  for  their  appre- 
hension— 

"  Robert  Wynter  is  a  man  of  mean  stature,  and  rather  low  than 
otherwise;  square  made,  somewhat  stooping ;  near  forty  j^ears  of 
age ;  his  hair  and  beard  brown ;  his  beard  not  much,  and  his  hair 
short. 

"  Stephen  Lyttelton  is  a  very  tall  man  j  swarthy  of  complexion ; 
of  brown-coloured  hair ;  no  beard,  or  little ;  about  30  years  of 


age.-* 

»  Kennefs  MS6, 

VOL.   11. 

2i 

242 


3.  Williaai    Harrison,   an  eminent  Historian  and  Anti- 
quary, died  1593.^ 

"  155S,  Feb.  iC.  Will.  Harrison,  Clericus  admiss.  ad  eccles. 
de  Radwinter  com.  Essex,  ad  pres.  Will.  Broke  mil.  15()3,  11 
Feb.  Johes  Mountfort,  A.M.  admiss.  ad  eccles.  de  Radwinter 
vac.  per  mort.  Willi  Harrison. 

Mr.  Wood  finds  him  a  domestic  Chaplain  to  Sir  W.  Broke, 
Kt.  Lord  Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  and  Baron  of  Cobham  in 
Kent,  who,  says  he,  if  1  mistake  not,  preferred  him  to  a  Benefice. 

That  Benefice  was  the  Reclory  of  Radwinter  in  Essex. 

Mr.  Wood,  after  reciting  his  works,  says,  "  What  he  hath 
written  besides  I  know  not :  nor  any  thing  else,  but  that  he  was 
living  in  1587." 

He  was  not  only  tlien  living  and  flourishing ;  but  he  lived  on, 
and  enjoyed  the  same  benefice  till  the  latter  end  of  15g3. 

Mr.  Wood  finds  another  William  Harrison  to  be  installed 
Canon  of  Windsor,  1586  j  being  about  that  time  Rector  of  Rad- 
winter in  Essex,  who  dying,  1593,  was  buried  at  Windsor, 
leaving  behind  him  several  children,  which  he  had  by  his  wife 
Marian,  daughter  of  William  Isebrand  of  Ardenne,  nigh  to 
Guisnes  in  Picardy.  Whether  this  writer  be  the  same  with  this 
William  Harrison  he  cannot  tell. 

It  is  very  plain  he  was  the  same  person. 

Gulielmus  Harrison  installatus  Canonicus  Windesor,  die  24 
April  138G,  loco  Henrici  Ryley,  Thcol  Bacc.  Obiit  et  sepullus 
Windesorae  anno  1593,  et  successitTho.  White,  S.  T.  P. 

Note — The  first  volume  of  HoUiisheod' s  Chronicle,*  as  con- 
tinued to  1586,  is  dedicated  to  the  Right  Honourable  and  his  sin- 
gular good  Lord  and  Master,  Sir  William  Brook,  Knt.  Lord 
Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  and  Baron  of  Cobham — concluding 
Your  Lordship's  humble  servarit  and  hoii^hold  Chaplain,  IV.  U. 
Wherein  he  owns  that  he  has  a  Chronology  yet  in  hand.  "  I 
must  confess  that  now  of  late,  except  it  were  from  the  parish 

*  So  far  as  concerns  the  historical  description  of  the  isle  of  Britain,  &c. 
comprehended  in  these  books,  and  written  by  W.  H, 


243 


where  I  dwell  unto  your  Honour  in  Kent,  or  out  of  London, 
where  I  was  born,  unto  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  where  I  have 
been  brought  up,  I  never  travelled  forty  miles. 

In  the  said  Historical  Description  there  be  several  particular* 
relating  to  the  life  of  the  writer. 

Mr.  Holinshead,  in  his  Preface  to  the  3d.  volume  of  Chroni- 
cles, writes  thus  for  the  computation  of  the  years  of  the  world  : 

"  1  had  by  Maister  Wolfe's  advice  followed  Fundus;  but 
after  his  decease,  Mr.  W.  H.  [JVilUam  Harrison]  made  me  par- 
taker of  a  Chronology ,  which  he  had  gathered  and  compiled  with 
most  exquisite  diligence,  following  Gerardus  Mcrcator,  and  other 
latechronologers,  and  his  own  observations,  according  to  the  whicli 
I  liave  reformed  the  same."* 


5.  Dr.  Richard  Howland,  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  died 

i6oo. 

"  Ricardus  Howland,  fill  us  et  haercs  Johis  Howland  de  civi- 

tate  London  per  Annam  filiam Greenway  de  Clay  in  Com. 

Norfolc.  baptiz*tus  fuit  die  2C  Sept.  1540. 

He  was  ancestor  in  the  family  of  the  Howlands,  of  which  one 
in  the  direct  line  lives  now  near  Dunmow  in  Essex,  related  by 
her  husband  to  Mrs.  Howland  of  Streatham,  mother  in  law  to 
the  Duchess  of  Bedford,  who  himself  told  me  that  Bishop  plow- 
land  of  Peterborough  was  of  that  family. 

A  man  of  good  figure  in  the  University  for  many  years."* 


5.  Sir  George  Carew,  Ambassador  to  France  in  \605,  died 

l(5l2. 

"  Sir  George  Carew  dwelt  in  Carew  House  in  Totliil-Street, 
Westminster,  and  dying  tiiere,  was  buried  in  the  middle  chancel 
of  the  parish  church  of  St.  Margaret's,  in  Nov,  ]()12. 

*  Keunelt's  MSS. 


244 

He  was  a  native  of  Cornwall :  a  Traveller,  Barrister,  Secretary 
to  Lord  Chancellor  Hatton;  and  in  1597,  Master  in  Chan- 
cery."* 


6.  Sir  Thomas  Smith,  Master  of  Requests,  died  1609. 

"  In  the  chancel  of  the  church  of  Fulham  on  a  polished  stone 
is  this  inscription : 

D.  O.  M. 

Thomae  Smitho,  Equiti  aurato, 

Regia;  Majestati  a  Supplicum 

Libellis,  et  ab  Epistolis  Latinis, 

Viro,  doctrina  prndentiaque  singulari, 

Francisca  Guil.   Baronis  Chandois  filia 

Optimo  marito  conjux  maestissima 

Plorans  posuit. 

Obiit  xxviii  die  Novem. 

MDCIX.'t 


7.  Dr.  Fotherhy,  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  died  1619. 

"  Son  of  Maurice  Fotherby,  Esq.  of  Grimsby  in  Lincolnshire. 
He  was  brother  of  Charles  Fotherby,  Archdeacon  and  Dean  of 
Canterbury,  J  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  under  his 
relation.  Dr.  John  Whitgift,  who  afterwards  made  him  his  chap- 
lain. Collated  to  the  church  of  Great  Mongeham  in  Kent,  8 
June,  15963  Prebendary  of  Canterbury,  July  30,  15gG;  Rector  of 
Adisham,  Jan.  24.  l602,  promoted  to  the  Bishoprick  of  Salisbury, 
Mar.  26,  16I8. 

He  entertained  K.  James  at  Salisbury,  Aug.  2,  1618. 

Died  12  March,  16 19-20. 

Sir  Anthony  Weldon  says  that  he  was  promoted  to  tiie  Bishop- 
rick by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,   to  whom  he  paid  /.3500."§ 

*  Ibid.        t  Ibid.        ;  Who  died  1619.        §  Kcnnett's  MSS. 


245 


8.   Charles  Jones,  designed  to  be  Speaker  of  (he  House  of 
Commons,  died  on  the  road  to  London,  1 640. 

*'  He  was  son  of  Sir  William  Jones,  Kt.  one  of  the  Justices 
of  the  King's  Bench,  1637  ;  of  whom  and  his  son  Bishop  Hum- 
phrey wrote  thus  to  Anth.  a  Wood. 

"  If  at  any  time  you  should  hereafter  mention  Sir  Wm.  Jones, 
be  so  just  to  him,  and  so  kind  to  me,  who  am  under  great  obli- 
gations to  his  memory,  (though  he  was  dead  before  I  was  born)  by 
reason  of  his  great  and  entire  friendship  to  my  grandfather  and 
family,  (of  which  Sir  Williams  mother  was  a  daughter)  as  to 
add,  that  he  was  a  most  upright  judge,  an  excellent  patriot,  and 
true  friend,  the  most  steady  and  zealous  that  could  be,  wherever 
he  professed  a  friendship. 

He  married  Margaret,  daughter  of  Griffith  John  Griffith  of 
Kyne,  Esq.  and  had  by  her  a  numerous  issue. 

1.  William  Jones,  that  died  young. 

2.  Griffith  Jones  of  Castellmarch,  Esq.  whose  daughter  and 
heir  was  married  to  Sir  William  Williams  of  Vaynol,  Bart,  and 
brought  the  estate  of  Castellmarch  (which  Sir  William  Jones  did 
not  much  increase)  into  that  family. 

3.  Charles  Jones,  a  most  accomplished,  learned  Gentleman, 
bred  up  in  Oxford,  and  after  in  Lincoln's  Inn.  I  have  often  heard 
persons  of  great  knowledge  lament  the  death  of  this  Gentleman, 
as  the  most  imseasonable  that  ever  happened  to  England  in  any 
private  person  ;  because  he  was  designed  to  have  been  Speaker 
of  that  unhappy  Parliament,  1641  :  and  if  he  had  been,  all  that 
knew  him  concluded  he  would,  by  that  great  prudence  he  was 
master  of,  the  great  esteem  all  parties  had  for  his  ability  and  in- 
tegrity, and  his  true  zeal  for  the  king  and  monarchy,  have  prevent- 
ed that  war;  but  he  died  on  his  way  to  that  Parliament,  I  think 
at  Lichfield.  Sp  another  was  made  Speaker,  who  was  too  much 
in  the  interest  of  the  Rebels.  But  this  good  man's  memory  will 
never  die  in  these  parts,  as  you'll  easily  judge  by  a  part  of  his  will, 
whereby  it  appears  that  he  was  not  only  a  charitable  good  man, 
but  one  that  had  a  true  sense  of  God  and  religion  upon  his  soul. 


246 

4,  Kobert  Jones  (Sir  William's  4th  son)  a  very  loyal,  worthy 
Gentleman,  and  High  Sheriff" of  Caernarvon  in  l645  or  6. 
Sir  William  had  many  daughters. 

1.  Sydney,  married,  first,  to  Richard  Wynne,  Archdeacon  of 
Bangor ;  then  to  Sir  George  Calverly  of  Leyhall  in  Cheshire ; 
and  after  him  to  Sir  Edward  Littleton,  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal : 
she  was  the  mother  of  the  Lady  Littleton  now  living,  widow  of 
one  Sir  Thomas,  and  mother  to  another :  both  eminent  members 
of  Parliament. 

2.  Elenor,  married  to  John  Price  of  Rhiwlas,  mother  to  Col. 
"Wm.  Price  and  Dr.  John  Price  of  New  College,  Oxford. 

3.  Catherine,  married  to  Capt.  Morgan  of  Goalgreve,  mother 
of  the  famous  Capt.  Morgan,  that  ^was  killed  in  the  famous 
Cheshire  Rising,  1G59. 

4.  Dorothy,  married  to  Faulconbridge. 

You  mention — Frances,  married  to  Lewis  Anwyl!  of  Park, 
Esq.  grandchild  to  Sir  Robert  Owen  of  Dornton,  Kt.  and  Lucy, 
unmarried."* 


9.  Lewis  Bailey,  Bishop  of  Bangor,  l632. 

"  It  Is  not  doubted  but  that  Bishop  Bailey  was  the  author  of 
The  Practice  of  Piety,  printed  about  40  times  in  8vo.  and  12«o. 
of  which  the  eleventh  edition  was  printed  at  London,  1619.  I 
have  heard  (says  Dr.  Humphry  Humphrys,  Bishop  of  Bangor) 
from  some  old  men,  that  knew  the  Bishop,  and  from  others  that 
had  it  from  many  of  the  clergy  that  were  intimate  with  him,  that 
the  Bishop  did  not  want  learning  for  a  greater  work  than  that ; 
and  that  they  were  well  assured  he  was  the  true  author  of  it.  But 
this  is  a  lying,  malicious  Puritan  story,  invented  by  that  proud 
Pharisaical  faction,  who  were  not  willing  a  book  so  well  esteemed 
should  be  writ  by  a  Bishop.    And  indeed  after  this  book  had  been 

*  Kennett's  MSS.  wliere  is  an  extract  from  Charles  Jones's  will  rela- 
tive to  tlie  cndowracnt  of  tlje  Alms  House,  founded  by  hiai  at  PwlUicJj  iu 
Cacrnarvoiisliire. 


S47 

printed  above  30  times  in  English,  and  often  in  several  other  lan- 
vguages,  in  the  Bishop's  name,  and  particularly  in  Welsh,  above 
60  years  ago  :  yet  when  a  new  edition  of  it  in  that  language  was 
set  forth  in  16?-,  and  the  title-page  had  been  wrought  off  as  the 
former  with  the  Bishop's  name,  Mr.  Gouge  ordered  that  title  to 
be  torn  out  of  the  book ;  and  another  without  the  Bishop's  name 
printed  instead  of  it.  And,  when  he  was  by  some  Gentlemen 
of  this  country  charged  with  injuring  the  Bishop  by  this,  he  had 
the  confidence  to  say,  not  only  that  Dr  Bayley  was  not  the  author 
of  it,  but  to  alledge,  that  the  then  Bishop  of  Bangor,  Dr.  Hum- 
phry Lloyd,  had  told  him  so.  Whereas  on  the  contrary  I  was 
present,  and  heard  that  Bishop,  not  many  days  before  this,  rally- 
ing Gouge  for  abusing  Bishop  Bailey  by  omitting  his  name  in  that 
edition :  and  Mr.  Gouge  leaving  a  parcel  of  those  books  to  be 
distributed  in  this  neighbourhood,  the  Bishop  himself  did  write 
Bishop  Bailey's  name  in  the  title-page  of  many  of  them,  as  I  did 
in  the  rest  by  his  order.  And  the  Bishop  then  said  that  he  was 
well  assured  that  hie  jjredecessor  Bayley  was  the  author  of  it :  and 
all  this  was  in  Mr.  Gouge's  presence,  tho'  he  so  far  forgot  it  as  to 
tell  the  contrary  story  a  few  days  after. 

In  Bishop  Bayley's  Register  Book  on  paper  I  find  this  account 
of  his  sons: 

1.  John  Bayley  was  A.  M.  and  ordained  Deacon  by  his  father, 
Sept.  22,  1617 — preferred  to  the  Prebend  of  Llanfair,  in  the 
Church  of  Bangor,  Sept.  2.  same  year — to  the  Vicarage  of  the 
same  Llanfair,  Aug.  20,  1618 — to  the  Rectory  of  Llandyfnan, 
Dec.  18,  same  year — and  on  Sept.  24,  1631,  being  then  D.D. 
was  instituted  to  the  Rectory  sine  cura  of  Kangrys. 

2.  Theodore  Bayley,  literate,  ordained  Deacon,  Sept.  18,  l630 — 
Priest,  May  1,  1631— and  instituted  to  Llandyfin,  Sept.  20,  l631. 

3.  Thomas  Bailey  (of  whom  A.Wood  gives  so  large  an  account) 
was  ordained  Deacon,  (being  but  A.B.)  Aug.  23,  1629  ;  and 
Priest,  May  23,  l630 ;  being  yet  but  A.  B.  Before  he  was  Priest, 
Aug.  20,  1629,  he  was  instituted  to  the  Vicarage  of  Llanwnoc, 
and  the  next  day  after  he  was  Priest  (May  24,  l630)  to  the  corn- 
portion  of  Llandinam;  and  lastly,  on  the  2g  Aug.  l63l,  being 
then  A.M.  to  the  Rectory  of  Llangeslyn.  This  is  all  in  the  Re- 
gistry. 


248 


In  the  first  visitation  of  Bishop  Dolben,  l632,  I  find  that  then 
Dr.  John  Bayley  was  Warden  of  Kuthun,  and  Rector  of  Llanve- 
drog  and  Llanbeder,  in  Dyffryn  Clvvyd,  and  Chantor  of  Bangor. 
Dr.  John  Bayley  was  also  Rector  of  the  sinecure  of  Llandrillo. . . . 
Rhos,  in  the  Diocese  of  St.  Asaph,  and  died  in  summer,  l633. 
Dr.  Thomas  Bayley  was  Rector  of  Llandymog  and  Comportioner 
of  Llandinam.  Mr.  Theodore  Bayley  was  Comportioner  of  Lla- 
melidam.* 

4.  Nicholas  Bayley  was  the  Bishop's  younger  son,  a  military 
man,  and  a  Major  in  Ireland.     He  died  in  May  or  June,  1689. 

Bp.  Humphreys." 
Bishop  Lewis  Bayley  was  a  native  of  Carmarthen. 


*  Nicholas  Ba;yley,  4th  son  of  the  Bishop,  was  father  of  Sir  Edward 
Bayley,  created  a  Baronet  of  Ireland  1730,  who  died  1741,  leaving  his 
eldest  son,  Sir  Nicholas  his  successor,  who  died  1782,  aged  75,  father  of 
Henry,  late  Earl  of  Uxbrid^e.  For  a  farther  account  of  Bishop  Bayley, 
see  Wood's  Ath.  I.  567. 


249 


"  DEKKER  HIS  DKEAME. 

tn  Kkich,  heeing  rapt  with  a  Poeticall  <^  l^nthuaiasme , 
the  great  Volumes  of  Heaven  #  and  Hell  to  him 
were  opened,  in  which  he  ^  read  many  WonderfuU 
Things.  ^ 

Est  Deus  in  Nobis,  ngitante  calescimus  Illo. 

(Representation  on  wood,  of  a  bed,  with  the  author 
in  it,  no  doubt  in  the  midst  of  his  seven  years'  dream.) 

London,  ^  printed  hy  Nicholas  Okes.  1620." 

In  4to.  pp.  vi.  and  37. 

••►-ce.^O)-<" 

The  Epistle  Dedicatory  "  To  the  trvely-accom- 
plished  Gentlemen,  and  worthy  deseruer  of  all  Men's 
Loues,  Master  Endymion  Porter."  This  is  followed 
by  an  address  "  To  the  Reader;"  which,  as  it  explains 
the  occasion  and  manner  of  the  writer's  dreaming,  and 
the  nature  of  his  extiaordinary  dream,  is  here  trans- 
cribed : 

"  Out  of  a  long  Sleepe,  which  for  almost  seuen  yeares  to 
gether,  seized  al  my  sences,  drowning  them  in  a  deep  Lethe 
of  forgetfiilnesse,  and  burying  mee  to  the  world,  in  the  lowest 
graue  of  obliuion  :  Meeting  in  that  drowsy  voyage  with  nothing 
but  frightfull  apparitions  by  reason  (as  I  now  guesse)  of  the 
place  in  which  I  lay,  beeing  a  Caue  strongly  shut  vp  by  most 
diuellish  and  dreadful!  Enchantments  ;  I  did  at  last  fall  into  a 
Dreame,  which  presented  to  my  waking  Soule,  infinite  Plea- 

VOL.  II.  2    K 


250 

sures,  eommix'd  with  in-rtterable  Horrors.  More  did  I  behold 
thus  sleeping,  then  euer  I  could  before,  when  my  eies  were 
wide  open.  I  climbed  to  the  tops  of  all  the  trees  in  Paradise, 
and  eate  sweeter  apples  than  Adam  euer  tasted.  I  went  into 
the  Star- Chamber  of  Heauen,  where  Kings  and  Princes  were 
set  to  the  barre,  and  when  the  Court  arose,  I  fed  vpon  Manna 
at  a  table  with  Angels.  lerusalem  was  the  Pallace  I  lined  in, 
and  Mount  Sion  the  hil,  from  whose  top  I  was  dazled  with 
glories  brighter  than  Sun-beames.  This  was  my  Banquet : 
The  course-meate  was  able  to  kill  mee.  For  I  was  throvvne 
(after  all  this  Happinesse)  into  a  sea  infernall,  and  forced  to 
swim  through  torrents  of  vnquenchable  fire.  All  the  layles 
of  Hell  were  set  open.  And  albeit  the  arraingements  were 
horrid,  yet  the  executions  were  ten-times  more  terrible.  loyes 
tooke  me  by  the  hand  in  the  first  dance,  but  feares  and  sor- 
rowes  vvhipt  me  forward  in  the  second.  I  must  not  now  tell 
what  I  saw^,  neither  can  I  see  so  much  as  I  haue  told.  What 
musicke  led  both  these  measures,  do  but  open  my  song-booke, 
and  the  lessons  are  there  set  downe. 

If  the  notes  please  thee,  my  paines  are  well  bestowed.  If 
to  thine  eare  they  sound  vntuneable,  much  are  they  not  to  be 
blamed,  in  regard  they  are  the  aires  of  a  sleeping  man. 

Farewell." 

An  account  of  the  Author,  (as  far  as  is  known) 
and  a  list  of  his  numerous  productions,  will  be  found 
in  Dr.  Mott's  excellent  reprint  of  DeMe/'s  G2^//5  Horn- 
book. A  few  extracts  might  have  been  given  from  this 
strange  performance,  had  I  not  been  afraid  they  would 
have  produced  a  soporific  effect  upon  the  reader,  which 
the  author  himself  was  afraid  of,  as  appears  from  the 
conclusion  of  his  Epistle  Dedicatorie,  where  he  says, 
"  If  I  hold  the  Pen  longer  in  my  hand,  I  shall  fall 
asleepe  againe." 

* 


25  \ 

"  ^  Facile  treatise,  contenajid,  Jirst :  ane  infallible  real 
to  discerne  trevv  fromfals  religion:  Nixt,  a  decla- 
ration of  the  nature,  numhre,  vertevv  and  effects  of 
the  sacraments ;  togidder  with  certaine  Prayeres  of 
de  notion. 

**  Dedicat  to  his  Soterain  Prince,  the  King's  Maiestie  of 
Scotland,  King;  lames  the  Saxt.  Be  Maister  Ihone 
Hamilton,  Doctor  in  Theologie. 

"  The  kirk  of  God  is  the  piller  and  sure  ground  of  the  veritie.' 

I  Timoth.  iii. 

"  FFha  heirit  nocht  the  kirk,   lat  him  he  to  the,  as  a  Pagan  and 
Publican."     Malth.xviii. 

"  j4t  Lovan,  imprinted  be  Laurence  Kellam.      Anno 

Dom.  M.  DC." 

Ln  small  twelves,  pp.  444.  besides  several  leaves  not 
numbered,  of  the  Epistle  to  his  Maiestie,  PrayereSj  and 
other  prefixes,  both  at  beginning  and  end. 

Several  extracts  from  this  curious  little  volume 
are  given  by  Lord  Hailes,  in  a  "  Sketch  of  the  Life  of 
John  Hamilton,"  printed  about  the  year  1784.  "  He 
was  a  man,"  says  his  l^ordship,  who,  "  hardly  remem- 
bered in  his  own  country,"  was  "  distinguished  above 
all  Scottish  Ecclesiastics  in  the  sixteenth  century,  by 
his  zeal,  in  the  cause  of  the  Court,  as  well  as  of  the 
Chtrch  of  Rome." 


252 

Of  the  early  historj'  of  the  author  the  notices  are 
rather  obscure.  He  was  descended  of  noble  parents, 
and  bred  for  the  Church ;  for  several  years  he  was  one 
of  the  Professors  in  the  University  of  St.  Andrews,  but 
when  it  was  new-modelled  in  the  year  1579,  Hamilton, 
with  the  rest  of  those  of  the  Catholick  persuasion,  was 
ejected.  After  this  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, when  he  fixed  his  residence  at  Paris,  and  there  filled 
several  important  stations.  Being  "  one  of  the  most 
furious  zealots  for  the  League'  on  the  accession  of 
Henry  IV.  to  the  French  throne,  he  was  forced  to 
leave  France,  and  retired  to  the  Low  Countries.  In 
1601  he  revisited  Scotland,  but  was  not  suffered  to 
continue  long  in  his  native  country.  He  died  in  the 
Tower  of  London  in  I609. 

Shortly  after  Hamilton's  arrival  in  France,  he  print- 
ed his  earliest  work,  (at  Paris,  1580-1,  in  small  8 vo.) 
entituled — 

"  A  catholick  and  facile  traictise,  drawin  out  of  the 
holie  scriptures,  treulie  exponit  be  the  ancient  doc- 
tores,  to  confrm  the  real  and  corporell  presence  of 
Christ's  pretious  bodie  and  blude  in  the  sacrament 
of  the  alter;" 

to  which  were  added 

"  Certain  orthodox  and  catkolik  conclusiones—proponit 
to  1/e  ministeris  in  the  deformit  kirk  of  Scotland 

&.C. 


Besides  several  answers  and  replies  published  at  the 
time;  after  Hamilton's  arrival  in  Scotland,  Alexander 
Hume,  then  Maisterof  the  High  School  in  Edinburgh, 


253 

began  writing  a  confutation  of  this  work;  in  the  course 
of  which  he  fell  in  with  the  second,  (viz.  of  1600)  and 
so  made  his  remarks  upon  both. 

This  treatise  "  Of  the  true  and  catholick  meaning 
of  our  Saviour's  words,  Ths  is  my  body,"  &c.  by  Hume, 
was  printed  at  Edinburgh  by  Robert  VValde-graue, 
1602,  8vo.  and  he  inscribed  it  to  Hamilton,  who  was 
his  old  regent. 

Whether  any  other  works  by  Hamilton,  except  tke 
two  preceding,  were  printed,  is  now  uncertain.  That 
he  was  disposed  to  have  continued  writing  is  evident, 
had  he  received  encouragement,  and  obtained  the 
means,  as  he  complains  much  of  the  want  of  money, 
which  kept  him  from  proceeding.  In  one  part  of  the 
present  volume  he  mentions,  that  "  The  rest  lyes  vn 
prentit  for  layk  of  moyen." 

At  the  end  of  this  volume  is  a  short  poem  in  the 
Scottish  dialect,  which  is  here  extracted;  to  whom  the 
initials  subjoined  to  it  belong,  though  I  am  unable  to 
determine,  yet  some  of  your  readers  may. 

"  The  trevv  vseof  the  Crucifix  with  a  Detection  oftvva  calum- 
nious Lies  of  ye  Caluinolatrie  Ministers,  1.  That  the  cru- 
cifix, and  other  Images  of  Christ's  and  of  his  Saincts  and 
Angels,  ar  Idols.  2.  That  the  Catholiks  adoris  thame  for 
thair  Gods." 

Then 

"  A  conf or  table  standart  to  Catholiks : 
Andfeirful  to  Sathan  and  his  supposts. 

In  passing  be  the  Crucifix, 
Adore  vpon  thy  knie ; 


254 

Nocht  it,  bot  Christ  whome  it  presents. 

With  al  humllitie : 
For  God  is  he  whome  it  raportes. 

No  image  God  can  be. 
Adore  what  thovv  beholdis  in  it : 

Tak  it  lor  memovie. 

Caluin  dois  say  that  we  transgress, 

Ane  of  the  ten  commands, 
Whilk  bearis.  we  suld  adore  na  thing, 

VVrocht  be  grauers  hands. 
We  do  confirme  what  he  dois  say, 

And  knavvis  better  nor  he. 
What  difference  is  of  God  aboue. 

From  clay,  from  stone,  or  trie. 

Bot  he,  not  we,  perverts  the  same, 

Cleir  by  the  Lord's  intent  • 
And  we  knaw  weil,  bot  na  w^ayes  he. 

What  God  thairbe  haith  ment. 
For  idols  were  the  images, 

Whilks  onlie,  God  forbad 
Be  this  command,  of  al  fals  Gods, 

Whilks  gentils  that  tyme  had, 

So  wha  to  Idols  dois  compaire 

The  image  of  our  lord  : 
That  he  ane  fals  God  is,  as  thay, 

Thairto  he  most  accord. 
What  filthie  speach  and  how  absurd, 

Appeiris  this  consequent  ? 
Is  moir  nor  cleir  to  euerie  one 

Of  solid  iudgement. 

Consider  than  with  equal  eies. 
What  heretiks  obiects. 


255 

Gainst  vvs,  wha  be  this  ansuere  heir 

Thair  knauerie  detects. 
For  nather  stok  nor  stone  vvil  we 

Do  vvorschep  nor  adore  : 
Bot  him  vvhais  image  thay  present, 

Wha  sits  in  heauenlie  gloire. 

Than  when  ze  sie  the  crucifix, 

Giue  prayse  to  Christ,  I  say, 
Ze  guid  and  constant  cathohks. 

In  hymnes  and  cantiques  ay  : 
Wha  be  his  figure  on  the  croce 

Presents  vnto  zour  eies. 
His  woundis,  his  forme,  his  passion, 

Flis  bkiidie  sacritice. 

Composit  be  L.  F.  S.  E.  B.  C.  P." 


'*  Epigrams  both  pleasant  and  seriovs,  written  by  that 
all-worthy  Knight,  Sir  lohn  Harrington,  and  neuer 
before  printed. 

Pro  captiis  Lecloris  hahent  sua  fata  lihelli. 

"  London,  imprinted  for  lohn  Budge,  and  are  to  be  sold 
at  his  shoppe  at  the  South  dore  of  Pauls,  and  at 
Britaines  Burse.  l6l5." 

In  4to.  F. 

Sir  John  Harrington  died  in   l6]2.     Ritson  ob 
serves,  that  it  "  contains  only  1 15  Epigrams,  (he  ought 


2,56 

to  have  said  1 16,)  and  forms  the  4th.  book  of  the  entire 
collection  in  l6l8,  1625,  and  1634/ 

The  dedication  to  William  Earle  of  Pembrooke  ik 
signed  by  "  1.  B."  (the  publisher,  John  Budge,  whom 
Kitson  calls  Bridges,  in  a  mistake)  followed  by  an  ad- 
vertisement to  the  reader,  most  probably  by  the  same; 
beginning,  "  Why  should  I  penne  the  prayses  of  the  au- 
thor ?  Is  not  his  name  a  sufficient  apology  ?  His  mad 
Orlando  will  fight  for  him"  &c.  These  Epigrams  are 
well  known ;  as  also  quite  accessible  by  their  being 
subjoined  to  Harington's  translation  of  Ariosto. 

»  # 


"  The  Husband.  <3>  A  Poeme  <&  expressed  <&  in  a  compleat 
rnan.  <3> 

Loripcdem  rectus  derideat,  ^  ^  ihiopem  alhus.  Jcv.  Sat.  pri. 

"  London,  O  printed  for  Lazvrence  L'isle,  dwelling  at  the 
Tygre's  head  O  in  Paul's  Churchyard,  O  l6l4."  <& 

Sm.  8vo. 

DEDICATION. 

"  To  his  truly  honored  Friend,  M,  Anth.  Croftes. 

"  When  I  give  you  this,  the  worlde  may  thinke  I  under- 
stand myselfe,  and  not  the  world's  meaning ;  which  first  writes, 
then  intends  )  or  at  least  intends  more  then  it  can  write  to  an 
innocent  purpose. 

I  therefore  only  would  cxpresse  my  writing  to  the  world. 


£57 

to  laugh  at  their  descant;  my  intention  to  j'^ou  to  distinguish 
your  insight.  You  may  gather  my  remote  studie  from  opposi- 
tion by  a  small  beliefe,  and  I  perswade  myself  you  do  believe  : 
If  the  world  also  will  apprehend  this,  it  may  be  satisfied,  but 
looke  for  no  special  certificat :  I  challenge  the  name  of  Patron 
from  you  ;  you  are  within  the  lists  of  my  better  knowledge. 

The  world  challenges  to  be  an  expositor  from  me ;  for  it 
will  be  within  my  divulged  mystery,  your  tuition  shall  exclude 
no  sensible  reader  to  protect  their  good  meaning ;  but  my  gift 
shall  exclude  you  from  the  purchase  of  any  thing  injuriously 
wrested,  if  credit  cannot  absolve  the  meaning.  Your  use  and 
absolute  assurance  of  this  shall  be  my  chiefest  eminence.  Adieu. 

.     June  19, 1614." 

Epistle  to  the  Readei'. 

COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

1 .  To  the  worthy  Author  on  The  Husband.     By  Ben 

Jonson. 

2.  Ditto.     By  J.  C. 

3.  By  Pta.  Wynn. 

4.  By  Jo.  Calve,  ex  Int.  Temp. 

5.  By  A.  H.  ex  Med.  Temp. 

G.  By  Philomus  :   ex  Graii  Hosp. 

7.  By  Rob.  Vesey. 

8.  By  M.  Freeman. 

••'••>J»<!>  «<<•<■• 

The  poem  commences  thus,  having  only  one  stanza 
on  a  page. 

''  Life  was  inspir'd,  the  first  life  was  divine  : 

Then  life  divided  was :  the  number  two 
VOL. II.  2  L 


258 

Made  both  unequal :  but  the  chiefest  signe 

Of  dutie  is  to  thinke  and  then  to  doe  : 

Both  which  had  purchas'd  a  perpetual  Ufe, 
If  Adam  had  been  equal  with  his  wife. 

For  then  inferior  woman  had  not  strove 

To  tempt  her  monarch  :  who  did  thoughtless  yield, ' 

Seeing  he  had  none  equal,  nor  above. 

But  his  Creator  in  the  spacious  field : 

Thinking  for  any  there  was  then  no  roome. 
But  for  himself,  himself  to  overcome." 

&c. 


"  A  Banquet  of  Essayes  fetcht  out  of  Famous  Ozven's 
Confectionari/,  disht  out,  and  serv'd  up  at  the  Table 
of  MeccEiias. 

"  By  Henry  Harflete,  sometime  of  Gray es  Line,  Gent. 

"  London,  printed  by  T.  R.  and  E.  M.  and  are  to  be 
sold  by  Joseph  Barbors,  at  the  signe  of  the  Lambe, 
in  the  new  buildings  in  Paul's  Churchyard,   1653." 

Sm.  8vo.  pp.  86. 

DEDICATION. 

"  To  the  Right  Worshipful,  and  my  much  honoured  Friend  and 
Kinsman,  Sir  Christopher  Harjlete,  Kt. 

"  Sir, 

''  Your  former  favours  oblige  me  to  a  voted,  if  not  total 
requital,  at  least  to  an  acknowledgement,  though't  be  but  in 
this  slight  commemoration;  and  so  near  alliance  may  command 
this  dedication.    I  might  have  elected  some  titular  protector  to 


259 

dierisli  this  weak  kifant  of  my  braine ;  but  I  content  myself 
with  an  inferior  choice,  desiring  yourself  my  titular  patron. 
Accept  of  these  my  poor  labours^  which  were  the  selected  ob- 
ject of  my  meditations,  on  purpose  to  keep  me  from  idleness, 
the  mother  of  ail  mischief  That  excellent  saying  of  St.  Hierome 
egged  me  on  to  these  meditations  :  "  Aliquid  operis  facitOj  ut 
te  DIabolus  inveniat  occupatum  ;  non  enim  facile  capitur  a 
Diabolo,  qui  bono  vacat  exercitio  :"  Be  always  doing  something 
that  the  Devil  may  find  thee  employed :  for  he  is  not  easily 
caught  in  the  Devil's  snare,  who  is  well  busied.  Sir,  were 
there  not  Leclores  who  be  Lictores,  or  could  all  my  readers  be 
free  from  the  aspersion  of  crilically  censoriou'i,  I  could  well 
afford  to  imitate  my  author  :  commend  my  book  to  the  reader, 
and  myself  to  you  :  however  let  it  be  so,  I'll  expose  myself  to 
charitable  judgements,  and  venture  it. 

Inveniat  noster  Patronum  ut  ubique  libellus, 
Librura  lectori  dedico,  meque  tibi. 

Your  Worship's  affectionate 

Friend  and  Kinsman 
to  command, 
Henky  Harflete." 

■^■^^^■/^-^ 

Essay  I.      Of  Reading,  Understanding,  and  Practising, 

Essay  II.     Of  Books. 

Essay  III.  Of  Application. 

Essay  IV.  Of  Kcprclieasion. 

Essay  V.     Of  Writers  and  tlieir  Works. 

Essay  VI.  Of  Praise. 

Essay  Vil.  and  last.     Of  Errors  in  Reason, 


Q60 

The  family  of  Harflete  were  long  settled  at  Ash, 
near  Sandwich,  in  Kent ;  and  a  Kentish  man  is  pleased 
to  revive  in  these  days  any  proof  of  literary  exertion  in 
a  member  of  that  province  which  the  names  of  VVyatt, 
Sandys,  Digges,  Stanley,  Hammond,  Cowper,  Gibbon, 
Finet,  Mennis,  Bering,  Twysden,  and  Honeywood  of 
Pett,  had  already  consecrated. 


The 

Countesse 
Of  Mountgomeries 
Urania. 
Written  by  the  right  Honourable  the:  Lady 
Mary  Wreath, 
Daughter  to  the  right  Noble  Robert 
Earl  of  Leicester. 
And  Neece  to  the  ever  famous,  and  re: 
nowned  Sir  Phillips  Sidney,  Knight,  And  to 
ye  most  exeltt  Lady  Mary  Countesse  of 
Pembroke  late  deceased. 
London 
Printed  for  Jolf  Marriott 
and  John  Giismand.     And 
and  are  to  be  soulde  at  theire  shop 
-pes  in  St.  Dunstons  Church 
-yard  in  Fleetstreet  and  in 
Poules  Ally  at  ye  signe  of 
the  Gunn. 

All  this  within  an  engraved  frontispiece,  with  the 
name  Sim:  Passccus,  sculp  :  and  on  one  of  the  columns 
the  date,  1021. 


^6] 


THE  FIRST  BOOK. 

''  When  the  Spring  began  to  appear  like  the  welcome 
messenger  of  Summer,  one  sweet,  (and  in  that  more  sweet) 
morning,  after  Aurora  had  called  all  careful  eyes  to  attend  the 
day,  forth  came  the  fair  Shepherdess  Urania,  (feir  indeed ; 
yet  that  far  too  mean  a  title  for  her,  who  for  beauty  deserved 
the  highest  stile  could  be  given  by  best  knowing  judgements  ) 
Into  the  mead  she  came,  where  usually,  she  drave  her  flocks 
to  feed,  whose  leaping  and  wantonness  shewed  they  were 
proud  of  such  a  guide  :  But  she,  whose  sad  thoughts  led  her 
to  another  manner  of  spending  her  time,  made  her  soon  leave 
them,  and  foUow  her  late  begun  custom ;  which  was,  (v/hile 
they  delighted  themselves)  to  sit  under  some  shade,  bewaihng 
her  misfortune ;  while  they  fed,  to  feed  upon  her  own  sorrow 
and  tears,  which  at  this  time  she  began  again  to  summon,  sitting 
down  under  the  shade  of  a  well-spread  beech;  the  ground, 
then  blest,  and  the  tree  with  full  and  fine-leaved  branches, 
growing  proud  to  bear,  and  shadow  such  perfections.  But 
she,  regarding  nothing,  in  comparison  of  her  woe,  thus  pro- 
ceeded in  her  grief— '' Alas,  Urania,"  sai4  she,  "^  the  true 
servant  to  misfortune,  of  any  misery,  that  can  befall  woman, 
is  not  this  the  most,  and  greatest  which  thou  art  fallen  into  ? 
Can  there  be  any  near  the  unhappiness  of  being  ignorant,  and 
that  in  the  highest  kind,  not  being  certain  of  mine  own  estate 
apd  birth  ?  Why  was  I  not  still  continued  in  the  belief  I  was, 
as  I  appear,  a  Shepherdess,  and  daughter  to  a  Shepherd  ?  My 
ambition  then  went  no  higher  than  this  estate  ;  now  flies  it  to 
a  knowledge ;  then  was  I  contented,  now  perplexed,  O  Ig- 
norance, can  thy  dullness  yet  procure  so  sharp  a  pain  ?  And 
that,  such  a  thought  as  makes  me  now  aspire  to  knowledge  ? 
How  did  I  joy  in  this  poor  life,  being  quiet  ?  Blest  in  the  love 
of  those  I  took  for  parents  ;  but  now  by  them  I  know  the  con- 
trary, and  by  that  knowledge,  not  to  know  myself.     Miserable 


^61 

Urania,  worse  art  thou  now  than  these  thy  lambs :  for  they 
know  their  dams,  whilst  thou  dost  hve,  unknown  of  any."  By 
this  were  others  come  into  that  mead  with  their  flocks :  but 
she,  esteeming  her  sorrowing  thoughts  her  best  and  choicest 
company,  left  that  place,  taking  a  little  path,  which  brought 
her  to  the  further  side  of  the  plain,  to  the  foot  of  the  rocks, 
speaking  as  she  went,  these  lines,  her  eyes  fix'd  upon  the 
ground,  her  very  soul  turn'd  into  mourning. 

Unseen,  unknown,  I  here  alone  complain 

To  rocks,  to  hills,  to  meadows,  and  to  springs. 
Which  can  no  help  return  to  ease  my  pain. 

But  back  my  sorrows  the  sad  Echo  brings. 
Thus  still  increasing  are  my  woes  to  me. 

Doubly  resounded  by  that  moanful  voice. 
Which  seems  to  second  me  in  misery. 

And  answer  sfives  like  friend  of  mine  own  choice. 
Thus  only  she  doth  my  companion  prove ; 

The  others  silently  do  otl'er  ease  : 
But  those  that  grieve,  a  grieving  note  do  love  j 

Pleasures  to  dying  eyes  bring  but  disease  : 
And  such  am  I,  who  daily  ending  live. 
Wailing  a  state,  which  can  no  comfort  give. 

In  this  passion  she  went  on,  till  she  came  to  the  foot  of  a 
great  rock ;  she  thinking  of  nothing  less  than  ease,  sought  how 
she  might  ascend  it ;  hoping  there  to  pass  away  her  time  more 
peaceabl)''  with  loneliness,  though  not  to  find  least  respite  from 
her  soiTows,  which  so  dearly  she  did  value,  as  by  no  means  she 
would  impart  it  to  any.  The  way  was  hard,  though  by  some 
windings  making  the  ascent  pleasing.  Having  attained  the 
top,  she  saw  under  some  hollow  trees  the  entry  into  the  rock  : 
she  fearing  nothing,  but  the  continuance  of  her  ignorance,  went 
in  J  where  she  found  a  pretty  room,  as  if  that  stony  place  had 
yet  in  pity  given  leave  for  such  perfections  to  come  in  to  iha 


263 

heart  as  chiefest,  and  most  beloved  place,  because  most  loving. 
The  place  was  not  unlike  tlie  ancient,  or  the  descriptions  of 
ancient,  hermitages ;  instead  of  hangings,  covered  and  lined  with 
ivy,  disdaining  ought  else  should  come  there,  that  being  in  such 
perfection.  This  richness  in  Nature's  plenty,  made  her  stay  to 
behold  it,  and  almost  grudge  the  pleasant  fullness  of  content 
that  place  might  have,  if  sensible,  while  she  must  know  to 
taste  of  torments.  As  she  was  thus  in  passion  mixt  with  pain, 
t;lirowing  her  eyes  as  wildly  as  timorous  lovers  do  for  fear  of 
discovery,  she  perceived  a  little  light,  and  such  a  one  as  a  chink 
doth  oft  discover  to  our  sight.  She,  curious  to  see  what  this 
was,  with  her  delicate  hands  put  the  natural  ornament  aside, 
discovering  a  little  door,  which  she  putting  from  her,  passed 
through  it  into  another  room,  like  the  first  in  all  pi'oportion ; 
but  in  the  midst  there  was  a  square  stone,  like  to  a  pretty  ta- 
ble, and  on  it  a  wax  candle  burning  ;  and  by  that  a  paper, 
which  had  sulTered  itself  patiently  to  receive  the  discovering  of 
so  much  of  it,  as  presented  this  Sonnet,  as  it  seemed  newly 
written,  to  her  sight. 

Here  all  alone  in  silence  might  I  mourn  : 

But  how  can  silence  be,  where  sorrows  flow  ' 
Sighs  with  complaints  liave  former  pains  outworn ) 
But  broken  hearts  can  only  true  grief  show. 

Drops  of  my  dearest  blood  shall  let  Love  know. 
Such  tears  for  her  I  shed,  yet  still  do  burn. 
As  no  spring  can  quench  least  part  of  my  woe. 
Till  this  live  earth  again  to  earth  do  turn. 

Hateful  all  thought  of  comfort  is  to  me  j 
Despised  Day,  let  me  still  Night  possess  ! 
Let  me  all  torments  feel  in  their  excess  ; 
And  but  this  light  allow  my  state  to  see. 

Which  still  doth  waste,  and  wasting  as  this  light. 

Are  my  sad  days  unto  elernal  night. 


204 

'*  Alas,  Urania  ! "  sighed  she,  ''  How  ^V^ell  the^  words,  this' 
place,  and  all,  agree  with  thy  fortune  !  Sure,  poor  soul,  thou 
wert  here  appointed  to  spend  thy  days,  and  these  rooms  ordain- 
ed to  keep  thy  tortures  in  j  none  being,  assuredly,  so  match- 
lessly unfortunate  !" 

Such  is  the  commencement  of  the  once  celebrated 
Urania.  It  would  be  a  waste  of  labour  to  abridge  its 
long  and  tiresome  story.  It  will  be  more  to  the  pur- 
pose of  modern  literature  to  give  copious  extracts  from 
its  numerous,  intermingled  poetry;  as  specimens  of 
Lady  Mary  Wrothe's  talents  never  occur  in  modern 
revivals  of  forgotten  genius. 

Soug.* 

"  Love,  what  art  thou  ?   A  vain  thought. 
In  our  minds  by  fancy  wrought. 
Idle  smiles  did  thee  beget. 
While  fond  wishes  made  the  net. 
Which  so  many  fools  have  caught. 

Love,  what  art  thou  ?    Light  and  fair. 
Fresh  as  morning,  clear  as  th'  air  : 
But  too  soon  thy  evening  change 
Makes  thy  worth  with  coldness  range  ; 
Still  thy  joy  is  mix'd  with  care. 

Love,  what  art  thou  ?    A  sweet  flower. 
Once  full  blown  ;  dead  in  an  hour. 
Dust  in  wind  as  staid  remains. 
As  thy  pleasure,  or  our  gains. 
If  thy  humour  change  to  lour. 

'^  r.  144.  " 


265 

Love,  what  art  thou  ?    Childish,  vain, 
Finn  as  bubbles  made  by  rain. 
Wantonness  thy  greatest  pride  j 
These  foul  faults  thy  virtues  hide. 
But  babes  can  no  staidness  gain. 

Love,  what  art  thou  ?    Causeless  curst. 
Yet,  alas,  these  not  the  worst ; 
Much  more  of  thee  may  be  said  ; 
But  thy  law  I  once  obey'd  ; 
Therefore  say  no  more  at  first." 

Song. 

"  Who  can  blame  me,  if  I  love  ? 
Since  Love  before  the  world  did  move. 
When  I  lov'd  not,  I  despair' d. 
Scarce  for  handsomeness  I  car'd  j 
Since  so  much  I  am  refin'd. 
As  new  fram'd  of  state  and  mind. 
Who  can  blame  me,  if  I  love. 
Since  Love  before  the  world  did  move  ? 

Some  in  truth  of  Love  beguil'd. 
Have  him  blind  and  childish  stil'd  ; 
But  let  none  in  these  persist. 
Since  so  judging  judgment  mist. 
Who  can  blame  me  ? 

Love  in  chaos  did  appear  : 
When  nothing  was,  yet  he  seem'd  clear  : 
Nor  when  Light  could  be  descried. 
To  his  crown  a  light  was  tied. 
Who  can  blame  me ' 
VOL,  11.  2m 


'266 

Love  is  truth,  aiid  doth  delight. 
Whereas  Honour  shines  most  brigiit : 
Reason's  self  doth  Love  approve. 
Which  makes  us  ourselves  to  love. 
Who  can  blame  me  ? 

Could  I  rny  past  time  begin, 
I  would  not  commit  such  sin. 
To  live  an  hour  and  not  to  love  j 
Since  Love  makes  us  perfect  prove. 
Who  can  blame  me  ?"* 


Son  a;. 

''  Gone  is  my  joy,  w^hile  here  I  mourn 
In  pains  of  absence  and  of  care  : 
The  heavens  for  my  sad  griefs  do  turn 
Their  face  to  storms,  and  shew  despair. 

The  days  are  dark,  the  nights  opprest 
With  cloud'ly  weeping  for  my  pain, 

Which  in  their  acting  seem  distrest. 
Sighing  like  grief  for  absent  gain. 

The  Sun  gives  place,  and  hides  his  face. 
That  day  can  now  be  hardly  known. 

Nor  will  the  stars  in  night  yield  grace 
To  sun-rob' d  heav'n  by  woe  o'erthrown. 

Our  hght  is  fire  in  fearful  flames  ; 

The  air  tempestuous  blasts  of  wind  : 
For  warmth  we  have  forgot  the  name ; 

Such  blasts  and  storms  are  us  assign'd.^ 

»  P.  145. 


2(37 

And,  still  you  blessed  Heavens,  remain 
Distemper'd,  while  this  cursed  power 

Of  absence  rul^s,  which  brings  my  pain  ; 
Let  your  care  be  more  still  to  lour. 

But  when  my  Sun  doth  back  return. 
Call  yours  again  to  lend  his  light  j 

That  they  in  flames  of  joy  may  burn. 
Both  equal  shining  in  oiu"  sight."* 


-<y. 


Song, 

''  A  Forest  Nymph  lying  on  the  groujid,  a  youth  hard  ly  her, 
beholding  her  with  as  much  amorousness  as  his  young  years 
could  entertain,  sang  this  song. 

"  Love  among  the  clouds  did  hover. 
Seeking  where  to  spy  a  lover  : 
In  the  court  he  none  could  find  j 
Towns  too  mean  were  in  that  kind : 
At  last  as  he  was  ripe  to  crying. 
In  forest  woods  he  found  one  lying. 

Underneath  a  tree  fast  sleeping, 
Sprite  of  Love  her  body  keeping. 
Where  the  Soul  of  Cupid  lay. 
Though  he  higher  then  did  stay. 
When  he  himself  in  her  descrying. 
He  hasted  more  than  with  his  flying. 

And  his  tender  hand  soft  laying 
On  her  breast,  his  fires  were  playing, 
Wak'd  her  witli  his  baby  game ; 
3he^  who  knew  Love  was  no  shame, 

*  Lib.  ii.  p.  170. 


268 

With  his  new  sport  smil'd,  as  delighted. 
And  homeward  went  by  Cupid  lighted. 

See  the  shady  woods  bestowing 

That,  which  none  can  ask  as  owing  j 

But  in  courts,  where  plenties  flow. 

Love  doth  seldom  pay,  but  owe. 

Then  still  give  me  this  country  pleasure, 

Whete  sweet  Love  chastely  keeps  his  pleasure."^ 

Song. 

"  Did  I  boast  of  liberty  ? 

'Twas  an  insolency  vain  ! 
I  do  only  look  on  thee  j 
And  I  captive  am  again  !f 


"  Love,  farewell !    I  now  discover 
Thee  a  tyrant  o'er  a  lover. 
All  thy  promis'd  sweets  prove  crosses  j 
Thy  rewards  are  only  losses. 

A  pretty  thing  I  did  deem  thee,  j 
Innocent  and  mild  esteem  thee  3, 
But  I  find  thee  as  curst  matter. 
As  a  swelling  high- wrought  water. 

Cupid's  name,  a  pleasant  folly 
Hath  beguiled  hearts  most  holy. 
E'en  to  sacrifice  in  homage 
Life  and  soul  unto  their  domage. 

*  Lib-  iii.  294.  t  lab.  iv.  p.  413. 


269 

Mine  an  offering  once  I  proffer'd. 
Happily  refus'd  when  offer'd, 
I'll  keep  now  but  to  revile  thee. 
From  the  craft  which  did  beguile  me.''* 


Sons. 


'6' 


"  Love,  grown  proud  with  victory. 
Seeks  by  sleights  to  concuer  me  ; 
Painted  shows  he  thinks  can  bind 
His  commands  in  women's  mind. 
Love  but  glories  in  fond  loving  ] 
I  most  joy  in  not  removing. 

Love,  a  word,  a  look,  a  smile. 
In  these  shapes  can  some  beguile ; 
But  he  some  new  way  must  prove 
To  make  me  a  vassal  love. 
Love  but,  &c. 

Love  must  all  his  shadows  leave, 
Or  himself  he  will  deceive : 
Who  loves  not  the  perfect  sky. 
More  than  clouds  that  wanton  fly  ? 
Love  but,  &c. 

Love,  yet  thus  thou  mayst  me  win> 
If  thy  staidness  would  begin  : 
Then  hke  friends  would  kindly  meet. 
When  thou  prov'st  as  true  as  sweet. 
Love,  then  glory  in  thy  loving ; 
And  I'll  joy  in  my  removing."  f 

•  Lib.  iv.  p.  483.  t  Ibid,  p.  560. 


270 


Sons;* 

"  Sweetest  Love,  return  again ; 

Make  not  too  long  slay. 
Killing  mirth  and  forcing  pain ; 

Sorrow  leading  way : 
Jl/Ct  us  not  thus  parted  be  5 
Love  and  absence  ne'er  agree. 

But  since  you  naust  needs  depart. 
And  me  hapless  leave. 

In  your  journey  take  my  heart. 
Which  will  not  deceive  ; 

Yours  it  is  j  to  you  it  flies. 

Joying  in  tliose  loved  eyes. 

So  in  part  we  shall  not  part. 
Though  we  absent  be ; 

Time,  nor  place,  nor  greatest  smarts 
Shall  my  bands  make  free : 

Tied  I  am ;  yet  think  it  gain  ; 

In  such  knots  I  feel  no  pain. 

But  can  I  live^  having  lost 

Chiefest  part  of  me  ? 
Heart  is  fled,  and  sight  is  cross'd  3 

These  my  fortunes  be  : 
Yet,  dear  heart,  go  :  soon  return  ; 
As  good  there,  as  here,  to  burn." 


From  Poems  annexed  to  Urauia,  entitled  ramphilia  to  4>nphilanthus. 


271 

Song. 

"  Love  as  well  can  make  abiding 
In  a  faithful  Shepherd's  breast. 
As  in  Prince's  J  whose  thoughts^  sliding, 
Like  swift  rivers,  never  rest. 

Change  to  their  minds  is  best  feeding  j 

To  a  Shepherd  all  his  care. 
Who,  when  his  love  is  exceeding, 

Thinks  his  faith  his  richest  fare. 

Beauty  but  a  slight  inviting. 

Cannot  strive  his  heart  to  change  ; 

Constancy  his  chief  delighting. 
Strives  to  flee  from  fancies  strange. 

Fairness  to  him  is  no  pleasure. 

If  in  other  than  his  love  ; 
Nor  can  esteem  that  a  treasure. 

Which  in  her  smiles  doth  not  move. 

This  a  Shepherd  once  confessed. 
Who  lov'd  well,  but  was  not  lov'dj 

Though  with  scorn  and  grief  oppressed. 
Could  not  yet  to  change  be  mov'd. 

But  himself  he  thus  contented. 
While  in  love  he  was  accurst ; 

This  hard  hap  he  not  repented. 

Since  best  lovers  speed  the  worst." 


272 

Sonnet, 

"  Poor  Love  in  chains  and  fetters,  like  a  thief, 
I  met  led  forth  as  chaste  Diana's  gain. 
Vowing  the  untaught  lad  should  no  relief 
From  her  receive,  who  gloried  in  fond  pain. 

She  call'd  him  thief  j  with  vows  he  did  maintain 
He  never  stole ;  but  some  sad  slight  of  grief 
Had  given  to  those,  who  did  his  power  disdain  ; 
In  which  revenge  his  honour  was  the  chief. 

She  said,  he  murder'd,  and  therefore  must  die : 
He,  that  he  caus'd  but  Love,  did  harms  deny. 
But  while  she  thus  discoursing  with  him  stood. 

The  Nymphs  untied  him,  and  his  chains  took  off. 
Thinking  him  safe ;  but  he,  loose,  made  a  scoff; 
Smiling  and  scorning  them,  flew  to  the  wood." 


Song. 

"  Love,  a  child,  is  ever  crying ; 
Please  him,  and  he  strait  is  flying  > 
Give  him  :  he  the  more  is  craving ; 
Never  satisfied  with  having. 

His  desires  have  no  measure ; 
Endless  folly  is  his  treasure  : 
What  he  promiseth,  he  breaketh  j 
Trust  not  one  word,  that  he  speaketh. 

He  vows  nothing  but  false  matter ; 
And  to  cosen  you  will  flatter  ; 
Let  him  gain  the  hand  ;  he'll  leave  you. 
And  still  glory  to  deceive  you. 


27S 

He  will  triumph  in  your  wailing ; 
And  yet  cause  be  of  your  failing  : 
These  his  vktues  are,  and  slighter 
Are  his  gifts ;  his  favours  lighter. 

Fathers  are  as  firm  in  staying ; 
Wolves  no  fiercer  in  their  preying  : 
As  a  child  then,  leave  him  crying  j 
Nor  seek  him  so  given  to  flying." 


Son^.* 

"  Come,  merry  Spring,  delight  us ; 
For  Winter  long  did  spite  us  ; 
In  pleasure  still  persever. 
Thy  beauties  ending  never : 

Spring,  and  grow. 

Lasting  so, 
Widi  joys  increasing  ever. 

Let  cold  from  hence  be  banish'd. 
Till  hopes  from  me  be  vanish'd ; 
But  bless  thy  dainties  growing. 
In  fiillness  freely  flowing  : 

Sweet  birds,  sing ; 

For  the  Spring 
All  mirth  is  now  bestowing. 

Philomel,  in  this  arbour. 
Makes  now  her  loving  harbour ; 
Yet  of  her  state  complaining. 
Her  notes  in  mildness  straining, 

•  From  the  subjoined  "  Crown  of  S<mncts  dedicated  to  Lceie." 
YOL.   H.  2  N 


Which  though  sweet. 
Yet  do  meet 
Her  former  luckless  paining. 


.<.. 


Sonne  t. 

"  Late  in  the  forest  I  did  Cupid  see  ; 

Cold,  wet,  and  crying,  he  had  lost  his  way  ; 

And  being  blind,  was  farther  like  to  stray  j 

Which  sight  a  kind  compassion  bred  in  me. 
I  kindly  took,  and  dried  them,  while  that  he. 

Poor  child,  complain' d,  he  starved  was  with  stay. 

And  pin'd  for  want  of  his  accustom'd  prey; 

For  none  in  that  wild  place  his  host  would  be. 
I  glad  was  of  his  finding,  thinking  sure. 

This  service  should  my  freedom  still  procure ; 

And  in  my  arms  I  took  him  then  unharm'd. 
Carrying  him  safe  unto  a  myrtle  bower  : 

But  in  the  way  he  made  me  feel  his  power. 

Burning  my  heart,  who  had  him  kindly  warm'd."* 


Concluding  Sonnet, 

' '  My  Muse,  now  happy,  lay  thyself  to  rest ; 
Sleep  in  the  quiet  of  a  faithful  love ; 
Write  you  no  more ;  but  let  these  fancies  move 
Some  other  hearts  ;  wake  not  to  new  unrest. 
But  if  your  study  be  those  thoughts  addrest 

To  truth,  which  shall  eternal  goodness  prove. 
Enjoying  of  true  joy  the  most  and  best. 
The  endless  gain,  which  never  will  remove, 

*  It  is  needless  to  point  out  the  imitation  here  attempted  of  jlnia«-«ou'» 
celebrated  ode,  which  has  been  so  often  translated. 


^75 

Leave  the  discourse  of  Venus^  and  her  son 

To  young  beginners,  and  their  brains  inspire 
With  stories  of  great  Love,  and  from  that  fire 
Get  heat  to  write  the  fortunes  they  have  done. 
And  thus  leave  off!    What's  past  shewsjyou  can  love  j 
Now  let  your  constancy  your  honour  prove  !" 


^*  Nocturnall  Lucubrations:  or  Meditations  divine  and 
morall.  Whereunto  are  added  Epigrams  and  Epi- 
taphs.    Written  by  Rob.  Chamberlain. 

In  miindo  spes  nulla  honi,  spes  nulla  salutis : 
Sola  salus  servire  Deo,  sunt  cceterafraudes. 

"  London :  printed  by  M.  F.  for  Daniel  Frere,  at  the 
signe  of  the  red  Bull  in  Little  Brittaine.    l638." 

12mo.  pp.  124. 

This  little  volume  is  curious  on  account  of  its  rare 
occurrence,  and  valuable  on  account  of  its  meritorious 
contents.  The  prose  portion  is  inscribed  to  "  The 
worshipful  and  his  honored  master,  Peter  Balle,  Esq. 
sollicitor-generall  to  the  Queen :"  and  the  poetical 
pages,  which  do  not  much  exceed  thirty,  are  dedicated 
to  "  His  honored  and  dearely  affected  master,  Mr. 
Wm.  Balle,"  son  to  the  former ;  who,  as  Wood  in- 
forms us,*  sent  the  author  to  Exeter  College,  Oxford, 
to  complete  his  academical  learning,  in  the  beginning 

*  Ath.  Oxon.  i.  639. 


276 

of  the  year  1637,  at  the  age  of  30.  In  the  Biog.  Dram. 
it  is  conjectured  that  he  was  bred  to  the  pulpit.  At 
what  time  our  author  died,  Wood  had  not  been  able 
to  ascertain  :  but  a  comedy  was  published  by  him  in 
1640,  entitled  "  The  Swaggering  Damsel,"  with  five 
copies  of  verses  prefixed.  Winstanley,  probably  from 
Wood,  speaks  of  a  Pastoral  by  Chamberlain,  under 
the  name  of  "  Sicelides ;"  but  this  is  likely  to  have 
been  the  "  Piscatory  Drama"  attributed,  on  no  suffi- 
cient ground,  to  Phineas  Fletcher.  Chamberlain  has 
complimentary  verses  before  Leonard  Blunt's  Asse 
upon  Asse,  a  poem,  and  Nabbes's  Spring's  Glory,  1638. 
The  latter  has  repaid  the  obligation  by  a  tribute  in  the 
present  volume. 

I  proceed  to  exhibit  a  selection  of  extracts  from 
each  portion  of  his  neatly  printed  publication. 

"  Learning  is  like  Scanderbeg's  sword,  either  good  or  bad, 
according  to  him  that  hatli  it :  an  excellent  weapon,  if  well 
used  ;  otlierwise,  like  a  sharp  razor  in  the  hand  of  a  child. 

To  incurre  God's  displeasure  for  man's  favour,  is  for  a  man 
to  kill  himselfe  to  avoid  a  hurt. 

Though  the  waies  of  Vertue  seem  rough  and  craggie,  yet 
they  reach  to  Heaven  ;  and  in  the  end  invest  humanity  in  the 
bright  robes  of  immortality.     Tendit  in  ardua  f^nus. 

Humility  is  a  grace  itself,  and  a  spotlesse  vessel  to  entertain 
aU  other  graces. 

Fair  commendation  sets  a  foole  in  the  chaire  of  ostentation, 
but  dyes  the  cheek  of  wisdome  a  scarlet  blush. 

Halcyon  days  make  a  man  forget  both  God  and  himselfe  j 
but  afflictions  make  us  runne  to  seek  God  early. 

To  master  a  man's  self,  is  more  than  to  conquer  a  world  : 
for  he  that  conquered  the  world,  could  not  master  himself. 


277 

There  is  not  halfe  so  much  clanger  in  the  desperate  sword 
of  a  known  foe,  as  in  the  smooth  insinuations  of  a  pretended 
fiiend. 

The  greatest  canker  that  can  be  to  love,  is  the  bosome  nurs- 
ing of  a  concealed  grudge. 

Reason  at  first  produceth  opinion ;  but  afterwards  an  ill 
received  opinion  may  seduce  the  very  soule  of  reason. 

That  man  is  commonly  of  a  good  nature,  whose  tongue  is 
the  true  herald  to  his  thoughts. 

In  the  clearest  sunshine  of  fair  prosperity,  we  arc  subject  to 
the  boystrous  stormes  of  gloomie  adversity. 

Too  much  to  lament  a  misery,  is  the  next  way  to  draw  on 
a  remedilesse  mischiefe. 

Bootlesse  grlefe  hurts  a  man's  selfe,  but  patience  makes  a 
jest  of  an  injuty. 

Where  the  scale  of  sensuality  weighs  down  that  of  reason, 
the  baseness  of  our  nature  conducts  us  to  most  preposterous 
conclusions. 

Faire  words  without  good  deeds  to  a  man  in  misery,  are 
like  a  saddle  of  gold  clnpt  upon  the  back  of  a  gall'd  horse. 

A  foolish  man  in  wealth  and  authority,  is  like  a  weak-tim- 
ber'd  house  with  too  ponderous  a  roofe. 

Heaven  without  earth  is  perfect,  but  earth  without  Heaven 
is  but  the  porch  of  hell. 

There  are  no  riches  like  to  the  sweetnesse  of  content,  nor 
no  poverty  comparable  to  the  want  of  patience. 

He  that  consults  with  his  body  for  the  saving  of  his  soule, 
shall  never  bring  it  to  heaven.  If  we  hope  to  reape  in  joy,  we 
must  sow  in  tears. 

Harsh  reproof  is  like  a  violent  storm,  soon  washt  down  the 
channell :  but  friendly  admonitions,  like  a  small  shower,  pierce 
deep,  and  bring  forth  better  reformation. 

Sordid  manners  in  a  comely  feature,  are  like  black  clouds  in 
a  faire  sky.  Ontv.ard  perfection  without  inward  goodness,  sets 
but  the  blacker  dye  upon  the  mind's  deformity. 


278 

If  a  man  be  not  so  happy  as  he  desires,  let  this  be  his  com- 
fort— that  he  is  not  so  wretched  as  he  deserves. 

If  the  hand  of  Omnipotency  should  please  to  try  us  with  all 
manner  ot  afRiction,  to  lock  us  in  the  griping  sins  of  misery,  to 
steep  us  in  the  dregs  of  poverty,  to  rain  down  shame  and  de- 
famation on  our  heads ;  we  are  to  fly  only,  in  this  depth  of 
extremity,  to  the  safe  sanctuary  of  faith  and  a  good  conscience, 
which  turne  the  bitter  waters  of  affliction  into  the  sweet  nectar 
of  never-dying  comfort. 

Ill  newes  flies  with  eagle's  wings,  but  leaden  weights  are 
wont  to  clog  the  heel;  of  gladsome  tidings. 

He  that  wanders  too  far  into  the  wildernesse  of  this  world, 
cannot  when  he  please  creep  back  to  the  lodge  of  safety. 

It  is  not  in  the  power  of  man  when  he  please,  to  tread  the 
happy  steps  of  heavenly  repentance. 

It  is  Love  that  makes  the  eternall  mercy  to  bear  so  much 
the  foul  crimes  of  transgressing  humanity. 

It  is  better  to  be  well  deserving  without  praise,  than  to  live 
by  the  air  of  undeserv'd  commendation. 

Honour  is  like  a  palace  with  a  low  door,  into  the  which  no 
man  can  enter,  but  he  must  first  stoop. 

A  ruinous  end  attends  a  riotous  life.  Well  were  it  for  the 
drunkard,  as  he  hath  liv'dlike  a  beast,  if  he  could  so  die. 

Men  are  not  rich  or  poore  according  to  what  they  possesse, 
but  to  what  they  desire.  The  only  rich  man  is  he  that  with 
content  enjoys  a  competencie. 

High  time  it  is  to  flee  vanity,  when  the  drum  of  age  beats 
a  quick  march  towards  the  silent  grave. 

We  should  all  follow  the  world,  as  a  serving-man  followeth 
his  master  and  a  stranger ;  whilst  they  go  together,  he  follows 
them  both  :  but  when  the  stranger  leaves  his  master,  he  leaves 
the  stransfer  and  followeth  his  master.  So  should  we  follow  the 
world.  As  long  as  the  world  goes  with  God,  we  should  follow 
them  both  :  but  when  the  world  leaves  God,  we  should  leave 
the  world,  and  with  prepared  hearts  follow  our  master  God. 


279 

Disce  mori,  nee  te  ludat  spes  vana  salutis. 
Nam  nescis  statuant  quern  tihifata  diem. 

He  that  rectifies  a  crooked  stick,  bends  it  the  contrary  way  : 
so  must  he  that  would  reform  a  vice,  learn  to  affect  its  meere 
contrary,  and  in  time  he  shall  see  the  springing  blossoms  of  a 
happy  reformation. 

It  is  dangerous  in  holy  things  to  make  reason  the  touchstone. 
He  that  disputeth  too  much  with  God  about  things  not  revealed, 
all  the  honour  he  gets,  is  but  to  go  to  hell  more  learnedly  than 
the  rest.  It  is  good  to  be  pius  puhaior ;  for  then  the  more 
importunate,  the  more  pleasing  :  but  a  temerarius  scrutator 
may  be  more  bold  than  welcome. 

He  that  would  hit  the  mark  he  aims  at,  must  wink  with 
one  eye.  Heaven  is  the  mark  3  he  that  would  hit  it,  must  wink 
with  the  eye  of  reason,  -tljat  he  may  see  better  with  that  of 
faith. 

Action  is  the  crown  of  virtue,  perseverance  the  crown  of 
action,  sufferance  the  crown  of  perseverance,  a  good  cause  the 
crown  of  sufferance,  and  a  crown  of  glory  the  crown  of  a  good 
cause.  Esto  Jidelis  usque  ad  mortem,  et  dalo  tihi  coronum 
vita." 

The  following  pieces  are  not  without  poetical  merit 
and  moral  interest.  The  second  is  a  singular  instance 
of  rhyming  hexameters. 

In  praise  of  a  Country  Life. 

"  The  winged  fancies  of  the  learned  quill 

Tell  of  strange  wonders  :  sweet  Parnassus'  hill, 
Castalia's  well,  the  Heliconian  spring. 
Star-spangled  valleys  where  the  Muses  sing. 
Admired  things  another  storie  yields. 
Of  pleasant  Tempe  and  ih'  Elysian  fields  ; 


280 

Yet  these  are  nothing  to  the  sweet  that  dwells 

In  low-built  cottages  and  country  cells. 

What  are  the  scepters,  thrones,  and  crovvnes  of  kings. 

But  gilded  burdens,  and  most  fickle  things  ? 

What  are  great  offices,  but  cumbring  troubles  ? 

And  what  are  honours,  but  dissolving  bubbles  ? 

What  though  the  gates  of  greatness  be  frequented 

With  chains  of  glittering  gold  ?  He,  that's  contented. 

Lives  in  a  thousand  times  a  happier  way. 

Than  he  that's  tended  thus,  from  day  to  day. 

Matters  of  state,  nor  yet  domestick  jars. 

Comets  portending  death,  nor  blazing  stars. 

Trouble  his  thoughts :  hee'l  not  post-haste  run  on 

Through  Lethe,  Styx,  and  fiery  Phlegeton, 

For  gold  or  silver  :  he  will  not  affright 

His  golden  slumbers  in  the  silent  night. 

For  all  the  precious  wealth,  or  sumptuous  pride 

That  lies  by  Tiber,  Nile,  or  Ganges'  side. 

Th'  embroider'd  meadows,  and  the  crawling  streams 

Make  soft  and  sweet  his  undisturbed  dreams. 

He  revels  not  by  day,  nor  in  the  nights. 

Nor  cares  he  much  for  musicall  delights  : 

And  yet  his  humble  roofe  maintains  a  quire 

Of  singing  crickets  round  about  the  fire. 

This  harmless  life  he  leads — and,  I  dare  say. 

Doth  neither  wish,  nor  fear,  his  dying  day." 

Death's  Impartiality . 

Carmen  Hexametrum. 

"  High-minded  Pyrrhus,  brave  Hector,  stout  Agamemnon, 
Hannibal  and  Scipio,  whom  all  the  world  did  attend  on  : 
That  worthy  captain,  world-conquering  great  Alexander, 
That  tender,  constant,  true-hearted,  lovely  Leander, 


281 

That  cunning  painter,  that  curious-handed  Apelles, 

Mirmidons  insatiate,  that  kept  the  tent  of  Achilles, 

Alphonsus  Aragon,  that  great  mathematicall  artist. 

That  stately  queen  of  beauty,  that  lady  Mars  kist. 

Wit,  wealth,  aud  beauty — yea,  all  these  poaips  that  adorne  us, 

Alust  see  black  Phlegeton,  rough  Styx,  and  fatall  Avernus." 

I  add  one  more,  as  it  refers  to  a  poet  of  considerable 
merit. 

On  the  death  of  Mr.  Charles  Fitz-geffrays,  Minister  of 

God's  word. 

"  O  thou  the  saddest  of  the  Sisters  nine  ! 
Adde  to  a  sea  of  teares  one  teare  of  thine. 
Unhappy  I,  that  am  constrain'd  to  sing 
His  death,  whose  life  did  make  the  world  to  ring 
With  echoes  of  his  praise.     A  true  divine 
In's  life  and  doctrine,  which  like  lamps  did  shine 
Till  they  were  spent  and  done,  did  never  cease 
To  guide  our  steps  unto  eternal  peace. 
Thy  habitation's  now  the  starry  mount. 
Where  thy  great  Maker  makes  of  thee  account. 
Farewell !  thou  splendor  of  the  spacious  West, 
Above  th'  gethereal  clouds  for  ever  blest : 
The  losse  of  thee  a  watry  mountaine  reares 
With  high  spring-tide  of  our  sad  trickhng  teares," 

f 


VOL.   II.  2  O 


282 

"  Delightes  M  for  Ladies,  to  adorne  M  their  Persons, 
2'ables,  3^  Closets,  and  Distil-  M  latories :  ^  with  ^ 
Beauties,  Banquets,  Perfumes  Hi  and  Waters.  M 

Reade,  practice,  and  censure. 

"  At  Lofidon  M printed  by  Hurnfrey  Loicnes,  M  I6II." 

12mo.  not  paged,  sig.  H. 

"To  all  true  Louers  of  Art  and  Knowledge. 

Sometimes  I  write  the  formes  of  burning  balles. 

Supplying  wa  ts  that  M-ere  by  woodfals  wrought : 

Somtimes  of  tubs  defended  so  by  art. 

As  fii'e  in  vaine  hath  their  destruction  sought : 

Sometimes  I  write  of  lasting  beverage. 

Great  Neptune  and  his  pilgrims  to  content : 

Sometimes  of  food,  sweet,  fresh  and  durable. 

To  maintaine  life,  when  all  things  else  were  spent : 

Sometimes  I  write  of  sundry  sorts  of  soile. 

Which  neither  Ceres  nor  her  handmaides  kne\r. 

I  write  to  all,  but  scarcely  one  belieues, 

Saue  Dit'e  and  Denshire,  who  haue  found  the  true. 

Whenheauens  did  mourne  in  cloudy  mantles  clad. 

And  threatned  famine  to  the  sons  of  men  ; 

When  sobbing  earth  denied  her  kindly  fruit 

To  painfull  ploughman  and  his  hindes  :  even  then 

I  writ  relieuing  remedies  of  dearth, 

That  Art  might  belpe  where  Nature  made  a  faile : 

But  all  in  vaine,  these  new-born  babes  of  Art, 

In  their  untimely  birth  straight-way  do  quaile  > 

Of  these  and  such  like  other  new  found  skils. 

With  painefuli  pen  I  whilom  wrote  at  large. 


283 

Expecting  stil  my  conntrie's  good  therein. 
And  not  respecting  labour,  time  or  charge  : 
But  now  my  pen  and  paper  are  perfum'd, 
I  scorne  to  write  with  coppresse  or  with  gall. 
Barbarian  canes  are  now  become  my  quils. 
Rose-water  is  the  inke  I  write  withall : 
Of  sweets  the  sweetest  I  will  now  commend. 
To  sweetest  creatures  that  the  earth  doth  beare : 
These  are  the  Saints  to  whom  I  sacrifice 
Preserues  and  conserues  ;  both  of  plum  and  peare. 
Empaling  now  adieu  :  tush,  marchpane  wals 
Are  strong  enough,  and  best  befits  our  age ; 
Let  piercing  bullets  turne  to  sugar  bals. 
The  Spanish  feare  is  husht,  and  all  their  rage. 
Of  marmalade  and  paste  of  Genua, 
Of  musked  sugar  I  intend  to  wright. 
Of  leach,  of  sucket,  and  quidinea. 
Affording  to  each  Lady  her  delight. 
I  teach  both  fruites  and  flowers  to  presenie, 
And  candie  them,  so  nutmegs,  cloues,  and  mace, 
To  make  both  marchpane  paste,  and  sugred  plate. 
And  cast  the  same  in  formes  of  sweetest  grace. 
Each  bird  and  fcule,  so  moulded  from  the  life. 
And  after  caste  in  sweet  compounds  of  Arte, 
As  if  the  flesh  and  forme  which  Nature  gaue. 
Did  still  remaine  in  every  lim  and  part. 
When  crystall  frost  hath  nipt  the  tender  grape. 
And  cleane  consum'd  the  fruits  of  eueiy  vine,. 
Yet  heere  behold  the  clusters  fresh  and  faire. 
Fed  from  the  branch,  or  hanging  on  the  line. 
The  wallnut,  small  nut,  and  the  chesnut  sweet. 
Whose  sugred  kernels  lose  their  pleasing  taste. 
Are  heere  from  yeere  to  yeere  preserued  meet. 
And  made  by  arte  with  strongest  fruits  to  last : 


284 

Th'  artichoke  and  th'  apple  of  such  strength. 

The  quince,  pomgranate,  with  the  barbaric. 

No  sugar  vs'd,  yet  colour,  taste,  and  smell 

Are  here  maintain'd,  and  kept  most  naturally. 

For  Ladies'  closets  and  their  stillatories. 

Both  waters,  ointments,  and  sweet  smelling  bals. 

In  easie  tearms  without  affected  speech, 

I  heere  present  most  ready  at  their  cals. 

And  least  with  carelesse  pen  I  should  omit 

The  wrongs  that  Nature  on  their  persons  wrought. 

Or  parching  sun  with  his  hot  firie  rayes. 

For  those  likewise  relieuing  meanes  I  sought. 

No  idle  thoughts,  nor  vaine  suniiiscd  skils. 

By  fancie  framde  within  a  theorique  braine. 

My  Muse  presents  vnto  your  sacred  eares  : 

To  win  your  fauours  falsly  I  disdaine. 

From  painefuU  practice,  from  experience, 

I  sound,  though  costly,  mysteries  deriue  : 

With  firie  flames,  in  scorching  Vulcan's  forge. 

To  teach  and  fine  each  secret  I  do  striue. 

Accept  them  well,  and  let  my  wearied  Muse 

Repose  herselfe  in  Ladies'  laps  awhile. 

So  when  she  wakes,  she  happily  may  record. 

Her  sweetest  dreames  in  some  more  pleasing  stile. 


H.  Plat."* 


EXTRACT. 


"  How  to  drie  Rose  leaues,  or  any  other  single  Jlower,  without 


wrinkling. 


If  you  would  performe  the  same  wel  in  rose  leaues,  you 
must  in  rose  time  make  choice  of  such  roses  as  are  neither  in 

*  Sir  Hush  Plat. 


285 

the  bud,  nor  full  blowne,   (for  these  haue  the  smoothest  legues 
of  all  other)  which  you  must  especially  cull  and  choose  from 
the  rest.     Then  take  right  callis  sand,  wash  it  in  some  change 
of  waters,  and  drie  it  thoroughly  well,  either  in  an  ouen,  or  iu 
the  sunne  ;  and  hauing  shallow,  square  or  long  boxes  of  4,  5, 
or  6  inches  deepe,  make  first  an  euen  lay  of  sand  in  the  bottome, 
upon  the  \\diich  lay  your  rose  leaues  one  by  one  (so  as  none  of 
them  touch  other)    till  you  haue  couered  all  the  sand,  then 
strowe  sand  vpon  those  leaues  till  you  haue  thinly  couered  them 
all,  and  then  make  another  laie  of  leaues  as  before,  and  so  laie 
vpon  laie,   &c.     Set  this  box  in  some  warme  place  in  a  hot 
sunnie  daie,    (and  commonlie  in  two  bote  sunnie  dayes  they- 
will  be  through  drie)   then  take  them  out  carefullie  with  your 
hand  without  breaking.     Keepe  these  leaues  in  jane  glasses, 
bounde  about  with  paper,   neere  a  chimney  or  stoue,  for  feare 
of  relenting.     I  finde  the  red  rose  leafe  best  to  be  kept  in  this 
manner ;    also  take  away  the  stalkes  of  pansies,   stocke  gilli- 
flowers,   or  other  single  flowers,  pricke  them   one  by  one  in 
sande,   pressing  downe  their  leaues  smooth   with  more  sande 
laid  euenlie  vpon  them.     And  thus  you  may  haue  rose  leaues, 
and  other  flowers  to  laie  about  your  basons,  windowes,  &c.  all 
the  winter  long.     Also  this  secret  is  very  requisite  for  a  good 
sim.plifier,  because  hee  male  drie  the  leafe  of  any  hearbe  in  this 
manner,   and  laie  it  being  drie   in  his  Herball,  witli  the  simple 
which  it  representeth,  whereby  he  male  easily  learne  to  koowe 
the  names  of  all  simples  which  hedesireth." 

Annexed  to  the  "  Delightes"  is 

"  A  Closet  Jo}'  Ladies  and  Genthrcomen,  or,  the  Arte  of 
Preseruiiig,  Conserving,  and  Candi/ing. 

"  JVith  the  manner  how  to  fnake  diverse  kindes  of  Si/- 
rupes :  and  all  kinde  of  banqueting  stuff es. 


286 

"  jilso  diuerse  soveraigne  Medicines  and  Salues  for  sun- 
dry Diseases. 

"  London,  printed  for  Arthur  Johnsoii,  dwelling  neare 
the  great  north  dore  of  Paules.  16 1 1 ." 


t( 


A  spiritual  Spicerie :  containing  sundrie  sweet  Tractates 
of  Devotion  and  Piety.     By  Ri.  Brathwaite,  Esq. 

Cakt.  c.  1.  12.  c.  5.  13. 

My  welheloued  is  a  bundle  of  myrrhe  unto  me :  he  shall  lye  hetweene 

my  hrests. 

His  cheeks  are  as  a  led  of  spices. 

"  London,  printed  by  J.  TI.  for  George  Huttori  at  hii 
shop  within  turning  stile  in  Holborne,  1638." 

Vlmo. 

'*  To  the  truly  ennolled  Thomas  Lord  Fauconberge,  Baron  of' 
Yarom:  together  with  his  pious  Progeny,  those  succeeding 
Branches  of  a  prospering  Family,  R.  B.  zealously  dedicates 
this  Spiritual  Spicerie. 

Upon  the  translation  of  his  Div'me  Dialogue. 

To  you  (my  Lord)  who  knowes  th'  originall. 

This  may  seem  fruillesse  -,  yet  these  sacred  flowers. 

Like  a  Bride-poesie  at  a  Nuptiall, 

May  tender  choice  content  to  some  of  yours. 

Which  blest  effect  would  crowne  this  Work  of  ours. 

That  we  should  be  so  happy  as  to  giue. 

Where  we  do  Hue,  Rules  how  to  dye  and  Hue, 


^S7 

*'  Which  for  his  sake  we  aske  that  is  oar  Saviour, 
That  we  may  Uve  in's  feare,  dye  in  his  favour." 


The  Life  of  Jacobus  Gruytrodms,  Author  of  this  divine  Dia- 
logue: or  Christian  Manuall,  faithfully  rendered  according 
to  the  Orisinall. 


•to' 


*'  Jacobus  Gruytroditjs,  a  German,  a  man  singularly- 
versed  in  divine  and  humane  Learning  :  And  opposite  in  con- 
stancy of  opinion,  and  consonancie  of  doctrine,  to  those  surrep- 
titious errours  of  the  time ;  who,  as  he  had  commendably 
passed  his  youth  in  the  Liberal!  Sciences,  so  he  consecrated  and 
happily  bestowed  the  residue  of  his  time  to  the  honour  of  God, 
in  a  devout  privacie  :  having  his  pen  ever  vers'd  in  works  of 
devotion  and  piety  :  never  in  arguments  of  division  or  contro- 
versy. 

He  lived  in  the  yeare 

M.CCCC.LXXII.'' 

SPECIMEN 
Trom  Holy  Memorials,  or  Heavenly  Mementos. 

"  HIS  LIFE. 

MEMORIAL    IX. 

Life  is  a  race,  or  progress  to  death.  The  house  I  sojourne 
in,  a  tent  or  tabernacle.  The  people  I  converse  and  consort 
with,  as  I  am,  and  all  our  fathers  before  us,  pilgrims.  Every 
day  has  his  date,  yesterday  was  not  to  day,  nor  to  day  as  to- 
morrow.    Two  things  there  are,  which  makes  mee  ever  to 


2SS 

wonder,  the  more  I  thinke  of  them.     The  one  is,   to  heare  « 
stranger  (as  we  are  all)  to  breathe  out  so  many  longing  wishes, 
languishing  desires  :    "  O  that  I  were  at  home  !    O  that  I  were 
in  mine  owne  country  !"    And  what  home  is  this  hee  meanes  ? 
Is  it  his  owne  home  ?    his  owne  native  countrey  ?    No  ;    it  is 
his  earthly  tabernacle.     Perchance  he  liveth   (if  a  pilgrimage 
may  be  properly  called  a  living)   farre  in  the  north,  and  upon 
occasion  he  is  call'd  up  to  the  south  :    O  how  tedious  are  his 
houres  till  he  returne !    Yet  was  he  as  neare  his  countrey  before 
as  now.     The  latter  is,  to  see  a  poore  way-faring  man  (as  we 
are  all)  when  he  is  in  his  journey,  and  wearied  with  travaile, 
overload  himselfe,  as  if  he  purposely  meant  to  fore-slow  his 
speed  to  his  countrey  :  or  set  himselfe  on  building  in  the  way, 
as  if  he  had  quite  forgot  the  place  whereto  he  was  to  goe.   This, 
I  am  sure,  is  my  estate.     Albeit,  I  have  found  even  in  those 
who  would  have  highly  rejoyced  in  enjoying  that  light  which 
I  am  call'd  to  ;  and  no  doubt,  would  have  made  far  better  vse 
of  it,  than  I  doe ;  excellent  resolves  touching  their  contempt  of 
earth  :   although  their  understandings  were  so  darkned,  as  their 
misguided  thoughts  could  mount  no  higher.     "  Wheresoever 
we  be,  we  are  in  our  countrey,  and  our  countrey  with  us,  so  it 
be  well  with  us,   so  long  as  passions  of  the  minde  disquiet  us 
within,  and  infirmities  enfeeble  us  without."     I  heare  some  call 
this  life  a  prison ;    but  yet  these  who  call  it  so,  live  not  like 
prisoners.     Delights  and  delicacies  become  not  fetters.     Nay, 
if  we  truely  held  it  a  prison,  we  would  desire  our  libertie  :  but 
we  either  know  not,  or  acknowledge  not  our  misery.     Others 
can  call  it  a  banishment ;  others  a  death.     But  if  a  banishment, 
why  wish  wee  not  to  be  restored  ?  if  a  punishment,  why  seeke 
we  not  to  be  released  1  and  if  a  death,  why  sleepc  we  in  it,  and 
desire  not  to  be  raised  ?    No,  no,  these  are  but  words  in  the 
aire.     Like  such  as  commend  abstinence  in  their  surfets;  or 
discourse  of  mortification  in  their  cups.     Not  one  of  these,  who 
compare  themselves  to  prisoners,  would  be,  if  they  might  bee, 
freed  ;  nor  one  of  these  exiles,  infranchised ;  nor  one  of  those. 


289 

U'ho  hold  themselves  thus  punished,  delivered  ;  nor  one  of 
these,  who  hold  themselves  dead-alive,  revived.  This,  I  am 
sure,  is  my  case :  though  I  finde  all  things  in  the  world  to  bee 
nothing  but  vanitie  ;  and  of  those,  man  the  greatest  vanitie  ; 
and  of  all  men,  myselfe  the  fullest  of  vanitie.  For  I  have  re- 
joyced  all  ray  dayes,  in  a  thing  of  nought.  And  I  thought  still 
in  mine  heart  to  put  farre  away  the  evil  day  by  approaching  to 
the  seat  of  iniquitie  :  but  I  found  that  the  eyes  of  the  Almighty 
were  upon  mee,  and  that  I  groped  but  in  darknesse,  to  wound 
my  selfe.  Wretched  man  !  How  long  have  I  been  in  a  miser- 
able state,  and  knew  it  not  ?  How  long  have  I  beene  a  stranger 
to  my  father's  house,  and  returned  not  ?  I  have  read  it,  deare 
Lord,  in  thy  Book ;  and  T  have  found  it  by  experience  in  that 
publike  register  of  man's  mortality  :  how  this  life  is  truly  com- 
pared to  a  course,  to  a  poast ;  and  what  swifter  ?  To  a  weaver's 
shuttle ;  and  what  quicker  ?  To  a  tale  that  is  told  j  what 
shorter  ?  To  a  shadow  ;  what  sooner  vanishing  ?  To  grasse  j 
what  sooner  withering  ?  To  the  tracke  of  a  ship  ;  what  lesse 
appearing  ?  To  the  flight  of  a  bird  ;  what  mote  speedily  gli- 
ding ?  Yet  for  all  this  have  I  loaded  my  selfe  with  thicke  clay  ; 
as  if  I  were  too  fleet  in  my  course  to  heaven,  and  needed  trash- 
ing. But  would  you  know  in  what  places  I  have  beene  most 
"versed  j  and  with  what  persons  most  conversed  ?  I  shall  render 
you  a  just  account;  raeane  time,  what  account  I  shall  make  for 
ray  mis-pent  houres,  heaven  knowes. 

After  such  time,  as  my  parents  had  brought  mee  vp  at 
schoole,  to  get  me  an  inheritance  in  that,  wherewith  no  earthly 
providence  could  endow  me ;  I  was  sent  to  the  universitie  j 
where  (still  with  an  humble  acknowledgement  of  others'  fa- 
vours and  seasonable  endeavours)  I  became  such  a  proficient, 
as  time  call'd  mee,  and  examination  approv'd  me  for  a  graduate. 
And  in  these  studies  I  coniinued,  till  by  univeisall  voice  and 
vote,  I  was  put  upon  a  task,  whose  style  I  have,  and  shall  ever 
retaine,  the  Sonne  of  Earth  ;  Terray  Filius.  From  the  per- 
formance of  which  exercise^  whether  it  were  the  extraordinary 
VOL  II.  2  P 


290 

favour  which  the  universitie  pleased  to  grace  mee  withall,  or 
that  shee  found  some  tokens  in  mee  of  such  future  proficience 
as  might  answer  the  hopes  of  so  tender  a  mother,  I  know  not, 
but,  sure  I  am,  I  received  no  small  encouragement  both  in  the 
studies  and  free  tender  of  ample  preferment.  And  too  apt  was 
I  to  apply  this  the  worse  way.  For  this  extraordinBry  grace 
begot  in  mee  a  selfe-conceit  of  my  own  worth  :  ever  thinking, 
that  if  this  had  not  proceeded  from  some  more  deserving  part* 
in  me,  that  rich  seminary  of  all  learning  would  not  have  showne 
so  gracefnll  a  countenance  towards  me.  Notwithstanding,  I 
laboured  by  that  grace  which  was  given  mee,  to  suppresse  this 
opinion  in  mee,  arnl  humbly  to  aclcnowledge  my  wants  and 
weaknesse  in  all ;  my  abilitie  in  nothing.  But  applause  is  a 
dangerous  eare-riug,  which  I  found  by  giving  too  easie  eare  to 
my  owne  praise  j  which,  ai  it  deluded  my  judgement,  so  it 
expos'd  me  to  censure.  True,  too  true  I  found  it,  that  in  the 
sight  of  our  own  parts,  wee  need  uo  bon-owed  lights.  This  it 
was,  and  onely  this  that  induced  mee  to  put  my  selfe  forward 
in  publique  exercises  with  such  confidence :  wherein  (such 
bappinesse  it  is  to  be  possest  of  opinion)  I  seldome  or  never 
came  off  with  disgrace. 

Having  for  sundry  yeares  together  thus  remained  in  tlie 
bounteous  bosome  of  this  my  nursing-mother ;  all  which  time, 
i»  the  freedome  of  those  studies,  I  reap't  no  lesse  private  com- 
fort, than  I  received  from  others  incouragement ;  I  resolved  to 
set  tny  rest  upon  this,  to  bestowe  the  most  of  my  tin>e  in  that 
place,  if  it  stood  with  my  parents'  liking.  But  soone  was  I 
crossed  by  them  in  these  resolves  :  being  enjoyned  by  them  to 
twine  the  course  of  my  studies  from  those  sweet  academick 
exercises,  wherein  I  tasted  such  infinite  content,  and  to  betake 
myselfe  to  a  profession,  wliich  I  must  confesse  suited  not  well 
■with  ray  disposition :  for  the  fi*esh  fiagiant  flowers  of  divioc 
poe^e  and  morall  philosophy  could  not  like  well  to  be  removed, 
nor  transported  to  tliose  thorny  places  and  plasiies  of  the  law. 
But  ao  remedy  >  with  an  un\^illing  farevs^eU  I  took  my  leave  of 


291 

philosophy,  to  addresse  my  studies  to  that  knowledge  which  at 
first  seemed  so  far  different  from  my  element,  as  if  I  had  been 
now  to  be  moulded  to  some  new  dialect  j  for  though  I  was 
knowne  to  most  tongues,  I  became  a  meere  novice  in  this. 
Here  I  long  remained,  but  lightly  profited :  being  there  seated, 
where  I  studied,  more  for  acquaintance  than  kniowledge.  Nor 
was  I  the  onely  one  (though  a  principal  one)  who  run  deeply 
in  areeres  with  time,  and  gulled  the  eyes  of  opinion  with  a  law- 
gowne.  For  I  found  many  in  my  case,  who  could  not  recom- 
pence  their  parents  many  yeares'  charge  with  one  booke-case. 

Yet  amidst  these  dis-relishing  studies,  whereto  I  was  rather 
enforced  than  enclined,  I  bestowed  much  precious  time  (better 
spent  then  in  tavernes  and  brothells)  in  reviving  in  mee  the 
long-languishing  spirit  of  poetrie,  with  other  morall  assayes, 
which  so  highly  delighted  mee,  as  they  kept  mee  from  affecting 
that  loose  kind  of  libertie,  which  through  fulnesse  of  meanes, 
and  licentiousnesse  of  the  age,  I  saw  so  much  followed  and 
eagerly  pursued  by  many.  This  moved  me  some  times  to  fit 
my  busk  in' d  Muse  for  the  stage,  with  other  occasional  present- 
ments or  poems ;  which,  being  free-borne,  and  not  mercenarie, 
received  gracefuU  acceptance  of  all  such  as  understood  my  ranke 
and  qualitie.  For  so  happily  had  I  crept  into  opinion,  (but 
weake  is  that  happinesse  that  is  grounded  on  opinion)  by  closing 
so  well  with  the  temper  and  humour  of  the  time,  as  nothing 
was  either  presented  by  mee  (at  the  instancie  of  the  noblest 
and  most  generous  wits  and  spirits  of  that  time)  to  the  stage, 
or  committed  by  mee  to  the  presse,  which  past  not  with  good 
approvement  in  the  estimate  of  the  world.  Neither  did  I  use 
these  private  solaces  of  my  pen,  otherwise  than  as  a  play  onely 
to  the  imagination :  rather  to  allay  and  season  more  serious 
studies,  than  account  them  any  fixt  employment.  Nor  did  I 
onely  bestow  my  time  on  these  ;  for  I  addressed  my  selffe  to 
subjects  of  stronger  digestion;  being  such  as  required  more 
maturity  of  judgment,  though  lesse  pregnancie  of  invention : 
relishing  more  of  the  larope  than  those  lighter  measures  which 


^92 

I  had  formerly  penned:  wherein  I  grew  as  strong  in  the  opi» 
nion  and  reputation  of  others  as  before.  This,  I  must  confesse, 
begot  in  me  a  glowing  heat  and  conceit  of  my  selfe  :  but  tliis 
1  held  an  easie  errour,  and  the  more  dispensable,  because  arising 
from  the  infirmitie  of  nature.  Howsoever,  I  can  very  well  re- 
member (and  what  other  followers  can  bee  to  such  a  remem- 
brancer but  penitent  teares  and  incessant  feares)  that  I  held  it 
in  those  dayes  an  incomparable  grace  to  be  styled  one  of  the 
Tf^is.  Where,  if  at  any  time  invited  to  a  publique  feast,  or 
some  other  meeting  of  the  Muses,  wee  hated  nothing  more  than 
losing  time  j  reserving  ever  some  select  hcures  of  that  solemnity 
to  make  proofe  of  our  conceits  in  a  present  provision  of  epi- 
grams, anagrams,  with  other  expressive  (and  many  times  offen- 
sive) fancies. 

But  wits  so  ill  employed  were  like  weapons  put  into  mad 
men's  hands.     They  hurt  much,   benefitted  httle:    distasting 
more  than  they  pleased ;  for  they  liked  onely  such  men's  palats 
as  were  male-contents,  and  critically  affected.     By  this  time  I 
had  got  an  eye  in  the  world,  and  a  finger  in  the  street :     There 
goes  an  Author  !    One  of  the  Wits  !    Which  could  not  chuse, 
but  make  me  looke  bigge,  as  if  I  had  been  casten  in  a  new 
mold.    O  how  in  privacie,  when  noth'ng  but  the  close  evening, 
and  dark  walls  accompany  me,  dotli  the  remembrance  of  these 
lightest  vanities  perplex  mee  !     How  gladly  would  I  shun  the 
memory  of  them  !  How  willingly  forgoe  that  sweetnesse  which 
many  conceive  to  be  in  them  !    But  let  mee  goe  on  ;  for  I  am 
yet  but  entring  that  high-bet  path  of  my  younger  follies.  Hay- 
ing thus,  for  divers  years  together,  continued  at  inns  of  court ; 
where  that  opinion  the  world  had  of  my  works,  gained  mee 
more  friends,   than  the  opinion  men  had  of  my  law,  got  me 
f^es ;    (for  such  as  affected  scenes  more  than  suits  were  ray 
chents;)  I  thought  with  my  selfe  to  take  a  turne  or  two  in 
Pauls,   and  to  peruse  a  whole  gazetta  in  one  wslke.     This  i 
conceived  might  improve  me ;  first,  by  endearing  and  ingratia- 
ting my  selfe  with  that  societies  which,  I  must  confeise,  were 


293 

/ichly  endowed  with  two  excellent  parts.  Invention  and  Me- 
morie.  Secondly,  by  screwing  some  subject  from  their  rela- 
tions, which  might  set  my  pen  a  work  upon  occasion. 

But  I  found  not  there  what  I  expected,  which  made  race 
leave  that  walke,  and  turne  Peripateticke,   a  civill  exchange- 
man  ;  where  in  short  time  I  got  acquaintance  of  the  best ; 
being   such    gentle  merchants,    as  their  wealth  could  not  so 
darken  their  worth,   but  they  would  willingly  enter  lists  in  a 
combat  of  wit.     These,    I  grant,  tooke  great  felicitie  in  my 
company :    nor  did  it  repent  mee  of  bestowing  some  houres 
with  these,  whose  discourse  of  forraine  newes,  strengthened  by 
such  able  intelligence,  did  infinitely  please.     And  these,  with- 
out so  much  as  the  least  losse  to  themselves  (I  may  safely  vow) 
would  not  stick  upon  occasion  to  accommodate  me;    which 
winged  my  desires  for  the  court,  the  better  to  accomplish  mee: 
where  I  fonnd  gracefuU  acceptance,  with  choycest  acquaintance. 
But  Cynthia  could  not  be  still  in  her  full  orbe.     I  begun  to 
withdraw  my  thoughts  from  the  pursuit  of  these,  and  recount 
with  my  selfe  what  I  had  scene :  store  of  wealth  in  the  one, 
and  a  beseeming  state  in  the  other.     Yet  for  all  this  I  found 
my  selfe  but  a  planet  in  both.     Fixt,  I  could  not  bee,  till  some 
constant  calling  admitted  me.     I  resolved  then,  seeing  I  found 
nothing  either  in  court  or  citie  but  cares  :   cares  in  the  one,  of 
getting  to  hoord  and  gather ;  cares  in  the  other,  of  getting  to 
spend  and  scatter :    in  the  one,   more  rinde  and  pith ;  in  the 
olher,  more  pith  and  rinde.     This  partaking  more  of  comple- 
ment than  of  substance  :  yet  a  naturall  straine  of  insinuation  in 
both  :  but  their  objects  different.     The  one  making  a  cringe 
for  fashion  ;   the  other  for  gaine.     While  the  former  makes  his 
vowes  too  familiar  with  his  protests,  to  be  beleeved ;  the  other 
sets  too  deepe  a  glosse  of  his  commodities,  with  shop  oaths  to 
be  lik't.     The  one,  with  a  low  clook  of  your  servants  servant, 
proclaims  hirn  the  servant  of  time,  and  no  ones  seivant.     This 
I  wholly  dislik't,  for  I  found  the  title  of  servant  otherwise  ap- 
plyed  by  that  divine  vessell  of  election^  that  devout  sanctuarie 


294 

of  sanct'ification,  that  pure  mirrour  of  supreme  contemplation. 
His  title  was,  as  it  was  likewise  of  others  of  his  fellow-labourers. 
Paid  a  servant  of  Jesus  Christ ;  James  a  servant  of  Jesus  Christ  j 
Jude  a  servant  of  Jesus  Christ.  With  this  complement,  tliese 
began  their  epistles  :  a  saint-like  preamble  !  an  heavenly  court- 
ship !    Such  as  all  Christians  are  tb  imitate. 

The  other,  with  his  subtill  weights  and  measures  (reserving 

ever  by  best  thoughts  for  the  best)  made  me  suspect  him,  that 

bee  sold  his  commodities  by  retaile,    and  his  conscience  by 

wliole  sale.     Upon  review  of  these,  (I  say)  I  resolv'd  to  leave 

those  cinnamon  trees  of  the  court,  with  their  sweet  rindes ;  and 

those  palmatos  of  the  citie  with  their  broad  shades,  and  to  turne 

honest  countrey-man,  where  my  parents'  providence  had  setled 

a  competent  estate  upon  mee.     Here  I  lookt  to  finde  nothing 

but  plaine  dealing,  where  I  found  in  very  deed  nothing  lesse. 

For  upon  a  more  serious  perusall  of  that  life,  with  the  benefits 

that  rose  from  it,  and  conditions  of  those  who  were  borne  and 

bred  in  it,  I  found  a  cunning  colt  wrapt  up  in  a  russet  coat. 

Men  as  apt  to  catch,  as  if  they  had  been  hatcht  in  the  harpie's 

nest :  such  as  would  not  stick  to  hazard  their  part  and  portion 

in  the  tabernacle  for  a  symoniacall  contract.     And  still  I  went 

on  to  dive  into  the  qualitie  of  those  islanders  :  where  I  found 

some  pining  through  want,  others  repining  at  tlieir  neighbours' 

wealth,  few  or  none  content  with  their  estate :  yet  none  so 

pocre  in  estate,  as  hee  would  not,  though  he  spared  it  from  his 

belly,  have  a  fee  in  store  to  maintain  a  suit.     Long  I  had  not 

remained  in  this  fashion,  till  it  pleased  the  prince  to  put  mee  in 

comnnssion  for  administration  of  justice  :  a  vertue,  and  a  choyce 

one  too,  yet  such  an  one,  as  by  the  abuse  of  man,  not  of  time, 

may  be  compared  to  the  celedony  stone,  wliich  retaineth  her 

vertue  no  longer  than  it  is  rubbed  with  gold.     For  my  carriage 

therein  I  appeale  to  such  as  knew  mee :  many  hnperfections 

and  failings  (Heaven  knows)   accompanyed  mee,  which  by  an 

humble  acknowledgement  of  mine  owne  wants,  and  an  earnest 

desire  of  supply  by  God's  grace^  became  so  rectiiied  in  mee  j  as 


295 

what  before  seemed  crooked,  was  by  that  golden  rule  of  his 
divine  will  in  mee  straightened. 

Thus  have  I  passed  my  dayes  ;  traced  many  wayes ;  where 
the  longer  I  liv'd,  the  more  I  sinned ;  which  caused  mee  to 
wash  my  couch  with  teares,  and  to  remember  the  follies  of  my 
youth,  manhood,  and  age,  with  anguish  of  heart.  O  how  much 
it  now  grieves  mee,  to  have  grieved  so  much  at  the  sight  or 
thought  of  gray  hairs  J  and  to  have  grieved  so  little  at  the 
thought  or  sight  of  my  sinnes  !  May  it  then  be  my  care  to  call 
for  grace,  lest  I  bring  my  gray  haires  with  lasting  sorrow  to 
their  grave,  O  may  the  remainder  of  my  dayes  teach  me  to 
number  my  dayes,  that  I  may  goe  to  him,  and  live  with  him, 
who  is  the  length  of  dayes  !" 


"  The  Valley  of  Variet'ie :  or,  Discourse  Jilting  for  the 
Junes,  containing  very  learned  and  rare  Passages 
out  of  Antiquitie,  Philosophy,  and  History.  Col- 
lected for  the  use  of  all  ingenious  Spirits  and  true 
lovers  of  Learning.  By  Henry  Pcacham,  M^.  of 
Arts,  sometime  of  Trinitie  Colledge  in  Cambridge. 


-i7iuiilis  olim 


Ne  videar  vixisse. — Palingen. 

"  London,  printed  by  M.  P.  for  James  Bucket,  at  his 
shop  at  the  Inner-Temple  Gate  in  Fleet-Street, 
1638." 

12mo.  pp.  174. 


2Q6 


'■'■  To  the  Eight  Honourable  and  truly  Noble  Henry'*'  Earle 

of  Dover,  &c. 

M.\  Lord, 

I  have  beene  heretofore  very  much  ingaged 
to  your  Honour,  as  well  for  many  noble  courtesies  conferred 
upon  me  as  your  respect,  and  ever  well-wishing  towards  mee, 
altogether  unworthie :  I  confesse,  so  great  a  favour :  I  must 
hereunto  adde  the  dutie,  wherein  I  stand  obliged  unto  your 
religious  and  honourable  Countesse,  since  my  last  being  at  yonr 
house,  in  Broad  Street,  for  her  really  express'd  favour  to  me 
and  mine :  as  also  to  my  Lord  of  Rochford,  the  hope  of  your 
ancient  and  renowned  family. 

But  since  I  am  not  able.  Cum  tota  mea  suppellex  sit  Char- 
tacea,  as  Erasmus  saith  of  himself.  To  requite  you  with  aay 
thing  but  paper ;  I  offer  unto  your  Honour  these  selected  col- 
lections of  mine,  not  altogether  (at  your  houres  of  leisure) 
unworthie  your  view  and  perusall,  since,  for  ought  I  know, 
not  any  of  them  hath  English  before  :  beside  they  are  compact 
of  Rarities,  to  enable  ingenious  and  schollerly  discourse.  But 
howsoever,  such  as  they  are,  I  humbly  present  them  to  your 
Honour's  patronage,  (whom  I  know,  as  many  more  beside)  to 
be  a  true  lover  of  the  church  of  God,  as  also  of  learning,  and 
all  vertuous  parts ;  and  with  them,  ray  service  to  your  Honour^, 
snd  my  most  noble  Ladie ;  who  shall  ever  be 


Devoted  unto 

you  both 

Henry  Peacham." 

•  Henrj  Carey,     Editor, 


297 

EXTRACT. 
Chapter  xvi. 


ft 


Of  Margaret  the  Wife  of  Herman,  Earle  of  Henne- 

berge. 

This  Ladie  lived  in  the  time  of  Henrie  the  3d.  Emperor, 
who  brought  forth  at  one  birth  365  children,  the  just  number 
of  daies  in  the  yeare  ;  in  memory  whereof,  not  far  from  Leiden 
in  Holland,  in  a  village  called  Lansdunen,  there  is  yet  a  faire 
table  of  marble,  which  containeth  the  whole  historie  of  this 
stupendious  accident ;  which,  as  it  there  standeth  ingraven  upon 
the  marble,  I  will  traly  relate  :  for  I  my  self  have  twice  or 
thrice,  when  I  lived  in  Holland,  seen  the  same :  these  two 
verses  are  ingraven  uppermost. 

En  tibi  monstrosum  nimis,  et  memorabile  factum. 
Quale  nee  a  mundi  conditione  datum. 

Margaret  the  wife  of  Herman,  Earle  of  Henneberge,  and 
daughter  of  Florence  the  4th  Earle  of  Holland  and  Zeland, 
sister  of  \Yilliam,  King  of  the  Romanes,  and  after  Caesar,  or 
Governor  of  the  empire,  and  of  Alithea,  Countesse  of  Henault, 
whose  uncle  was  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  and  cousin  to  the 
Duke  of  Brabant,  and  the  Earle  of  Thuringia,  &c.  This  noble 
Countesse  beiag  about  forty  yeares  of  age,  upon  Easter  day, 
and  aboute  nine  of  the  clocke  in  the  yeare  of  our  Lord,  12/6, 
was  brought  to  bed  of  three  hundred  sixtie  and  five  child- 
ren, all  which  were  baptized  in  two  brazen  basons,  by  Guido 
the  Suffragane  of  Utrecht ;  the  males,  how  many  soever  there 
were  of  them,  were  christened  by  the  name  of  John  ;  the 
daughters  were  al  named  Elizabeth,  vi'ho  all  together  with  their 
mother  dyed  the  same  day,  and  with  their  mother  lie  buried  in 
this  church  of  Losduuen,  This  happened  by  the  meanes  of  a 
VOL.  II.  2  Q 


298 

poore  woman,  who  carried  in  her  armes  two  children,  who 
w^ere  twinnes,  and  both  of  them  males,  which  the  Countesse 
admiring,  said.  That  she  could  not  have  them  by  one  father, 
and  so  shooke  her  off  in  contempt  and  scorn.  Whereupon  this 
:poorc  woman,  being  much  perplexed  in  her  mind,  presently 
prayed  to  God  to  send  her  as  many  children  as  there  were 
dayes  in  the  whole  yeare :  which  thing  beside  the  course 
of  nature,  in  a  stupendious  and  wonderfull  manner  came  to 
^asse,  as  it  is  briefly  set  downe  and  declared  in  this  table  for  a 
.perpetuall  memorie,  testified  as  well  by  ancient  manuscripts,  as 
.by  many  printed  chronicles.  The  Almightie  and  great  God  of 
Heaven  hereupon  bee  feared,  honoured,  and  praysed,  from  this 
time  forth  evermore.     Amen." 


"  Spare-Minutes ;  or  resolved  Meditations,  and  Pre- 
meditations and  premeditated  Resolutions.  Writ- 
ten by  Arthur  Warwick. 


'  Ego  cur  acquirere  pauca 

Si  possim  invidear  ? 

The  fift  Edition. 

"  London,  printed  hy  G.  31.  for  Walter  Hammond,  and 
are  to  be  sold  by  Michael  Sparke,  in  Greene  Ar* 
bour,  1636." 

Small  12mo.  pp.  92.    2d.  Part,  pp.  99- 


"»-iS>34«^-4^a  <- 


'299 


DEDICATION. 

'*  To  the  Eight   IVbrshipftil,  my  much   honoured  Friend,  Sir 
IVilUam  Dodington,  Knight,  all  health  and  happiness. 

"  Right  Worshipful, 

I  WILL  not  make  an  over  large  gate  to  my 
little  city :  a  short  epistle  best  suits  with  so  small  a  volume  j 
and  both  fitly  resemble  your  knowledge  of  me,  and  mine  ac- 
quaintance with  you,  short  and  small.  But  a  mite  freely  given 
makes  a  poor  widow  liberal ;  and  in  this  present,  poor,  like  my 
abilities,  is  a  thankfulness,  infinite  like  yom-  deservings.  To 
speak  much  might  be  thought  flattery ;  to  say  nothing,  would 
be  known  ingratitude  :  I  must  therefore  be  short ;  I  may  not 
be  silent.  The  happy  fortune  of  my  tongue  hath  encouraged 
my  pen  :  And  I  humbly  crave  in  the  one,  what  I  favourably 
found  in  the  other,  a  courteous  acceptance.  Which  if  you 
please  to  add  to  your  former  favours  and  my  happiness,  1  shall 
have  just  cause  to  rest 

Your  Worship's  truly  devoted 

Arthur  Warwick." 

BESOLVED  MEDITATIONS,  ETC. 
I. 

"  It  Is  the  over-curious  ambition  of  many,  to  be  best  or  to 
be  none  :  if  they  may  not  do  well  as  they  would,  they  will  not 
do  so  well  as  they  may.  I  will  do  my  best  to  do  tlie  best ;  and 
what  I  want  in  power,  supply  in  will.  Thus  whiles  I  pay  in 
part,  I  shall  not  be  a  debtor  for  all.  Ho  owes  most  that  pays 
nothing. 


300 


II. 


''  Pride  is  the  greatest  enemy  to  reason,  and  discretion  the 
greatest  opposite  to  pride.  For  whiles  wisdom  makes  art  the 
ape  of  nature,  pride  makes  nature  the  ape  of  art.  The  wise 
man  shapes  his  apparel  to  his  body ;  the  proud  man  shapes  his 
body  by  his  apparel.  'Tis  no  marvel  then,  if  he  know  not  him- 
self, when  he  is  not  to  day,  like  him  he  was  yesterday ;  apd 
less  marvel,  if  good  men  will  not  know  him,  when  he  forgets 
himself,  and  all  goodness.  I  should  fear,  whiles  I  thus  change 
my  shape,  lest  my  Maker  should  change  his  opinion  :  and  find- 
ing me  not  like  him  he  made  me,  reject  me,  as  none  of  his 
making.  I  would  any  day  put  off  the  old  cause  of  my  apparel, 
but  not  every  day  put  on  new  fashioned  apparel.  I  see  great 
reason  to  be  ashamed  of  my  pride ;  but  no  reason  to  be  proud 
of  my  sharne." 


III. 

"  The  reason  that  many  men  want  their  desires  is,  because 
their  desires  want  reason.  He  may  do  what  he  will,  that  will 
do  what  he  may." 


XXII. 

''  Abundance  is  a  trouble  ;  want  a  misery ;  honour  a  bur- 
den }  baseness  a  scorn ;  advancements  dangerous ;  disgrace 
odious.  Only  a  competent  estate  yields  the  quiet  of  content, 
I  will  not  climb,  lest  I  fall ;  nor  lie  on  the  ground,  lest  I  am 
trod  on.  I  am  safest  whiles  my  legs  bear  me.  A  competent 
heat  is  most  healthful  for  my  body  j  I  would  desire  neither  to 
freeze  nor  burn," 


301 


XXXII. 


"  When  I  see  leaves  drop  fi-om  their  trees,  in  the  beginning 
of  Autumn,  just  such,  think  I,  is  the  friendship  of  the  world. 
Whiles  the  sap  of  maintenance  lasts,  my  friei.ds  suarm  in 
abundance;  but  in  tiie  winter  of  my  need,  they  leave  me  naked. 
He  is  an  happy  man  that  hath  a  true  friend  at  his  need  :  but 
he  is  more  tmly  happy  that  hath  no  need  of  his  friend." 


^ 

L. 

*■*"  It  is  one,  not  of  the  least  evils,  not  to  avoid  the  appear- 
ance of  evil,  which  oft  makes  the  innocent  justly  punished  with 
undeserved  suspicion.  I  would  desire  to  be  thought  good  j  yet 
I  had  rather  be  so.  It  is  no  small  happiness  to  be  free  from 
suspicion  ;  but  a  greater  to  be  void  of  offence.  I  would  wil- 
lingly be  neither  evil,  nor  suspected :  but  of  the  two,  I  had 
rather  be  suspected,  and  not  deserve  it,  than  deserve  evil,  and 
not  be  suspected." 


PART  II.     (Posthumous.) 
An  engraved  Frontispiece  by  T.  Clarke. 

"A  brief  Elogium  upon  this  Author,  and  his  pious  Meditations, 
with  an  allusion  to  this  emhlemalical  Frontispiece. 

By  George  Wither. 

"  Inflam'd  with  love,  and  winged  vinth  desire. 

This  pious  heart,  in  life- time,  did  aspire  .  \   .,',. 


302 

Above  the  world ;  and  with  a  true  delight 
Enjoy'd  the  day-time  ;  and  employ'd  the  night 
In  dimbing  nearer  to  that  Three-in-One, 
"Who  tilleth  all  things^  and  is  fill'd  of  none. 

The  Law's  mysterious  night,  the  Gospel's  day. 
Affliction's  moonshine,  and  the  sunny  ray 
Of  prosperous  Hopes,  did  limit  out  that  path. 
Through  which  his  contemplation  mounted  hath. 
And  up  above  those  columns  made  him  rise, 
A  pleased,  and  a  pleasing  sacrifice. 

From  out  of  his  dead  embers,  raked  were 
A  few  quick  sparklings  ;  which  have  kindled  here 
These  papers ;  and  were  left  behind,  to  shew 
Which  way  his  well-disposed  spirit  flew  : 
And  that  their  flame  to  others  may  derive 
The  light  and  heat  of  this  Contemplative. 

Accept,  as  God  hath  done,  this  broken-heart : 
For  every  parcel  yields,  from  every  part, 
A  bright  reflection  of  his  living  graces. 
In  just  so  many  perfect  looking-glasses. 
As  here  are  pieces ;  and  ye  may  by  these 
Put  on  fair  Virtue's  dressings,  if  you  please." 

Then  follows  a  copy  of  Latin  verses  on  the  same 
frontispiece  signed,  Guliel.  Haydock. 

DEDICATION. 

*'  To  the  virtuous  and  religious  Gentlewoman,  my  much  esteem- 
ed  friend,  Mrs.  Anne  Ashton,  be  health  and  happiness  here, 
and  hereafter. 

"■  Worthy  Mistress, 

The  acknowledgement  of  your  favours  shall 
be  my  meanest  thanks ;    and  to  thank  you  for  those  favour3 


503 

must  be  my  best  acknowledgement.  I  can  do  no  more  3  I  will 
do  no  less.  Nor  have  I  any  better  means,  to  shew  my  own  living 
gratefulness,  than  by  coupling  it  with  my  dead  son's  thankful- 
ness, and  by  reviving  his,  to  enliven  my  own,  and  to  testify 
both  to  posterity,  by  this  small  memorial.  Neither  is  it  un- 
suitable, that  his  study  should  yield  some  matter  of  thankfulness 
after  his  death,  who  in  his  life  time  studied  to  be  thankful  to 
you,  his  most  deserving  friend.  Which  gave  me,  his  sad  fa-- 
ther,  a  fit  hint  to  dedicate  these  his  last  Meditations  to  yourself, 
to  whose  name  and  worth  he  meditated  and  intended  to  raise  a 
fairer  monument,  had  he  lived.  This  prevented,  what  remain- 
eth,  but  that  this  remnant  cloath  his  thankfulness  as  far  as  it 
can;  and  supply  the  necessitated  defect  of  his  uneftected  purpose. 
These  collected  out  of  those  loose  papers  seem  to  be  wrought 
in  some  sudden  temperate  heat  of  his  honest  fancy^  and  ham- 
mered on  the  anvill  of  objected  occasions;  and  being  forged 
roughly  into  these  shapes,  were  cast  a  cooling  into  the  next 
pages  that  came  to  hand  :  and  so  wanting  filing  a^d  polishing, 
must  crave  pardon  for  their  ruder  form.  They  assume  their 
greatest  worth  and  value  from  your  courteous  acceptance,  and 
account  it  their  chiefest  happiness,  if  for  them  you  love  his 
memory  while  you  live,  who  endeavoured  to  make  your  me- 
mory out  live  yourself :  This,  if  you  deign  to  do,  you  shall 
much  comfort  the  sadness  of 

Your  assured  and 

devoted  friend, 

Arthur  Warwick.." 


MEDITATION   VII. 


"  He  that  too  much  admires  the  glory  of  a  prince's  court, 
and  drawn  up  thither  by  his  ambition,  thinks  high  places  to  be 
the  highest  happiness,  let  him  view  the  foggy  mists,  the  moist 


Vapours,  and  light  exhalations  drawn  up  frdm  the  earth  by  the 
attractive  power  of  the  glorious  sunbeams  :  which  when  they 
are  at  highest,  either  spend  themselves  there  in  portending 
meteors,  to  othei's'  terror  and  their  own  consumption ;  and 
either  by  resolution  are  turned  into  rain,  or  congelation  unto 
hail  or  snow,  which  sink  lower  into  the  earth  at  their  fall,  than 
they  were  at  their  ascending.  For  my  part  I  may  admire  such  a 
glowing  coal ;  I  will  not  with  the  satyr  kiss  it.  As  I  think  it 
not  the  least  and  last  praise  tp  please  sinners  ;  so,  1  know,  it  is 
not  the  least  danger  of  times,  to  hve  witli  them,  procul  a  Jove, 
procid  afubnine.  He  presumes  too  much  of  his  own  bright- 
ness, that  thinks  to  shine  clear  near  the  sun ;  where  if  his  light 
be  his  own,  it  must  be  obscured  by  comparison ;  if  borrowed 
from  the  sun,  then  is  it  not  his,  but  another's  glory  :  A  candle 
i4i  the  night's  obscurity  shines  brighter  then  a  torch  at  noon- 
day. And  Caesar  thought  it  a  greater  glory  to  be  the  first  man 
in  some  obscure  town,  than  the  second  man  in  Rome,  the  head 
city  of  the  world." 


^ 

IX. 

"  When  I  see  the  sun  rising  from  the  East  in  glory,  like  a 
giant  ready  for  the  course;  within  an  hour's  sp-^ce  obscured 
with  mists,  darkened  with  clouds,  and  sometimes  eclipsed  with 
the  moon's  inferior  body :  and  however,  without  these,  after 
noon  declining,  descending,  setting,  and  buried  under  our  ho- 
rizon ;  I  seem  to  see  an  earthly  King  mounting  his  throne  in 
glory;  yet  soon  clouded  with  cares,  and  fear  of  dangers;  some- 
times darkened  in  honour  by  the  malicious  envy  of  his  subjects ; 
sometimes  eclipsed  In  his  dominions  by  the  interposition  of 
Foreign  Powers  ;  and  however,  without  these,  descending  and 
settino-  at  the  evening  of  his  life,  and  seldom  passing  the  whole 
day  thereof  in  perfect  continual  glory.  Then  think  I,  O  the 
odds  of  comfort  in  that  heavenly  and  these  earthly  kingdoms  j 


30 


/r 


O  the  comfort  of  this  odds !  There  each  Saint  is  a  glorious 
King  j  each  King  hath  his  incorruptible  crown  j  each  crown  a 
boundless,  fearless,  endless  kingdom.  Let  me  strive  for  the 
glory  of  such  a  kingdom  only,  which  is  a  kingdom  of  such 
glory. 

Faelices  animae,  quibus  haec  cognoscere  sola, 
luque  domos  superum  scandere,  cura  fuit." 


A  Meditation  of  the  Author,  found  written  before  a  Sermon  of 
his,  for  Easter- Day. 

"  My  heart  a  matter  good  indites ;  O  then, 
Lord,  make  my  tongue  a  ready  writer's  pen  j 
That  so  assisted  by  thy  grace's  art. 
Thy  grace  unto  the  world  I  may  impart : 
So  raise  my  thoughts,  my  willing  mind  so  bless. 
That  I  thy  glorious  rising  may  express. 
And  rais'd  from  death  of  sinful  ignorance. 
Thy  self-advancing  power  may  advance  j 
And  if  my  simple  willingness  wants  skill. 
Thou  madst  me  willing ;  Lord,  accept  my  will." 

Another,  written  before  a  Sermon  of  his,  en  the  LT.  Psalm,  v.  i. 

"  Lord,  guide  my  tongue,  that  covets  to  declare 
How  great  my  sins,  how  great  thy  mercies  are. 
I  both  would  shew  ;  and  yet  so  great  is  either. 
That  whilst  I  both  would  shew,  1  can  shew  neither  : 
They  both  are  infinite ;  they  both  began. 
Ere  I  beginning  had,  or  shape  of  man. 
Where  then  shall  I  begin,  witli  hope  to  shew 
How  great  both  are,  who  both  exceeding  know. 

YOL.   II.  2  R 


306 

Mercy  still  pardons }  Sin  doth  still  offend ; 
And  being  endless  both,  where  shall  I  end  ? 
Thou  first  and  last,  whose  mercy  heals  my  sin. 
Shew  me  to  end,  and  teach  me  to  begin  ! 


The  last  thing  the  Author  wrote,  a  Jew  days  before  his  death, 

"  A  bubble  broke,  its  air  looseth. 
By  which  loss  the  bubble's  lost ; 
Each  frost  the  fairest  flowers  bruiseth  ; 
Whose  lives  vanish  with  that  frost. 
Then  wonder  not  we  die,  if  life  be  such  ; 
But  rather  wonder  whence  it  is  we  live  so  much. 

Tales,  long  or  short,  whether  offending 

Or  well  pleasing,  have  their  end  : 
The  glass  runs ;  yet  the  set  time  ending. 
Every  atom  doth  descend. 
If  life  be  such,  (as  such  life  is,  'tis  sure) 
When  tales  and  times  find  ends,  why  should  life  still  endure  ? 

This  world  is  but  a  walk  of  pain,  . 

That  has  only  end  by  death. 
This  life's  a  war,  in  which  we  gain 
Conquest  by  the  loss  of  breath. 
Who  would  not  warfare  and  travels  cease. 
To  live  at  home  in  rest,  and  rest  at  home  in  peace  I 

Nothing  here  but  constant  pains. 

Or  unconstant  pleasures  be  : 
Worthless  ti'easures  ;  losing  gains. 
Scanty  store,  chain'd  liberty. 
If  life  afford  the  best  no  better  fate. 
How  welcome  is  that  death,  that  betters  that  sad  state  ! 


307 

What's  the  earth,  when  trimmest  drest. 

To  that  crystal  spangled  dwelling  ? 
Yet  the  saint,  in  glory  least. 
Is  in  glory  far  excelling. 
Glorious  Redeemer,  let  this  earth  of  mine. 
Thy  glorious  body  see,  and  in  thy  glory  shine. 

Oft  I  see  the  darksome  night 

To  a  glorious  day  returning ; 
As  oft  doth  sleep  entomb  my  sight. 
Yet  I  wake  again  at  raoming. 
Bright  Sun,  return,  when  sleep  hath  spent  deadi's  night. 
That  these  dim  eyes  of  mine  may  in  thy  light  see  light. 


MARLOW'S  AND  CHAPMAN'S  HERO  AND 

LEANDER.* 


'••00@00*»« 


The  Argument  of  the  Third  Sestyad. 

"  Leander  to  the  envious  light 

Resigns  his  night-sports  with  the  night. 
And  swims  the  Hellespont  again ^ 
Thesme  the  deity  sovereign 
Of  customs  and  religious  rites 
Appears,  improving  his  delights. 
Since  nuptial  honours  he  neglected^ 
Which  straight  he  vows  shall  he  effected. 
Fair  Hero,  left  devirginate, 
Weighs,  and  with  fury  wails  her  state : 
But  with  her  love  and  woman  wit 
She  argues,  and  approveth  it. 

f  New  light  gives  new  directions,  fortunes  new. 
To  fashion  our  endeavours  that  ensue ; 
*  See  p.  171. 


308 

More  harsh,  at  least  more  hard,  more  grave  and  high 
Our  subject  runs,  and  our  stern  Muse  must  fly. 
Love's  edge  is  taken  off,  and  tliat  light  flame. 
Those  thoughts,  joys,  longings,  that  before  became 
High  unexperienc'd  blood,  and  maids'  sharp  plights. 
Must  novi^  grow  staid,  and  censure  the  delights. 
That  being  enjoy'd  ask  judgement  j  now  we  praise. 
As  having  parted :  evenings  crown  the  days. 

And  now,  ye  wanton  Loves,  and  young  Desires, 
Pied  Vanity,  the  mint  of  strange  attires ; 
Ye  lisping  Flatteries,  and  obsequious  Glances, 
Relentful  Musics,  and  attractive  Dances, 
And  you  detested  Charms  constraining  love. 
Shun  love's  stol'n  sports  by  that  these  lovers  prove. 

By  this  the  Sovereign  of  heaven's  golden  fires. 
And  young  Leander,  lord  of  his  desires> 
Together  from  their  lovers'  arms  arose: 
Leander  into  Hellespontus  throws 
His  Hero-handled  body,  whose  delight 
Made  him  disdain  each  other  epithet. 
And  as  amidst  the'  enamour' d  waves  he  swims. 
The  God  of  Gold  of  purpose  gilt  his  limbs. 
That  this  word  guilt,  including  double  sense. 
The  double  guilt  of  his  incontinence. 
Might  be  exprest,  that  had  no  stay  t'employ 
The  treasure  which  the  love-god  let  him  joy 
In  his  dear  Hero,  with  such  sacred  thrift. 
As  had  beseem' d  so  sanctified  a  gift : 
But,  like  a  greedy  vulgar  prodigal. 
Would  on  the  stock  dispend,  and  rudely  fall 
Before  his  time,  to  that  unblessed  blessing. 
Which  for  lust's  plague  doth  perish  with  possessing. 

Joy  graven  in  sense ;  like  joy  in  water  wastes ; 

Without  preserve  of  virtue,  nothing  iasts. 
What  man  is  he,  that  with  a  wealthy  eye. 
Enjoys  a  beauty  richer  than  the  sky. 


309 

Through  whose  white  skin,  softer  than  soundest  sleep. 

With  damask  eyes,  the  ruby  blood  doth  peep. 

And  runs  in  branches  through  her  azure  veins. 

Whose  mixture  and  first  fire  his  love  attains  -, 

Whose  both  hands  limit  both  love's  deities. 

And  sweeten  human  thoughts  like  Paradise  j 

Whose  disposition  silken  is  and  kind. 

Directed  with  an  earth-exempted  mind  j 

Who  thinks  not  heaven  with  such  a  love  is  given  ? 

And  who  like  earth  would  spend  that  dowser  of  heaven. 

With  rank  de«ire  to  joy  it  all  at  first  ? 

What  simply  kills  our  hunger,  quencheth  thirst. 

Clothes  but  our  nakedness,  and  makes  us  live  ! 

Praise  doth  not  any  of  her  favours  give : 

But  what  doth  plentifully  minister 

Beauteous  apparel  and  delicious  cheer. 

So  order'd  that  it  still  excites  desire. 

And  still  gives  pleasure  freeness  to  aspire  j 

The  palm  of  bounty,  ever  moist  preserving  : 

To  love's  sweet  life  this  is  the  courtly  carving. 

Thus  Time  and  all  states  ordering  ceremony 

Had  banish'd  all  offence:  Time's  golden  thigh 

Upholds  the  flow'ry  body  of  the  earth. 

In  sacred  harmony,  and  every  birth 

Of  men,  and  actions,  makes  legitimate. 

Being  us'd  aright ;  the  use  of  time  is  fate. 

Yet  did  the  gentle  flood  transfer,  once  more. 
This  prize  of  love  home  to  his  father's  shore; 
Where  he  unlades  himself  of  that  false  wealth 
That  makes  few  rich;  treasures  compos'd  by  stealth. 
And  to  his  sister  kind  Hermione, 
Who  on  the  shore  kneel' d  praying  to  the  sea 
For  his  return,  he  all  Love's  goods  did  show. 
In  Hero  seiz'd  for  him,  in  him  for  Hero. 


310 

His  most  kind  sister  all  his  secrets  knew. 
And  to  her,  singing,  like  a  shower  he  flew, 
Sprinkling  the  earth,  that  to  their  tombs  took  in 
Streams  dead  for  love,  to  leave  his  ivory  skin. 
Which  yet  a  snowy  foam  did  leave  above. 
As  soul  to  the  dead  water  that  did  love  ; 
And  from  thence  did  the  first  white  roses  spring. 
For  Love  is  sweet  and  fair  in  every  thing. 
And  all  the  sweeten'd  shore,  as  he  did  go. 
Was  crown'd  with  od'rous  roses,  white  as  snow. 
Love-blest  Leander  was  with  love  so  filled. 
That  love  to  all  that  touch'd  him  he  instilled. 
And  as  the  colours  of  aU  things  we  see. 
To  our  sight's  powers  communicated  be  : 
So  to  all  objects  that  in  compass  came 
Of  any  sense  he  had,  his  senses'  flame 
Flow'd  from  his  parts,  with  force  so  virtual. 
It  fir'd  with  sense  things  mere  insensual. 

Now  with  warm  baths  and  odours  comforted. 
When  he  lay  down  he  kindly  kiss'd  his  bed. 
As  consecrating  it  to  Hero's  right. 
And  vow'd  thereafter,  that  whatever  sight 
Put  him  in  mind  of  Hero,  or  her  bliss. 
Should  be  her  altar  to  prefer  a  kiss. 

Then  laid  he  forth  his  late  enriched  arms. 
In  whose  white  circle  Love  writ  all  his  charms. 
And  made  his  characters  sweet  Hero's  Hmbs, 
When  on  his  breast's  warm  sea  she  sidehng  swims. 
And  as  those  arms,  held  up  in  circle,  met. 
He  said ;  see,  sister.  Hero's  carquenet. 
Which  she  had  rather  wear  about  her  neck. 
Than  all  the  jewels  that  doth  Juno  deck. 

But  as  he  shook,  with  passionate  desiro;, 
To  put  in  flame  his  other  secret  fire. 


311 

A  music  so  divine  did  pierce  his  ear. 

As  never  yet  his  ravish' d  sense  did  hear  ; 

When  suddenly  a  hght  of  twenty  hues. 

Brake  through  the  roof,  and  like  the  rainbow-views, 

Amaz'd  Leander,  in  whose  beams  came  down 

The  Goddess  Ceremony,  with  a  crown 

Of  all  the  stars  ;  and  heaven  with  her  descended  : 

Her  flaming  hair  to  her  bright  feet  extended. 

By  which  hung  all  the  bench  of  deities ; 

And  in  a  chain,  compact  of  ears  and  eyes. 

She  led  Rehgion ;  all  her  body  was 

Clear  and  transparent  as  the  purest  glass. 

For  she  was  all  presented  to  the  sense  :  * 

Devotion,  Order,  State,  and  Reverence, 

Her  shadows  were  ;   Society,  Memory  ; 

All  which  her  sight  made  live,  her  absence  die. 

A  rich  disparent  pentacle  she  wears. 

Drawn  fiall  of  circles  and  strange  characters : 

Her  face  was  changeable  to  every  eye ; 

One  way  look'd  ill,  another  graciously ; 

Which  while  men  view'd,  they  cheerfial  were  and  holy  ; 

But  looking  off,  vicious  and  melancholy. 

The  snaky  patlis  to  each  observed  law. 

Did  Policy  in  her  broad  bosom  draw  ; 

One  hand  a  mathematic  christal  sways. 

Which  gathering  in  one  line  a  thousand  rays 

From  her  bright  eyes  confusion  burns  to  death. 

And  aU  estates  of  men  distinguisheth. 

By  it  Morality,  and  Comeliness, 

Themselves  in  aU  their  sightly  figures  dress. 

Her  other  hand  a  laurel  rod  applies. 

To  beat  back  Barbarism  and  Avarice, 

That  followed,  eating  earth  and  excrement 

And  human  limbs ;  and  would  make  proud  assent 


312 

To  seats  of  Gods,  were  Ceremony  slain ; 

The  Hours  and  Graces  bore  her  glorious  train ; 

And  all  the  sweets  of  our  society 

Were  spher'd  and  treasur'd  in  her  bounteous  eye. 

Thus  she  appear'd,  and  sharply  did  reprove 

Leander's  bluntness  in  his  violent  love ; 

Told  him  how  poor  was  substance  without  rites. 

Like  bills  unsign'd  ;  desires  without  delights ; 

Like  meats  unseason'  d  j  like  rank  corn  that  grows 

On  cottages,  that  none  or  reaps  or  sows  : 

Not  being  with  civil  forms  confirm'd  and  bounded. 

For  human  dignities  and  comforts  founded  : 

But  loose  and  secret  all  their  glories  hide ; 

Fear  fills  the  chamber.  Darkness  decks  the  bride.* 

She  vanish'd,  leaving  pierc'd  Leander's  heart 
With  sense  of  his  unceremonious  part. 
In  which  with  plain  neglect  of  nuptial  rites 
He  close  and  flatly  fell  to  his  dehghts  : 
And  instantly  he  vow'd  to  celebrate 
All  rites  pertaining  to  his  married  state. 
So  up  he  gets,  and  to  his  fother  goes. 
To  whose  glad  ears  he  doth  his  vows  disclose  : 
The  nuptials  are  resolv'd  with  utmost  power. 
And  he  at  night  would  swim  to  Hero's  tower. 
From  whence  he  meant  t&  Sestus'  forked  bay 
To  bring  her  covertly,  where  ships  must  stay. 
Sent  by  her  father,  thoroughly  rig'dand  luan'd. 
To  waft  her  safely  to  Abydus'  strand. 
There  leave  we  him  ;  and  with  fresh  wing  pursue 
Astonish'd  Hero,  whose  most  wished  view 
I  thus  long  have  forborn,  because  I  left  her 
So  out  of  countenance,  and  her  spirits  bereft  her. 
To  look  of  one  abash' d  is  impudence. 
When  of  slight  faults  he  hath  too  deep  a  sense: 

'  A  beautiful  line,  anticipating  by  a  century  the  rhythm  of  Dryden.  Editor. 


313 

Her  blushing  heat  her  chamber  :  she  look'd  out, 
And  all  the  air  she  purpled  round  about. 
And  after  it  a  foul  black  day  befell. 
Which  ever  since  a  red  mom  doth  foretell : 
And  still  renews  our  woes  for  Hero's  woe ; 
And  foul  it  prov'd,  because  it  figur'd  so 
The  next  night's  horror,  which  prepare  to  hear  5 
I  fail  if  it  profane  your  daintiest  ear. 

*  Then  now  most  strangely-intellectual  Fire, 
That  proper  to  my  soul  hast  power  t'  inspire 
Her  burning  faculties,  and  with  the  wings 
Of  thy  unsphered  flame  visitst  the  springs 
Of  spirits  immortal !  Now  (as  swift  as  Time 
Doth  foUow  motion)  find  th'  eternal  clime 
Of  his  fiee  soul,  whose  living  subject  stood 
Up  to  the  chin  in  the  Pierean  flood. 
And  drunk  to  me  half  this  Musean  story. 
Inscribing  it  to  deathless  memory  : 
Confer  with  it,  and  make  my  pledge  as  deep. 
That  neither's  draught  be  consecrate  to  sleep. 
Tell  it  how  much  his  late  desires  I  tender. 
If  yet  it  know  not  and  to  light  surrender 
My  soul's  dark  offspring,  willing  it  should  die 
To  loves,  to  passions,  and  society ! 

Sweet  Hero  left  upon  her  bed  alone. 
Her  maidenhead,  her  vows,  Leander  gone. 
And  nothing  with  her  but  a  violent  crew 
Of  new-come  thoughts,  that  yet  she  never  knew. 
Even  to  herself  a  stranger ;  was  much  like 
Th'  Iberian  city  that  war's  hand  did  strike 
By  English  force,  in  princely  Essex'  guide. 
Whence  Peace  assur'd  her  towers  had  fortified; 
And  golden-finger' d  India  had  bestow'd 
Such  wealth  on  her,  tliat  strength  and  empire  flow'd 

•  Here  seems  to  begin  Chapman's  part,  with  a  noble  addres*  to  the  spirit 
of  his  departed  precursor,  Marlo\T, 

YOL.  II.  2  S 


314 

Into  her  turrets  ;  and  her  virgin  waist 

The  wealthy  girdle  of  the  sea  enibrac'd  : 

Till  our  Leander,  that  made  Mars  his  Cupid, 

For  soft  love-suits,  with  iron  thunders  chid  : 

Swum  to  her  towns,  dissolv'd  her  virgin  zone ; 

Led  in  his  power  and  raade  Confusion 

Run  through  her  streets  amaz'd,  that  she  suppos'd 

She  had  not  been  in  her  own  walls  inclos  d  : 

But  rapt  by  wonder  to  some  foreign  state. 

Seeing  all  her  issue  so  disconsolate  : 

And  all  her  peacefull  mansions  possest 

With  war's  just  spoil,  and  many  a  foreign  guest 

From  every  corner  driving  an  enjoyer. 

Supplying  it  with  power  of  a  destroyer. 

So  far'd  fair  Hero  in  th'  expugned  fort 

Gf  her  chaste  bosom  ;  of  every  sort 

Strange  thoughts  possest  her,  ransacking  her  breast. 

For  that  that  was  not  there,  her  wonted  rest. 

She  was  a  mother  straight,  and  bore  with  pain. 

Thoughts  that  spake  straight,  and  wish' d  their  mother  slain; 

She  hates  their  lives,  and  they  their  own  and  hers. 

Such  strife  still  gnjws  where  sin  the  race  prefers. 

Love  is  a  golden  bubble,  full  of  df-eams. 

That  waking  breah,  and  fills  us  with  extremes. 

She  mus'd  how  she  could  look  upon  her  Sire, 

And  not  shew  that  without,  that  was  intire. 

For  as  a  glass  is  an  inanimate  eye. 

And  outward  forms  imbraceth  inwardly  : 

So  is  the  eye  an  animate  glass,  that  shews 

In  forms  without  us,  and  as  Phoebus  throws 

His  beams  abroad,  though  he  in  clouds  be  closed. 

Still  glancin:^  by  them  till  he  find  opposed, 

A  loose  and  rorid  vapour  that  is  fit 

T"  event  his  searching  beams,  and  useth  it 


3)5 


To  form  a  tender  twenty-coloured  eye. 

Cast  in  a  circle  round  about  the  sky. 

So  wlien  our  fiery  soul,  our  body's  star 

(That  ever  is  in  motion  circular) 

Conceives  a  formj  in  seeking  to  display  it 

Through  all  our  cloudy  parts,  it  doth  convey  it 

Forth  at  the  eye,  as  the  most  pregnant  place. 

And  that  reflects  it  round  about  the  face. 

And  this  event  uncourtly  Hero  thought. 

Her  inward  guilt  would  in  her  looks  have  wrought: 

For  yet  the  world's  stale  cunning  she  resisted. 

To  bear  foul  thoughts,  yet  forge  what  looks  she  listed, 

And  held  it  for  a  very  silly  sleight 

To  make  a  perfect  metal  counterfeit : 

Glad  to  disclaim  herself,  proud  of  an  art. 

That  makes  the  face  a  pandar  to  the  heart. 

Those  be  the  painted  moons,  whose  lights  profane 

Beauty's  true  heaven,  at  full  still  in  their  wanej 

Those  be  the  Lapwing  faces  that  still  cry. 

Here  t'is,  when  that  they  vow  is  nothing  nigh. 

Base  fools,  when  every  Moorish  fool  can  teach 

That  which  men  think  the  height  of  human  reach. 

But  custom,  that  the  apoplexy  is 

Of  bedrid  nature,  and  lives  led  amiss. 

And  takes  away  all  feeling  of  offence. 

Yet  braz'd  not  Hero's  brow  with  impudencej 

And  this  she  thought  most  hard  to  bring  to  pass,     , 

To  seem  in  countenance  other  than  she  was. 

As  if  she  had  two  souls  ;  one  for  the  face. 

One  for  the  heart,  and  that  they  shifted  place 

As  either  list  to  utter,  or  conceal 

"What  they  conceiv'd:  or  as  one  soul  did  deal 

With  both  affairs  at  once,  keeps  and  ejects 

Both  at  an  instant  contrary  effects : 


316 

Retention  and  ejection  in  her  powers 

Being  acts  alike  :  for  this  one  vice  of  ours. 

That  forms  the  thought,  and  sways  the  countenance^ 

Rules  both  our  motion  and  our  utterance. 

These  and  more  grave  conceits  toil'd  Hero's  spirits- ; 
For  though  the  light  of  her  discoursive  wits, 
Perhaps  might  find  some  little  hole  to  pass 
Through  all  these  worldly  cinctures  ;  yet  alas 
There  was  a  heavenly  flame  incompass'd  her  j 
Her  goddess,  in  whose  Fane  she  did  prefer 
Her  virgin  vows,  from  whose  impulsive  sight 
She  knew  the  black  shield  of  the  darkest  night 
Could  not  defend  her,  nor  wit's  subtlest  art : 

• 

This  was  the  point  pierc'd  Hero  to  the  heart  j 
Who  heavy  to  the  death,  Avitli  a  deep  sigh, 
And  hand  that  languish' d,  took  a  robe  was  nigh. 
Exceeding  large,  and  of  black  cypress  made. 
In  which  she  sate,  hid  from  the  day  in  shade. 
E'en  overhead  and  face,  down  to  her  feet  j 
Her  left  hand  made  it  at  her  bosom  meet ; 
Her  right  hand  lean'd  on  her  heart-bowing  knee. 
Wrapt  in  unshapeful  folds :  'twas  death  to  see 
Her  knee  staid  that,  and  that  her  falling  face 
Each  limb  help'd  other  to  put  on  disgrace. 
No  form  was  seen,  where  form  held  all  her  sight  ; 
But  like  an  embrion  that  saw  never  light : 
Or  like  a  scorched  statue  made  a  coal 
With  three- wing' d  lightning  :  or  a  wretched  soul 
Muffled  with  endless  darkness,  she  did  sit : 
The  night  had  never  such  a  heavy  spirit. 
Yet  might  an  imitating  eye  well  see. 
How  fast  her  clear  tears  melted  on  her  knee 
Through  her  black  veil,  and  turn'd  as  black  as  it. 
Mourning  to  be  her  tears  :  then  wrought  her  wit 


S17 

With  her  broke  vow,  her  goddess'  wrath,  her  fame. 

All  tools  that  ingenious  despair  could  frame  : 

Which  made  her  strow  the  floor  with  her  torn  hair. 

And  spread  her  mantle  piece-meal  in  the  air. 

Like  Jove's  son's  club,  strong  passion  struck  her  down. 

And  with  a  piteous  shriek  inforc'd  her  swoon : 

Her  shriek  made  with  another  shriek  ascend 

The  frighted  matron  that  on  her  dfd  tend  : 

And  as  with  her  own  cry  her  sense  was  slain. 

So  with  the  other  it  was  call'd  again. 

She  rose  and  to  her  bed  made  forced  way. 

And  laid  her  down  e'en  where  Leander  lay  : 

And  all  this  while  the  red  sea  of  her  blood 

Ebb'd  with  Leander  :  but  now  turn' d  tlie  flood. 

And  all  her  fleet  of  spirits  came  swelling  in 

With  crowd  of  sail,  and  did  hot  fight  begin. 

With  those  severe  conceits,  she  too  much  mark'd. 

And  here  Leander's  beauties  were  imbark'd. 

He  came  in  swimming,  painted  all  with  joys. 

Such  as  might  sweeten  hell :   his  thought  destroys 

All  her  destroying  thoughts  :  she  thought  she  felt 

His  heart  in  hers  :   with  her  contentions  melt, 

And  chid  her  soul  that  it  could  so  much  err. 

To  check  the  true  joys  he  deserv'd  in  her. 

Her  fresh  heat  blood  cast  figures  in  her  eyes. 

And  she  suppos'd  she  saw  in  Neptune's  skies 

How  her  star  wandred,  wash'd  in  smarting  brine 

For  her  love's  sake,  that  with  immortal  wine 

Should  be  embath'd,  and  swim  in  more  heart's  ease. 

Than  there  was  water  in  the  Sestian  seas. 

Then  said  her  Cupid-prompted  spirit.  Shall  I 

Sigh  moans  to  such  delightsome  harmony  ? 

Shall  slick-tongued  fame  patch'd  up  with  voices  rude. 

The  drunken  bastard  of  the  multitude. 


318 

Begot  when  father  judgment  is  away. 

And  gossip-hke,  says  because  others  say. 

Takes  news  as  if  it  were  too  hot  to  eat. 

And  spits  it  slavering  forth  for  dog- fees  meat. 

Make  me  for  forging  a  phantastic  vow. 

Presume  to  bear  what  makes  grave  matrons  bow  ? 

Good  vows  are  never  broken  with  good  deeds. 

For  then  good  deeds  were  bad  :  vows  are  but  seeds. 

And  good  deeds  fruits  ;  even  those  good  deeds  that  grow 

From  other  stocks  than  from  th'  observed  vow. 

That  is  a  good  deed  that  prevents  a  bad  : 

Had  I  not  yielded,  slain  myself  I  had. 

Hero  Leander  is,  Leander  Hero  : 

Such  virtue  love  hath  to  make  one  of  two. 

If  then  Leander  did  my  maidenhead  get, 

Leander  being  myself,  I  still  retain  it : 

We  break  chaste  vows  when  we  live  loosely  ever. 

But  bound  as  we  are,  we  live  loosely  never. 

Two  constant  lovers  being  join'd  in  one. 

Yielding  to  one  another,  yield  to  none. 

We  know  not  how  to  vow,  till  love  unblind  us. 

And  vows  made  ignorantly  never  bind  us  ; 

Too  true  it  is,  that  when  'tis  gone  men  hate 

The  joys  as  vain  they  took  in  love's  estate  : 

But  that's,  since  they  have  lost,  the  heavenly  Hght 

Should  shew  them  way  to  judge  of  all  things  right. 

When  life  is  gone,  death  must  implant  his  terror. 

As  death  is  foe  to  life,  so  love  to  error. 

Before  we  love,  how  range  we  through  this  sphere;. 

Searching  the  sundry  faijcies  hunted  here  : 

Now  with  desire  of  wealth  transported  quite 

Beyond  our  free  humanity's  delight : 

Now  with  ambition  chmbing  falling  towers. 

Whose  hope  to  scale,  our  fear  to  fall  devours : 


319 

Now  rapt  with  pastimes,  pomp,  all  joys  impure  ; 
In  things  tvithout  us  no  delight  is  sure.- 
But  love  with  all  joys  crown'd,  within  doth  sit  j 
O  Goddess,  pity  love,  and  pardon  it. 
This  spake  he  weeping  :  but  her  Goddess  ear 
Burn'd  with  too  stern  a  heat,  and  would  not  hear. 
Aye  me !   hath  heaven's  straight  fingers  no  more  graces. 
For  such  a  Hero,  than  for  homeliest  faces  ? 
Yet  she  hop'd  well,  and  in  her  sweet  conceit 
Weigliing  her  arguments,  she  thought  them  weight : 
And  that  the  logick  of  Leander's  beauty, 
And  them  together,  would  bring  proofs  of  duty. 
And  if  her  soul,  that  was  a  skilful  glance 
Of  heaven's  great  essence,  found  such  imperance 
In  her  love's  beauties ;  she  had  confidence. 
Jove  lov'd  him  too,  and  pardon' d  her  offence. 
Beauty  in  heaven  and  earth  this  grace  doth  win, 
It  supples  rigor,  and  it  lessens  sin. 
Thus,  her  sharp  wit,  her  love,  her  secrecy, 
Trooping  together,  made  her  wonder  why 
She  should  not  leave  her  bed,  and  to  the  temple  ! 
Her  health  said  she  must  live  j  her  sex  dissemble. 
She  view'd  Leander's  place,  and  wished  he  were 
Turn'd  to  his  place,  so  his  place  were  Leander. 
Aye  me,  said  she,  that  Love's  sweet  life  and  sense 
Should  do  it  harm  !   my  love  had  not  got  hence. 
Had  he  been  like  his  place.     O  blessed  place  ! 
Image  of  constancy  !    Thus  my  lov^e's  grace 
Parts  no  where  but  it  leaves  some  thing  behind 
Worth  observation  :  he  renowns  his  kind. 
His  motion  is  like  heaven's  orbicular  : 
For  where  he  once  is,  he  is  ever  there. 
This  place  was,  mine  ;   Leander,  now  'tis  thine  ; 
Thou  being  myself,  then  it  is  double  mine  : 
Mine,  and  Leander's  mine,  Leander's  mine. 


'      320 

O,  see  what  wealth  it  yields  me,  nay,  yields  him 

For  I  am  in  it,  he  for  me  doth  swim. 

Rich,  fruitful  love,  that  doubling  self  estates 

Elixir  like  contracts,  though  separates. 

Dear  place,  I  kiss  thee,  and  do  welcome  thee. 

As  from  Leander  ever  sent  to  me." 

The  end  of  the  third  Seslyad. 


"K^.'^^^X" 


Are  the  Readers  of  Restituta  tired  of  this 
Love-Tale.?  The  Editor  presumes  to  think  that  it 
possesses,  and  especially  Marlovv's  part,  very  extra- 
ordinary poetical  merit.  It  exhibits  in  almost  every 
line  proofs  of  that  high  character  ascribed  to  Marlow 
both  by  Phillips  (or  rather  his  uncle  Milton)  and  by 
Drayton;  of  that  glowing  sentiment,  that  fervency  of 
language,  that  copiousness  of  natural  and  beautiful 
imagery,  which  breathe  the  soul  of  the  genuine  child  of 
the  Muse,  bathed  in  the  living  waters  of  the  Pierian 
spring,  and  animated  with  a  fancy  that  throws  more  vivid 
colours  on  all  the  charms  of  creation. 

It  is  impossible  for  any  one  who  has  taste  and 
feeling,  to  confound  this  with  those  cotemporary  pro- 
ductions, that  are  only  valuable  as  curiosities,  to  which 
time  has  given  an  adventitious  interest.  Here  are  all 
the  marks  of  the  real  bard ! 

"  Thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn." 

And  after  all  the  multitudinous  criticisms  and  dis- 
cussions of  what  is  true  poetical  genius,  does  not  this 
short  line  comprehend  the  whole  secret? 

Dec.  26,  1814. 


321 
HERO  AND  LEANDER. 

The  Argument  of  the  Fourth  Sestyad. 

"  Hero,  in  sacred  halii  deckf. 
Doth  private  sacrijice  effect. 
Her  scarfs  description  wrojight  hyfate, 
Ostents,  that  threaten  her  estate. 
The  strange,  yet  physical  events, 
Leanders  counterfeit  presents. 
In  thunder,  Ciprides  descends. 
Presaging  loth  the  lovers'  ends. 
Ecte,  the  Goddess  of  Remorse, 
With  vocal  and  articulate  force 
Inspires  Leucote,  Venus'  swan, 
7"  excuse  the  leauteous  Sestian. 
Venus,  to  wreak  her  rites'  aluses. 
Creates  the  monster  Eronusis  j 
Enflaming  Hero's  sacrijice. 
With  lightning  darted  from  her  eyes : 
And  thereof  springs  the  painted  least. 
That  ever  since  taints  every  breast. 

Now  firom  Leander's  place  she  arose,  and  found 

Her  hair  and  rent  robe  scatter'd  on  the  ground  : 

Which  taking  up,  she  every  piece  did  lay 

Upon  the  altar ;  where  in  youth  of  day 

She  us'd  t'  exhibit  private  sacrifice  : 

Those  would  she  offer  to  the  deities 

Of  her  fair  Goddess,  and  her  powerful  son. 

As  relics  of  her  late-felt  passion  : 

And  in  that  holy  sort  she  vow'd  to  end  them. 

In  hope  her  violent  fancies,  that  did  rend  them, 

VOL.   It.  2  T 


Would  as  quite  fade  in  her  love's  holy  fire. 

As  they  should  in  the  flames  she  meant  t'  inspire. 

Then  put  she  on  all  her  religious  weeds, 

That  deck'd  her  in  her  secret  sacred  deeds  ; 

A  crown  of  icicles,  that  sun  nor  fire 

Could  ever  melt,  and  figur'd  chaste  desire. 

A  golden  star  shin'd  in  her  naked  breast. 

In  honour  of  the  Queen-light  of  the  East. 

In  her  right  hand  she  held  a  silver  wand. 

On  whose  bright  top  Peristera  did  stand. 

Who  was  a  nymph,  but  now  trasform'd  a  dove. 

And  in  her  life  was  dear  in  Venus'  love  : 

And  for  her  sake  she  ever  since  that  time 

Chus'd  doves  to  draw  her  coach  thro'  heav'n's  blue  clime: 

Her  plenteous  hair  in  curled  billows  swims 

On  her  bright  shoulder :  her  harmonious  limbs 

Sustain'd  no  more  but  a  most  subtile  veil. 

That  hung  on  them,  as  it  durst  not  assail 

Their  different  concord  :  for  the  weakest  air 

Could  raise  it  swelling  from  her  beauties  fair ; 

Nor  did  it  cover,  but  adumbrate  only 

Her  most  heart-piercing  parts,  that  a  blest  eye 

Might  see,  as  it  did  shadow,  fearfully. 

All  that  all-love  deserving  paradise  : 

It  was  as  blue  as  the  most  freezing  skies ; 

Near  the  sea's  hue,  for  thence  her  goddess  came  : 

On  it  a  scarf  she  wore  of  wondrous  frame ; 

In  midst  whereof  she  wore  a  virgin's  face. 

From  whose  each  cheek  a  fiery  blush  did  chase 

Two  crimson  fliames,  that  did  two  ways  extend. 

Spreading  the  ample  scarf  to  either  end. 

Which  figur'd  the  division  of  her  mind. 

Whiles  yet  she  rested  bashfully  inclin'd. 

And  stood  not  resolute  to  wed  Leander. 

This  serv'd  her  white  neck  for  a  purple  sphere. 


S23 

And  cast  itself  at  full  breadth  down  her  back, 
There^  since  the  fir^t  breath  that  begun  the  wrack 
Of  her  free  quiet  from  Leander's  lips, 
She  wrought  a  sea  in  one  flame  full  of  ships  : 
But  that  one  ship  where  all  her  wealth  did  pass, 
Like  simple  merchants'  goods,  Leander  was  : 
For  in  that  sea  she  naked  figur'd  him ; 
Her  diving  needle  taught  him  how  to  swim. 
And  to  each  thread  did  such  resemblance  give. 
For  joy  to  be  so  like  him  it  did  live. 

Things  senseless  live  by  art,  and  rational  die 

By  rude  contempt  of  art  and  industry. 
Scarce  could  she  work  but  in  her  strength  of  thought. 
She  fear'd  she  prick'd  Leander  as  she  wrought : 
And  oft  would  shriek  so,  that  her  guardian,  frighted^ 
Would  staring  haste,  as  with  some  mischief  cited. 

They  double  life  that  dead  things'  griefs  sustain  : 

They  kill  that  feel  not  their  friends'  living  pain. 
Sometimes  she  fear'd  he  sought  her  infamy. 
And  then  as  she  was  working  of  his  eye. 
She  thought  to  prick  it  out  to  quench  her  ill : 
But  as  she  prick'd,  it  grew  more  perfect  still. 

Trifling  attempts  no  serious  acts  advance; 

The  fire  of  love  is  blown  by  dalliance. 
In  working  his  fair  neck  she  did  so  grace  it. 
She  still  was  working  her  own  arms  t'  embrace  it : 
That,  and  his  shoulders,  and  his  hands  were  seen 
Above  the  stream,  and  with  a  pure  sea  green 
She  did  so  quaintly  shadow  every  limb. 
All  might  be  seen  beneath  the  waves  to  swim. 

In  this  conceited  scarf  she  wrought  beside 
A  moon  in  change,  and  shooting  stars  did  glide 
In  number  after  her  with  bloody  beams. 
Which  figur'd  h^r  affects  in  their  extremes. 


324 

Pursuing  nature  in  her  Cynthian  body. 

And  did  her  thoughts  running  on  change  imply ; 

For  maids  take  more  delights,  when  they  prepare. 

And  think  of  wives'  states,  than  when  wives  they  are. 

Beneath  all  these  she  wrought  a  fisherman. 

Drawing  his  nets  from  forth  that  ocean  ; 

Who  drew  so  hard,  ye  might  discover  well, 

The  toughned  sinews  in  his  neck  did  swell : 

His  inward  strains  drave  out  his  blood-sliot  eyes. 

And  springs  of  sweat  did  in  his  forehead  rise  : 

Yet  was  of  nought  but  of  a  serpent  sped. 

That  in  his  bosom  flew,  and  stung  him  dead ; 

And  this  by  fate  into  her  mind  was  sent. 

Not  wrought  by  mere  instinct  of  her  intent. 

All  the  skarf  s  other  end  her  hand  did  frame. 

Near  the  fork'd  point  of  the  divided  flame, 

A  country  virgin  keeping  of  a  vine. 

Who  did  of  hollow  bvilmshes  combine 

Snares  for  the  stubble-loving  grasshopper. 

And  by  her  lay  her  scrip  that  nourish' d  her. 

Within  a  myrtle  shade  she  sate  and  sung. 

And  tufts  of  waving  reeds  about  her  sprung  ; 

Where  lurk'd  two  foxes,  that  while  she  applied 

Her  trifling  snares,  their  thieveries  did  divide ; 

One  to  the  vine,  another  to  her  scrip. 

That  she  did  negligently  overslip  : 

By  which  her  fruitful  vine,  and  wholesome  fare. 

She  suffer'd  spoil'd,  to  make  a  childish  snare. 

These  ominous  fancies  did  her  soul  express. 

And  every  finger  made  a  prophetess. 

To  shew  what  death  was  hid  in  love's  disguise. 

And  make  her  judgment  conquer  destinies. 

O  what  sweet  forms  fair  ladies'  souls  do  shroud. 

Were  they  made  seen,  and  forced  through  their  blood } 


325 

If  thro'  their  beauties,  like  rich  work  thro'  lawn, 
They  would  set  forth  their  minds  with  virtues  drawn. 
In  letting  graces  from  their  fingers  fly. 
To  still  their  yas*  thoughts  with  industry  : 
That  their  plied  wits  in  number'd  silks  might  sing 
Passion's  huge  conquest,  and  their  needles  leading 
Affection  prisoner  through  their  own  built  cities. 
Pinion' d  with  stories  and  Arachnean  ditties. 

Proceed  we  now  with  Hero's  sacrifice ; 
She  odours  burns,  and  from  their  smoke  did  rise 
Unsavour)'  fumes,  that  air  with  plagues  inspir'd. 
And  then  the  consecrated  sticks  she  fir'd. 
On  whose  pale  flame  an  angiy  Spirit  flew, 
And  beat  it  down  still  as  it  upward  grew. 
The  virgin  tapers  that  on  th'  altar  stood. 
When  she  inflamed  them  burned  as  blood  : 
All  sad  ostents  of  that  too  near  success, 
Tliat  made  such  moving  beauties  motionless. 
Then  Hero  wept,  but  her  affrighted  eyes 
She  quickly  wrested  from  the  sacrifice  : 
Shut  them,  and  inwards  for  Leander  look'd, 
Search'd  her  soft  bosom,  and  from  thence  she  pluck "d 
His  lovely  picture  :  which  when  she  had  view'd. 
Her  beauties  were  with  all  love's  joys  renew'd  ; 
The  odours  sweeten'd,  and  the  fires  burn'd  clear, 
Leander's  form  left  no  ill  object  there. 
Such  was  his  beauty,  that  the  force  of  light. 
Whose  knowledge  teacheth  numbers  infinite. 
The  strength  of  number  and  proportion. 
Nature  had  plac'd  in  it  to  make  it  known. 
Art  was  her  daughter,  and  what  human  wits 
For  study  lost,  intomb'd  in  drossy  spirits. 
After  this  accident,  which  for  her  glory 
Plero  could  not  but  make  a  historv, 
*  Siu  ill  oric:. 


o 


£6 


Th'  inhabitants  of  Sestus  and  Abydus 

Did  every  year,  with  feasts  propitious. 

To  fair  Leander's  picture  sacrifice  : 

And  they  were  persons  of  especial  prize. 

That  were  allow'd  it,  as  an  ornament 

T'  enrich  their  houses  ;  for  the  continent 

Of  the  strange  virtues  all  approv'd  it  held  : 

For  even  the  very  look  of  it  repel' d 

All  blastings,  witchcrafts,  and  the  strifes  of  nature 

In  those  diseases  that  no  herbs  could  cure  : 

The  wolfy  sting  of  Avarice  it  would  pull, 

And  make  the  rankest  miser  bountiful. 

It  kill'd  the  fear  of  thunder  and  of  death  : 

The  discords,  that  conceits  engendereth 

'Twixt  man  and  wife,  it  for  the  time  would  cease  : 

The  flames  of  love  it  quench'd,  and  would  increase : 

Held  in  a  prince's  hand,  it  would  put  out 

The  dreadful' st  comet :  it  would  ease  all  doubt 

Of  threaten'd  mischiefs  :  it  would  bring  asleep 

Such  as  were  mad :  it  would  enforce  to  weep 

Most  barbarous  eyes  :  and  many  more  effects 

This  picture  wrought,  and  sprung  Leandrian  sects. 

Of  which  was  Hero  first :  for  he  whose  form. 

Held  in  her  hand,  clear'd  such  a  fatal  storm, 

From  hell  she  thought  his  person  would  defend  her. 

Which  night  and  Hellespont  would  quickly  send  her. 

With  this  confirm' d,  she  vow'd  to  banish  quite 

All  thought  of  any  check  to  her  delight : 

And  in  contempt  of  silly  bashfijlness. 

She  would  the  faith  of  her  desires  profess : 

Where  her  religion  should  be  policy. 

To  follow  love  with  zeal  her  piety  : 

Her  chamber  her  cathedral  church  should  be. 

And  her  Leander  her  chief  deity. 


327 

For  in  her  love  these  did  the  gods  forego ; 

And  though  her  knowledge  did  not  teach  her  so. 

Yet  did  it  teach  her  this,  that  what  her  heart 

Did  greatest  hold  in  her  self  greatest  part. 

That  she  did  make  her  god ;  and  'twas  less  nought 

To  leave  gods  in  profession  and  in  thought. 

Than  in  her  love  and  life  :  for  therein  lies 

Most  of  her  duties,  and  their  dignities. 

And  rail  the  brain-bald  world  at  what  it  will. 

That's  the  grand  atheism  that  reigns  in  it  still. 

Yet  singularity  she  would  use  no  more, 

For  she  was  singular  too  much  before  ; 

But  she  would  please  the  world  with  fair  pretext ; 

Love  would  not  leave  her  conscience  perplext. 

Great  men  that  will  have  less  do  for  them  still. 

Must  beat  them  out,  tho'  th'  acts  be  ne'er  so  ill. 

Meanness  must  pander  be  to  Excellence  j 

Pleasure  atones  Falsehood  and  Conscience  : 

Dissembling  was  the  worst,  thought  Hero  then. 

And  that  was  best,  now  she  must  live  with  men. 

O  virtuous  love  !  that  taught  her  to  do  best, 

When  she  did  worst,  and  when  she  thought  it  least. 

Thus  would  she  still  proceed  in  works  divine. 

And  in  her  sacred  state  of  priesthood  shine. 

Handling  the  holy  rites  with  hands  as  bold, 

As  if  therein  she  did  Jove's  thunders  hold  ; 

And  need  not  fear  those  menaces  of  efror. 

Which  she  at  others  threw  with  greatest  terror.  - 

O  lovely  Hero  !  nothing  is  thy  sin. 

Weigh' d  with  those  foul  faults  other  priests  are  in  ! 

That  having  neither  faiths,  nor  works,  nor  beauties, 

T'  engender  any  sense  for  slubber' d  duties ; 

With  as  much  countenance  fill  their  holy  chairs. 

And  sweet  denouncements  'gainst  profane  affairs. 


v328 

As  if  their  lives  were  cut  out  by  their  places. 
And  they  the  only  fathers  of  the  Graces. 

Now  as  with  settled  mind  she  did  repair 
Her  thoughts  to  sacrifice,  her  ravish'd  hair. 
And  her  torn  robe  which  on  the  altar  lay. 
And  only  for  Religion's  fire  did  stay  j 
She  heard  a  thunder  by  the  Cyclops  beaten. 
In  such  a  volley  as  the  world  did  threaten. 
Given  Venus  as  she  parted  th'  airy  sphere. 
Descending  now  to  chide  with  Hero  here  : 
When  suddenly  the  goddess  waggoners. 
The  swans  and  turtles  that  in  coupled  pairs. 
Through  all  worlds'  bosoms  draw  her  influence. 
Lighted  in  Hero's  window,  and  from  thence 
To  her  fair  shoulders  flew  the  gentle  doves. 
Graceful  j^done  that  s\veet  pleasure  loves. 
And  rough-foot  Chreste  with  the  tufted  crown, 
Both  which  did  kiss  her,  though  their  goddess  frown. 
The  swans  did  in  the  solid  flood  her  glass 
Proin  tlieir  fair  plumes,  of  which  the  fairest  was 
Jove's  lov'd  Leiicote,  that  pure  brightness  is; 
The  other  bounty  loving  Dapsilis. 
All  were  in  heaven,  now  they  with  Hero  were  : 
But  Venus'  looks  brought  wrath,  and  urged  fear. 
Her  robe  was  scarlet,  black  her  head's  attire. 
And  through  her  naked  breast  shin'd  streams  of  fire. 
As  when  the  rarified  air  is  driven 
In  flashing  streams,  and  opes  the  darken' d  heaven. 
Jn  her  white  hand  a  wreath  of  yew  she  bore. 
And  breaking  the  icy  wreath  sweet  Hero  wore. 
She  forc'd  about  her  brows  her  wreath  of  yew. 
And  said,  now  minion  to  thy  fate  be  true ; 
Though  not  to  me,  endure  what  this  portends  : 
Begin  wherp  lightness  will,  in  shame  it  ends. 


S2C) 

Love  makes  thee  cunning ;   thou  art  current  now. 
By  being  counterfeit :  thy  broken  vow- 
Deceit  with  her  pied  garters  must  rejoin. 
And  with  her  stamp  thou  countenances  must  coin  : 
Coyness,  and  pure  deceits  for  purities. 
And  still  a  maid  will  seem  in  cousen'd  eyes. 
And  have  an  antique  fdce  to  laugh  within. 
While  thy  smooth  looks  make  men  digest  thy  sin. 
But  since  thy  lips,  lest  thought  forsworn,  forswol"e> 
Be  never  virgin's  vow  with  trusting  more. 

When  beauty's  dearest  did  her  goddess  hear. 
Breathe  such  rebukes  'gainst  that  she  could  not  clear ; 
Dumb  sorrow  spake  aloud  in  tears  and  blood. 
That  from  her  grief-burst  veins,  in  piteous  flood. 
From  the  sweet  conduits  of  her  savor  fell. 
The  gentle  turtles  did  with  moans  make  swell 
Their  shining  gorges  :  the  white  black-ey'd  swans 
Did  sing  as  wofial  Epicedians, 
As  they  would  straightways  die :  when  Pity's  queen^ 
The  goddess  Ecte,  that  had  ever  been 
Hid  in  a  wat'ry  cloud  near  Hero's  cries. 
Since  the  first  instant  of  her  broken  eyes. 
Gave  bright  Leucote  voice,  and  made  her  speak. 
To  ease  her  anguish,  whose  swoln  breast  did  break 
With  anger  at  her  goddess,  that  did  touch 
Hero  so  near  for  that  she  us'd  so  much. 
And  thrusting  her  white  neck  at  Venus,  said — 
Why  may  not  amorous  Hero  seem  a  maid  ? 
Though  she  be  none,  as  well  as  you  suppress 
In  modest  cheeks  your  inward  wantonness  ? 
How  often  have  we  drawn  you  from  above, 
T'  exchange  with  mortals  rites  for  rites  In  lo\:e  ? 
Why  in  your  priest  then  call  you  that  offence. 
That  shines  in  you,  and  is  your  influence  ? 

VOL.  II.  2  u 


330 

With  this  the  Furies  stopt  Leucote's  lips. 
Enjoin' d  by  Venus ;  who  with  rosy  whips 
Beat  the  kind  bird.     Fierce  Ughtning  from  her  eyes 
Did  set  on  fire  fair  Hero's  sacrifice, 
Which  was  her  torn  robe,  and  inforced  hair ; 
And  the  bright  flame  became  a  maid  most  fair 
For  her  aspect :  her  tresses  were  of  wire. 
Knit  like  a  net,  where  hearts  all  set  on  fire. 
Struggled  in  pants,  and  could  not  get  releas'd  : 
Her  arms  were  all  with  golden  pincers  dress' d. 
And  twenty  fashion' d  knots,  puUies,  and  brakes. 
And  all  her  body  girdled  with  painted  snakes. 
Her  downy  parts  in  a  scorpion's  tail  combin'd. 
Freckled  with  twenty  colours ;  pied  wings  shin'd 
Out  of  her  shoulders ;  cloth  had  never  dye. 
Nor  sweeter  colours  never  viewed  eye. 
In  scorching  Turkey,  Cares  Tartary, 
Than  shone  about  this  spirit  notorious  j 
Nor  was  Arachne's  web  so  glorious. 
Of  hghtning  and  of  shreds  she  was  begot ; 
More  hold  in  base  dissemblers  is  there  not. 
Her  name  was  Eronusis.     Venus  flew 
From  Hero's  sight,  and  at  their  chariot  drew 
This  wondrous  creature  to  so  steep  a  height. 
That  all  the  world  she  might  command  with  sleight 
Of  her  gay  wings  :  and  then  she  bade  her  haste. 
Since  Hero  had  dissembled,  and  disgrac'd 
Her  rites  so  much,  and  every  breast  infect. 
With  her  deceits  she  made  her  architect 
Of  all  dissimulation,  and  since  then 
Never  was  any  trust  in  maids  nor  men, 

O  it  spighted 
Fair  Venus'  heart  to  see  her  most  delighted. 
And  one  she  chus'd  for  temper  of  her  mind. 
To  be  the  only  ruler  of  her  kind. 


33} 


So  soon  to  let  iier  virgin  race  be  ended ; 

Not  simply  for  the  fault  a  whit  ofFende<l : 

But  that  in  strife  for  chasteness  with  the  Moon^ 

Spiteful  Diana  bade  her  shew  but  one. 

That  was  her  servant  vow'd,  and  liv'd  a  maid ; 

And  now  she  thought  to  ansM'^er  that  upbraid. 

Hero  had  lost  her  answer ;  who  knows  not 

Venus  would  seem  as  far  from  any  spot 

Of  light  demeanour,  as  the  very  skin 

'Twixt  Cynthia's  brows;   Sin  is  asham'd  of  Sin. 

Up  Venus  flew,  and  scarce  durst  up  for  fear 

Of  Phoebus'  laughter,  when  she  past  her  sphere  : 

And  so  most  ugly  clouded  was  the  light. 

That  day  was  hid  in  day  ;  night  came  ere  night. 

And  Venus  could  not  through  the  thick  air  pierce. 

Till  the  day's  king,  god  of  undaunted  verse. 

Because  she  was  so  plentiful  a  theme. 

To  such  as  wore  his  laurel  Anademe  : 

Like  to  a  fiery  bullet  made  descent. 

And  from  her  passage  those  fat  vapours  rent. 

That  being  not  thoroughly  rarified  to  rain. 

Melted  hke  pitch  as  blue  as  any  vein. 

And  scalding  tempests  made  the  earth  to  shrink 

Under  their  fervor,  and  the  world  did  think 

In  every  drop  a  torturing  spirit  flew. 

It  pierc'd  so  deeply,  and  it  burn'd  so  blue. 

Betwixt  all  this  and  Hero,  Hero  held 
Leander's  picture,  as  a  Persian  shield  : 
And  she  Avas  free  from  fear  of  worst  success ; 
The  more  ill  threats  us,  we  suspect  the  less  : 
As  we  grow  hapless,  violence  subtle  grows, 
Pumb,  deaf,  and  blind,  and  comes  when  no  man  knows. 


The  end  of  the  fourth  Sestyad. 


332 

The  Argument  of  the  fifth  Sestyad. 

"  Day  doubles  her  accustomed  date. 
As  loth  the  night,  incens'd  hyfate. 
Should  wrack  our  lovers  ;  Hero' s  plight 
Longs  for  Learider,  and  the  night : 
Which,  ere  her  thirsty  wish  recovers. 
She  sends  for  two  betrothed  lovers. 
And  marries  them,  that,  with  their  crew 
Their  sports  and  ceremonies  due, 
She  covertly  might  celebrate. 
With  secret  joy,  her  oivn  estate. 
She  makes  a  feast,  at  which  appears 
The  wild  nymph  Teras,  that  still  bears 
An  ivory  lute,  tells  ominous  tales. 
And  sings  at  solemn  festivals. 

Now  was  bright  Hero  weary  of  the  day, 
Thought  Olympiad  in  Leander's  stay. 
Solj  and  the  soft-foot  Hours  hung  on  his  arms, 
And  would  not  let  him  swim,  foreseeing  his  harms : 
That  day  Aurora  double  grace  obtain'd 
Of  her  love  Phcebus ;  she  his  horses  rein'd. 
Sat  on  his  golden  knee,  and  as  she  list 
She  pull'd  him  back  ;  and  as  she  pull'd,  she  kist 
To  have  him  turn  to  bed ;  he  lov'd  her  more. 
To  see  the  love  Leander  Hero  bore. 
Examples  profit  much  ten  times  in  one  ; 
In  persons  full  of  note  good  deeds  are  done. 
Day  was  so  long,  men  walking  fell  asleep : 
The  heavy  humours,  that  their  eyes  did  steep. 
Made  them  fear  mischiefs.     The  hard  streets  were  beds 
For  covetous  churls,  and  for  ambitious  heads. 
That  spite  of  Nature  would  their  business  ply. 
All  thought  they  had  the  falling  epilepsy  j 


333 

Men  grovel'd  so  upon  the  smother'd  ground, 
And  pity  did  the  heart  of  heaven  confound. 
The  Godsj  the  Graces^  and  the  Muses  came 
Down  to  the  Destinies,  to  stay  the  frame 
Of  the  true  lovers'  deaths,  and  all  world's  tears  : 
But  death  before  had  stopt  their  cruel  ears. 
All  the  Celestials  parted  mourning  then^ 
Pierc'd  with  our  human  miseries  more  than  men. 
Ah^  nothing  doth  the  world  with  mischief  fill. 
But  want  of  feeling  one  another's  ill. 

With  their  descent  the  day  grew  something  fair. 
And  cast  a  brighter  robe  upon  the  air. 
Hero,  to  shorten  time  with  merriment. 
For  young  Alcmane  and  bright  Mya  sent. 
Two  lovers  that  had  long  crav'd  marriage  dues 
At  Hero's  hands  :  but  she  did  stiU  refuse. 
For  lovely  Mya  was  her  consort  vow'd 
In  her  maid  state,  and  therefore  not  allow'd 
To  amorous  nuptials  :  yet  fair  Hero  now 
Intended  to  dispense  with  her  cold  vow. 
Since  hers  was  broken,  and  to  marry  her : 
The  rites  would  pleasing  matter  minister 
To  her  conceits,  and  shorten  tedious  day. 
They  came ;  sweet  musick  usher' d  th'  odorous  way. 
And  wanton  air  in  twenty  sweet  forms  danc'd 
After  her  fingers ;  Beauty  and  Love  advanc'd 
Their  ensigns  in  the  downless  rosy  faces 
Of  youths  and  maids,  led  after  by  the  Graces. 
For  all  these  Hero  made  a  fi-iendly  feast, 
Welcom'd  them  kindly,  did  much  love  protest. 
Winning  their  hearts  with  all  the  means  she  might. 
That  when  her  fault  should  chance  t'  abide  the  hght. 
Their  loves  might  cover  or  extenuate  it. 
And  high  in  her  worst  fate  make  pity  sit. 


334 


She  married  them,  and  in  the  banquet  came 
Borne  by  the  virgins :  Hero  strove  to  frame 
Her  thoughts  to  mirth.     Aye  me,  but  hard  it  is 
To  imitate  a  false  and  forced  Wiss, 
111  may  a  sad  mind  forge  a  merry  face. 
Nor  hath  constrained  laughter  any  grace. 
Then  laid  she  wine  on  cares  to  make  them  sink  j 
Who  fears  the  threats  of  fortune,  let  him  drink. 

To  these  quick  nuptials  enter'd  suddenly 
Admired  Teras  with  the  ebon  thigh ; 
A  Nymph  that  haunted  the  green  Sestian  groves. 
And  would  consort  soft  virgins  in  their  loves. 
At  gaysome  triumphs,  and  on  solemn  days 
Singing  prophetic  elegies  and  lays  : 
And  fing'ring  of  a  silver  lute,  she  tied 
With  black  and  purple  scarfs  by  her  left  side. 
Apollo  gave  it,  and  her  skill  withal. 
And  she  was  term'd  his  dwarf,  she  was  so  small : 
Yet  great  in  virtue,  for  his  beams  inclos'd 
His  virtues  in  her  :  never  was  propos'd 
Riddle  to  her,  or  auguiy  strange  or  new. 
But  she  resolv'd  it :   Never  slight  tale  flew 
From  her  charm'd  lips,  Avithout  important  sense. 
Shewn  in  some  grave  succeeding  consequence. 

This  little  Sylvan,  with  her  songs  and  tales. 
Gave  such  estate  to  feasts  and  nuptials. 
That  though  oft  times  she  forewent  tragedies. 
Yet  for  her  strangeness  still  she  pleas'd  their  eyes  > 
And  for  her  smallness  they  admir'd  her  so. 
They  thought  her  perfect  born,  and  could  not  grow. 

All  eyes  were  on  her :  Hero  did  command 
An  altar  deck'd  with  sacred  state  should  stand 
At  the  feast's  upper  end,  close  by  the  bride, 
On  which  the  pretty  nymph  might  sit  espied. 


335 

Then  all  were  silent ;  every  one  so  hears, 
As  all  their  senses  climb'd  into  their  ears  : 
And  first  this  amorous  tale,  that  fitted  well. 
Fair  Hero  and  the  nuptials  she  did  tell : 

THE  TALE  OF  TERAS, 

Hymen,  that  now  is  God  of  nuptial  rites. 
And  crowns  with  honour  love  and  his  delights. 
Of  Athens  was  a  youth  so  sweet  of  face. 
That  many  thought  him  of  the  female  race : 
Such  quick'ning  brightness  did  his  clear  eyes  dart. 
Warm  went  their  beams  to  his  beholder's  heart. 
In  such  pure  leagues  his  beauties  were  combin'd. 
That  there  your  nuptial  contracts  first  were  sign'd. 
For  as  proportion,  white  and  crimson,  meet 
In  beauty's  mixture,  all  right  clear,  and  sweet,  ] 
The  eye  responsible,  the  golden  hair. 
And  none  is  held  without  the  other,  fair  : 
All  spring  together,  all  together  fade  ; 
Such  intermixt  affections  should  invade 
Two  perfect  lovers  :  which  being  yet  unseen. 
Their  virtues  and  their  comforts  copied  been. 
In  beauty's  concord,  subject  to  the  eye. 
And  that,  in  Hymen,  pleas'd  so  matchlessly. 
That  lovers  were  esteem' d  in  their  full  grace. 
Like  form  and  colour  mix'd  in  Hymen's  face ; 
And  such  sweet  concoi'd  was  thought  worthy  then 
Of  torches,  music,  feasts,  and  greatest  men  : 
So  Hymen  look'd,  that  e'en  the  chastest  mind 
He  mov'd  to  join  in  joys  of  sacred  kind  : 
For  only  now  his  chin's  first  down  consorted 
His  head's  rich  fleece,  in  golden  curls  contorted ; 
And  as  he  was  so  lov'd,  he  lov'd  so  too. 
So  should  best  beauties,  bound  by  nuptials,  do. 


336 

Bright  Eucharis,  who  was  by  all  men  said 
The  noblest,  fairest,  and  the  richest  maid. 
Of  all  th'  Athenian  damsels.  Hymen  lov'd  j 
With  such  transmission,  that  his  heart  remov'd 
From  his  white  breast  to  hers,  but  her  estate. 
In  passing  his,  was  so  interminate 
For  wealth  and  honour,  that  his  love  durst  feed 
On  nought  but  sight  and  hearing,  nor  could  breed 
Hope  of  requital,  the  grand  prize  of  love ; 
Nor  could  he  hear  or  see,  but  he  must  prove 
How  his  rare  beauty's  music  would  agree 
With  maids  in  consort :   therefore  robbed  he 
His  chin  of  those  same  few  first  fruits  it  bore. 
And  clad  in  such  attire,  as  virgins  wore. 
He  kept  them  company,  and  might  right  well. 
For  he  did  all  but  Eucharis  excel 
In  all  the  fair  of  beauty  :  yet  he  wanted 
Virtue  to  make  his  ow^n  desires  implanted 
In  his  dear  Eucharis ;  for  women  never 
Love  beauty  in  their  sex,  but  envy  ever. 
His  judgment  yet,  tliat  durst  not  suit  address. 
Nor  past  due  means,  presume  of  due  success. 
Reason  got  fortune  in  the  end  to  speed 
To  his  best  prayers  :  but  strange  it  seem'd  indeed. 
That  fortune  should  a  chaste  affection  bless  : 
Preferment  seldom  graceth  b  as //fulness. 
Nor  grac'd  in  Hymen  yet ;  but  many  a  dart. 
And  many  an  amorous  thought,  enthral' d  his  heart. 
Ere  he  obtain'd  her  ;  and  he  sick  became, 
Forc'd  to  abstain  her  sight,  and  then  the  flame 
Rag'd  in  his  bosom.     O  what  grief  did  fiU  him  ! 
Sight  made  him  sick,  and  want  of  sight  did  kill  him. 
The  virgins  wonder' d  where  Dicetia  staid. 
For  so  did  Hymen  ternj  himself  a  maid  : 


337 

At  length  with  sickly  looks  he  greeted  them  : 

'Tis  strange  to  see  'gainst  what  an  extreme  stream 

A  lover  strives  j  poor  Hymen  look'd  so  ill. 

That  as  in  merit  he  increased  still. 

By  suffering  much,  so  he  in  grace  decreas'd. 

Women  are  most  won,  when  men  merit  least : 

If  Merit  look  not  well.  Love  bids  stand  by  ; 

Love's  special  lesson  is  to  please  the  eye. 

And  Hymen  soon  recovering  all  he  lost. 

Deceiving  still  these  maids,  but  himself  most. 

His  love  and  he  with  many  virgin  dames. 

Noble  by  birth,  noble  by  beauty's  flames. 

Leaving  the  town  with  songs  and  hallow'd  lights. 

To  do  great  Ceres  Elusina  rites 

Of  zealous  sacrifice,  were  made  a  prey 

To  barbarous  rovers  that  in  ambush  lay. 

And  with  rude  hand  enforc'd  their  shining  spoil. 

Far  from  the  darken'd  city,  tir'd  with  toil. 

And  when  the  yellow  issue  of  the  sky 

Came  trooping  forth,  jealous  of  cruelty. 

To  their  bright  fellows  of  this  under  heaven. 

Into  a  double  night  they  saw  them  driven ; 

A  horrid  cave,  the  thieves'  black  mansion. 

Where  weary  of  the  journey  tliey  had  gone, 

Their  last  night's  watch,  and  drunk  with  their  sweet  gains. 

Dull  Morpheus  enter'd,  laden  with  silken  chains. 

Stronger  than  iron,  and  bound  the  swelling  veins. 

And  tired  senses  of  these  lawless  swains. 

But  when  the  virgin  lights  thus  dimly  burn'd  5 

O  what  a  hell  was  heaven  in  !  how  they  mourn' d 

And  wrung  their  hands,  and  wound  their  gentle  forms 

Into  the  shapes  of  sorrow  !    Golden  storms 

Fell  from  their  eyes  :  as  when  the  sun  appears. 

And  yet  it  rains,  so  shew"d  their  eyes  their  tears. 

VOL.  II.  2  X 


And  as  when  funeral  dames  watch  a  dead  corse'. 

Weeping  about  it,  telling  with  remorse 

What  pains  he  felt,  how  long  in  pain  he  lay. 

How  little  food  he  eat,  what  he  would  say  ; 

And  then  mix  mournful  tales  of  others'  deaths, 

Smothering  themselves  in  clouds  of  their  own  breaths ;. 

At  length,  one  cheering  other,  call  for  wine. 

The  golden  bowl  drinks  tears  out  of  their  eine, 

As  they  drink  wine  from  it ;  and  round  it  goes. 

Each  helping  other  to  reliere  their  woes : 

So  cast  these  virgin  Beauties  m\Uual  raysy 

One  lights  an  other,  face  the  face  displays  f 

Lips  by  reflection  kiss'd,  and  hands  hands  shook. 

E'en  by  tlie  whiteness  each  of  other  took. 

But  Hymen  now  us'd  friendly  Morpheus'  aid. 
Slew  every  thief,  and  rescued  every  maid. 
And  now  did  his  enamour'd  passion  take 
Heart  from  his  hearty  deed,  whose  worth  did  make 
His  hope  of  bounteous  Eucharis  more  strong  j 
And  now  came  Love  with  Protens,  who  had  long 
Juggled  the  little  god  with  prayers  and  gifts. 
Ran  through  all  shapes,  and  varied  all  his  shifts. 
To  win  Love's  stay  with  him,  and  make  him  love  him ; 
And  when  he  saw  no  strength  of  sleight  could  move  him 
To  make  him  love,  or  stay,  he  nimbly  tum'd 
Into  Love's  self,  he  so  extremely  burn'd. 
And  thus  came  Love  with  Proteus  ind  his  power, 
T'  encounter  Eucharis :  first  like  the  flower. 
That  Juno's  milk  did  spring  the  silver  lily. 
He  fell  on  Hymen's  hand,  who  straight  did  spy 
The  bounteous  godhead,  and  with  wondrous  joy 
Offer'd  it  Eucharis.     She  wondrous  coy 
Drew  back  her  hand  :  the  subtle  flower  did  woo  it, 
And  drawing  it  near,  mix'd  sa  you  could  not  know  iL 


339 

As  twe  clear  tapers  mix  in  one  their  light, 

So  did  the  lily  and  the  hand  their  white  : 

She  view'd  it ;  and  her  view  the  form  bestows 

Amongst  her  spirits  :  for  as  colour  flows 

From  superficies  of  each  thing  we  see. 

E'en  so  with  colours  forms  emitted  be : 

And  where  Love's  form  is.  Love  is ;  Love  is  form  ; 

He  enter' d  at  the  eye,  his  sacred  storm 

Rose  from  the  hand.  Love's  sweetest  instrument : 

It  stirr'd  her  blood's  sea  so,  that  high  it  went. 

And  beat  in  bashful  waves  'gainst  the  white  shore 

Of  her  divided  cheeks  j  it  rag'd  the  more. 

Because  the  tide  went  'gainst  the  haughty  wind 

Of  her  estate  and  biith  :  and  as  we  find. 

In  fainting  ebbs,  the  flowery  Zephyr  hurls 

The  green  hair'd  Hellespont,  broke  in  silver  curls 

'Gainst  Hero's  tower  :  but  in  his  blast's  retreat. 

The  waves  obeying  him,  tliey  after  beat. 

Leaving  the  chalky  shore  a  great  way  pale. 

Then  moist  it  freshly  with  another  gale : 

So  ebb'd  and  flow'd  in  Eucharis's  face. 

Coyness  and  Love  strove  which  had  greatest  grace. 

Virginity  did  fight  on  Coyness'  side ; 

Fear  of  her  parents'  frowns,  and  female  pride 

Loathing  the  lower  place,  more  than  it  loves 

The  high  contents,  desert  and  virtue  moves. 

With  Love  fought  Hymen's  beauty  and  his  valour, 

"Which  scarce  could  so  much  favour  yet  allure 

To  come  to  strike,  but  fameless  idle  stood. 

Action  isjiery  valour's  sovereign  good. 

But  love  once  enter'd,  wished  no  greater  aid 

Than  he  could  find  within  j  thought,  thought  betray 'd ; 

The  brib'd,  but  incormpted  garrison. 

Bung  lo  Hymen ;  there  those  songs  begun. 


340 

And  Love  was  grown  so  rich  with  such  a  gain. 
And  wanton  with  the  ease  of  his  free  reign^ 
That  he  would  turn  into  her  roughest  frowns 
To  turn  them  out ;  and  thus  he  Hymen  crowns 
King  of  his  thoughts,  man's  greatest  empery  : 
This  was  his  first  brave  step  to  deity. 

Kome  to  the  mourning  city  they  repair. 
With  news  as  wholesome  as  the  morning  air. 
To  the  sad  parents  of  each  saved  maid  : 
But  Hymen  and  his  Eucharis  had  laid 
This  plot,  to  make  the  flame  of  their  delight 
Round  as  the  moon  at  full,  and  full  as  bright. 

Because  the  parents  of  chaste  Eucharis 
Exceeding  Hymen's  so,  might  cross  their  bliss  ; 
And  as  the  world  rewards  deserts,  that  law 
Cannot  assist  with  force  :  so  when  they  saw 
Their  daughter  safe,  take  'vantage  of  their  own. 
Praise  Hymen's  valour  much,  nothing  bestown. 
Hymen  must  leave  the  virgins  in  a  grove 
Far  off  froni  Athens,  and  go  f^rst  to  prove. 
If  to  restore  them  all  with  fame  and  life. 
He  should  enjoy  his  dearest  as  his  wife. 
This  told  to  all  the  maids  j  the  most  agree  : 
The  riper  sort  knowing  what  'tis  to  be 
The  first  mouth  of  a  news  so  far  deriv  d. 
And  that  to  hear  and  bear  news  brave  folks  liv'd. 
As  being  a  carriage  special  hard  to  bear, 
Occurrents,  these  occurrents  being  so  dear. 
They  did  with  grace  protest,  they  were  content 
T'  accost  their  friends  with  all  their  compliment. 
For  Hymen's  good  :   but  to  incur  their  harm. 
There  he  must  pardon  them.     This  wit  went  warm 
To  Adoleshe's  brain,  a  nymph  born  high. 
Made  all  of  voice  and  fire^  that  upwards  fly : 


341 

Her  heart  and  all  her  forces  neither  train, 

Climb'd  to  her  tongue,  and  thither  fell  her  brain. 

Since  it  could  go  no  higher  :  and  it  must  go. 

All  powers  she  had,  even  her  tongue  did  so. 

In  spirit  and  quickness  she  much  joy  did  take. 

And  lov'd  her  tongue,  only  for  quickness'  sake. 

And  she  would  haste  and  tell.     The  rest  all  stay. 

Hymen  goes  on  :   the  nymph  another  way  : 

And  what  became  of  her  I'll  tell  at  last : 

Yet  take  her  visage  now  :   moist  lipp'd,  long  fac'd. 

Then  like  an  iron  wedge,  so  sharp  and  tart. 

As  'twere  of  purpose  made  to  cleave  Loye's  heart. 

Well  were  this  lovely  beauty  rid  of  her. 

And  Hymen  did  at  Athens  now  prefer 

His  welcome  suit,  which  he  with  joy  aspir'd  : 

A  hundred  princely  youths  with  him  retir'd 

To  fetch  the  nymphs  :  chariots  and  music  went. 

And  hoqie  they  came  :  heaven  with  applauses  rent. 

The  nuptials  straight  proceed,  whilst  all  the  town. 

Fresh  in  their  joys,  might  do  them  most  renown. 

First  gold-lcck'd  Hymen  did  to  church  repair. 

Like  a  quick  off' ring  burn'd  in  flames  of  hair. 

And  after,  with  a  virgin  firmament, 

The  godhead-proving  bride,  attended  went 

Before  them  all,  she  look'd  in  her  command. 

As  if  form-giving  Cypria's  silver  hand 

Grip'd  all  their  beauties,  andcrush'd  out  one  flame  j; 

She  blush'd  to  see  how  beauty  overcame 

The  thoughts  of  all  men.     Next  before  her  went 

Five  lovely  children,  deck'd  with  ornament 

Of  her  sweet  colours,  bearing  torches  by. 

For  light  was  held  a  happy  augury 

Of  generation,  whose  eflRcient  right 

Is  nothing  else  but  to  produce  to  light.    . 


342 

The  odd  disparent  number  they  did  chuse^ 

To  shew  the  union  married  loves  should  use. 

Since  in  two  equal  parts  it  will  not  sever. 

But  the  midst  holds  one  to  rejoin  it  ever. 

As  common  to  both  parts  :  men  therefore  deem. 

That  equal  number  gods  do  not  esteem. 

Being  authors  of  sweet  peace  and  unity. 

But  pleasing  to  th'  infernal  empery. 

Under  whose  ensigns  Wars  and  Discords  fight. 

Since  an  even  number  you  may  disunite 

In  two  parts  equal,  nought  in  middle  left. 

To  reunite  each  part  from  other  reft : 

And  five  they  hold  in  most  especial  price. 

Since  'tis  the  first  odd  number  that  doth  rise 

From  the  two  foremost  number's  \mity. 

That  odd  and  even  are  j  which  are  two  and  three. 

For  one  no  number  is  :  but  thence  doth  flow 

The  powerful  race  of  number.     Next  did  go 

A  noble  matron,  that  did  spinning  bear 

A  housewife's  rock  and  spindle,  and  did  wear 

A  weather's  skin,  with  all  the  snowy  fleece. 

To  intimate  that  e'en  the  daintiest  piece. 

And  noblest  born  dame  should  industrious  be ; 

That  which  does  good  disgraceth  no  degree. 

And  now  to  Juno's  temple  they  are  come. 
Where  her  grave  priest  stood  in  the  marriage  room : 
On  his  right  arm  did  hang  a  scarlet  veil. 
And  from  his  shoulders  to  the  ground  did  trail. 
On  either  side,  ribbands  of  white  and  blue  ; 
With  the  red  veil  he  hid  the  bashful  hue 
Of  the  chaste  bride,  to  shew  the  modest  shame. 
In  coupling  with  a  man,  should  grace  a  dame.    ; 
Then  took  he  the  disparent  silks,  and  tied 
The  lovers  by  the  waists,  and  side  to  side. 


343 

In  token  tnat  thereafter  they  must  bind 

In  one  gelf  sacred  knot  each  other  mind. 

Before  them  on  an  altar  he  presented 

Both  fire  and  water  :   which  was  first  invented. 

Since  to  ingenerate  every  human  creature. 

And  eveiy  other  birth  produc'd  by  nature. 

Moisture  and  head  must  mix  :   so  man  and  wife 

For  human  race  must  join  in  nuptial  life. 

Then  one  of  Juno's  birds,  the  painted  jay. 

He  sacrific'd,  and  took  the  gall  away. 

All  which  he  did  behind  the  altar  throw. 

In  sign  no  bitterness  of  hate  should  grow, 

'Twixt  married  loves,  nor  any  least  disdain. 

Nothing  they  spake,  for  'twas  esteemed  too  plain 

For  tlie  most  silken  mildness  of  a  maid. 

To  let  a  public  audience  hear  it  said 

She  boldly  took  the  man  :  and  so  respected 

Was  bashfulness  in  Athens  :  it  erected 

To  chase  jdgneia,  which  is  shamefacedness, 

A  sacred  temple,  holding  her  a  goddess. 

And  now  to  feasts,  masks,  and  triumphant  shows. 

The  shining  troops  return' d,  e'en  till  earth  throws 

Brought  forth  with  joy  the  thickest  part  of  night. 

When  the  sweet  nuptial  song  that  us'd  to  cite 

All  to  their  rest,  was  by  Phevionor  sung  : 

First  Delphian  prophetess,  whose  graces  sprung 

Out  of  the  Muses,  well  she  sung  before 

The  bride  into  her  chamber  :  at  which  door 

A  matron  and  a  torch-bearer  did  stand : 

A  painted  box  of  comfits  in  her  hand 

The  matron  held,  and  so  did  other  some 

That  compass'd  round  the  honour'd  nuptial  room. 

The  custom  was  that  every  maid  did  wear. 

During  her  maidenhead,  a  silken  sphere 


3U 

About  Ker  waist,  above  hef  inmost  weed. 

Knit  with  Minerva"s  knot,  and  that  was  freed 

By  the  fair  bridegroom  on  the  marriage  night. 

With  many  ceremonies  of  delight : 

And  yet  eternis  d  Hymen's  tender  bride. 

To  suffer  it  dissolv'd,  so  sv.'eetly  cry'd. 

The  maids  that  heard,  so  lov'd  and  did  adore  her. 

They  wish'd  with  all  their  hearts  to  suffer  for  her. 

So  had  the  ipatrons,  that  with  comfits  stood 

About  the  chamber,  such  affectionate  blood. 

And  so  true  feeling  of  her  harmless  pains. 

That  every  one  a  shower  of  comfits  rains. 

For  which  the  bride-youths  scrambling  on  the  ground. 

In  noise  of  that  sweet  hail  their  cries  were  drown'd. 

And  thus  blest  Hymen  joy'd  his  gracious  bride. 

And  for  his  joy  was  after  deified. 

The  safiVon  mirror  by  which  Phoebus'  love. 

Green  Tel  lus,  decks  her,  now  he  held  above 

The  cloudy  mountains  :  and  the  noble  maid, 

Sharp-visag'd  Adolesche,  that  was  stray' d 

Out  of  her  way,  in  hasting  with  her  news. 

Not  till  his  hour  th'  Athenian  turrets  views. 

And  now  brought  home  by  guides  :   she  heard  by  all. 

That  her  long  kept  occurrents  would  be  stale. 

And  how  fair  Hymen's  honours  did  excel 

Far  those  rare  news,  which  she  came  short  to  tell. 

To  hear  her  dear  tongue,  robb'd  of  such  a  joy. 

Made  the  well-spoken  nymph  take  such  a  toy. 

That  down  she  sunk  :  when  lightning  from  above. 

Shrunk  her  lean  body,  and  for  mere  free  love, 

Turn'd  into  the  pied-plumed  Fsitiacus, 

That  now  the  Parrot  is  suruam'd  by  us. 

Who  still  with  counterfeit  confusion  prates. 

Nought  but  news  common  to  the  comtnon'st  mates. 


3^5 

This  told,  strange  Teras  touch'd  her  lute,  and  sung 
This  ditty,  that  the  torchy  evening  sprung. 

Epithalamion  Teratos. 

Come,  come,  dear  Night,  love's  mart  of  kisses. 

Sweet  close  of  his  ambitious  line. 

The  frnitful  summer  of  his  blisses. 

Love's  glory  doth  in  darkness  shine. 

O  come,  soft  rest  of  cares,  come.  Night, 

Come,  naked  virtues  only  tire. 

The  reaped  harvest  of  the  light. 

Bound  up  in  sheaves  of  sacred  fire. 

Love  calls  to  w^ar. 

Sighs  his  alarms ; 

Lips  his  swords  are. 

The  field  his  arms. 

Come,  night,  and  lay  the  velvet  hand 
On  glorious  Day's  outfacing  face  ; 
And  all  thy  crowned  flames  command. 
For  torches  to  our  nuptial  grace. 

Love  calls  to  war. 

Sighs  his  alarms  ; 

Lips  his  swords  are. 

The  field  his  arms. 

No  need  have  we  of  factious  Day, 
To  cast,  in  envy  of  thy  peace. 
Her  balls  of  discord  in  thy  way  : 
Here  Beauty's  day  doth  never  cease. 
Day  is  abstracted  here. 
And  varied  in  a  triple  sphere. 
Hero,  Alcmane,  Mya,  so  outshine  thee. 
Ere  thou  come  here  let  Thetis  thrice  refine  thee, 
VOL.  II.  2  y 


346 

Love  calls  to  war. 
Sighs  his  alarms ; 
Lips  his  swords  are. 
The  field  his  arms. 

The  evening  star  I  see  j 
Rise,  youths,  the  evening  star 
Helps  Love  to  summon  war. 
Both  now  embracinsf  be. 


'a 


Risej'youths,  Love's  right  claims  more  than  banquets ;  rise. 

Now  the  bright  marygolds,  that  deck'd  the  skies, 

Phoebus'  celestial  flowers,  that,  contrary 

To  his  flowers  here,  ope  when  he  shuts  his  eye, 

And  shuts  when  he  doth  open,  crown  your  sports : 

Now  love  in  night,  and  night  in  love  exhorts 

Courtship  and  dances  :  all  your  parts  employ. 

And  suit  night's  rich  expansure  with  your  joy  ; 

Love  paints  his  longings  in  sweet  virgins'  eyes  : 

Rise,  youths.  Love's  right  claims  more  than  banquets  j  rise. 

Rise,  virgins,  let  fair  nuptial  loves  infold 

Your  fruitless  breasts :  the  maidenheads  ye  hold 

Are  not  your  own  alone,  but  parted  are  j 

Part  in  disposing  them  your  parents  share. 

And  that  a  third  part  is :  so  must  you  save 

Your  loves  a  third,  and  you  your  thirds  must  have. 

Love  paints  his  longings  in  sweet  virgins'  eyes  : 

Rise,  youths.  Love's  right  claims  more  than  banquets  j  rise. 

Herewith  the  amorous  spirit,  that  was  so  kind 
To  Teras'  hair,  and  comb'd  it  down  with  wind. 
Still  as  it  comet-like,  brake  from  her  brain. 
Would  needs  have  Teras  gone,  and  did  refi-ain 
To  blow  it  down  :  which  staring  up,  dismay'd 
The  timorous  feast,  and  she  no  longer  staid  j 


347 

But  bowing  to  the  bridegroom  andthe  bride. 
Did  like  a  shooting  exhalation  glide 
Out  of  their  sights  :  the  turning  of  her  back 
Made  them  all  shriek,  it  look'd  so  ghastly  black, 

0  hapless  Hero,  that  most  hapless  cloud 
Thy  soon  succeeding  tragedy  foreshew'd. 
Thus  all  the  nuptial  crew  to  joys  depart. 

But  much  wrung  Hero,  stood  Hell's  blackest  dart : 
Whose  wound  because  I  grieve  so  to  display, 

1  use  digressions  thus  to'  increase  the  day. 

The  end  of  the  fifth  Sestyad. 


f'  Au  Improvement  of  Imprisonment,  Disgrace,  Poverty, 
into  real  Freedom,  honest  Reputation,  perdurable 
Riches ;  evidenced  in  a  few  Crums  and  Scraps  lately 

found  in  a  Prisoner's- Basket  at  Newgate:  and 
saved  together,  by  a  visitant  of  oppressed  prisoners, 

for  the  refreshing  of  himself  and  those  who  are  either 
in  a  worse  prison,  or  (who  loathing  the  dainties  of 
the  Flesh)  hunger  and  thirst  after  Righteousness. 

He  who  five  thousand  hungry  souls  had  fed 
With  two  small  fishes  and  five  lofives  of  bread. 
Would  have  the  fragments  sav'd :  for  that  is  sweet 
To  some,  which  others  trample  under  feet. 
This  Prisoner  s  late  experiments  may  he 
Of  use  to  them  who  know  much  more  than  he : 
For  men  to  credit  those  are  soonest  mov'd. 
Whose  words,  to  he  sincere,  by  deeds  are  prov'd. 

By  George  JVither.  London  printed  in  the  year  \6Q\" 
8vo.  pp.  124, 


348 

An  analysis  of  the  voluminous  works  of  this  active 
and  singular  w^riter,  in  the  British  Bibliographer,  vol.  i. 
stated  the  general  contents  of  the  present  publication. 
As  much  of  it  is  of  an  interesting  cast,  I  shall  not  offer 
any  apology  for  introducing  a  succession  of  extracts  to 
the  readers  of  Restituta. 

It  opens  with  an  address  from  Wither  to  those 
friends  who  had  inquired  after  him,  since  the  seizure 
of  his  person,  books,  and  papers,  for  having  written  an 
imputed  libel  against  the  House  of  Commons. 

His  pious  resignation  and  contentation  on  the  oc- 
casion are  exemplary. 

"  I  nothing  want,  that's  truly  needful,  save 
Due  thankfulness  to  God  for  what  I  have  ; 
Who  hitherto,  in  an  unusual  wise. 
Without  my  care,  vouchsafed!  me  supplies  ; 
Which  hereby  I  acknowledge,  to  this  end. 
That  others  may  In  straits  on  Him  depend. 

Though  now  there  be  not  left  with  me  one  Lne 
Of  what  I  last  wrote,  I  no  whit  repine  : 
For  Providence  will  further  my  intent. 
Thereby  much  better  than  the  course  I  meant ; 
Or  else  will  raise  up,  if  that  be  calcin'd, 
A  sprightller  product  of  the  self-same  kind  j 
Which  to  obliterate  none  shall  presume. 
Nor  time  abolish,  nor  the  flame  consume. 
Till  it  hath  took  effect  to  that  good  end 
For  which  I  did,  at  first,  the  same  intend." 


The  following  passages  are  worthy  of  extraction. 

"  Should  none  reprove  but  persons  wholly  free 
From  sinfulness,  no  sin  reprov'd  should  be  : 


349 

And  where  our  general  reproofs  offend. 
Few  men  their  private  errors  will  amend. 

All  that  is  in  ray  thoughts,  my  words,  or  deeds 
Approvable,  from  God's  free  grace  proceeds  : 
And  none  deserveth  blame  but  I  alone. 
If  1  do  what  now  is  thought  misdone. 

I  love  and  honour  more  a  foe  that's  just. 
Than  him  who  saves  my  life,  and  breaks  his  trust ; 
And  will  not  thank  them  who  shall  see  wherein 
I  merit  blame,  yet  palliate  my  sin  ; 
Or  shall  excuse  me  from  due  punishment. 
When  I  shall  know  my  faults,  and  not  repent. 

When  more  desire  to  be  affected  tlius. 
It  will  be  better  both  for  them  and  us  : 
And  he  who  makes  these  things  his  chief  ambition, 
^  Though  wrongs  he  feel,  can  never  fear  perdition." 

The  following  passages  are  taken  from  his  first 
meditation  upon  his  corauiitment  to  Newgate,  and 
bespeak  a  mind  imbued  with  true  Christian  principles 
and  fortitude  of  a  very  superior  nature  to  that  of  stoical 
philosophy. 

"  And  is  this  Newgate,  whereof  so  afraid 
Offenders  are  ?    Is  this  the  dismal  place 
Wherein,  before  I  came,  I  heard  it  said 
There's  nothing  but  grief,  horror,  and  disgrace? 
I  find  it  otherwise  :  and,  doubtless,  either 
It  is  bely'd — or  they  who  are  sent  hither 
Within  themselves,  when  to  this  house  they  come. 
Bring  that  which  makes  it  seem  so  troublesome. 

I  no  worse  here,  than  where  I  was  before, 
AcconiiTiodated  am  ;  for  though  conlin'd 


350 

From  some  things,  which  concern  my  body  mor« 

Than  formerly — it  hath  inlarg'd  my  mind. 
Here,  by  degrees^  with  what  the  world  most  fears. 
With  torments  and  their  executioners, 

I  may  be  so  acquainted,  if  I  please. 

That  things,  which  threaten  pain,  shall  bring  me  ease. 

For  that  cost  they  supplied  have,  to  whom 

My  life,  it  seems,  is  dearer  than  to  me ; 

And  they  engaged  for  me  are  become  : 

Lord !  whence  proceeds  this  kindness,  but  from  thee  ? 

So  is  it,  that  I  now  can  hardly  tell 

Whether  my  friends  to  save  me  shew  more  zeal. 
Or  they  more  malice,  who  have  sought  of  late 
To  ruin  both  my  person  and  estate. 

My  soul !  these  things  consider  welli  and  whence 
They  do  proceed  :  consider  why,  likewise : 
Who  puts  into  thy  heart  this  confidence  : 
Who,  by  unknown  hands,  each  day's  want  suppliee  : 

Who  comforts  doth  augment  as  griefs  increase ; 

Who  clothes  and  feeds  thee  in  this  wildernessj 
And,  when  terrestrial  aids  are  quite  bereaven. 
Rains  on  thee  quails  and  manna  down  from  heaven." 

Let  therefore  these  experiments  with  awe 
Be  entertain'd  :  and  if  henceforth  God  should. 
As  he  perhaps  will,  common  helps  withdraw. 
Let  them  quite  go,  and  catch  on  him  fast  hold. 
For  if  thou  then  despair,  or  shalt  distiiist 
His  love,  who  never  was  to  thee  unjust. 
This  will  then  prove  to  be  a  carnal  boast. 
And  thou,  with  all  thy  vain  hopes,  wilt  be  lost. 

Search  thou  thy  heart,  therefore,  with  prudent  care. 
That  malice,  pride,  nor  vengeance  lurk  within ; 


351 

That  love  of  God,  and  all  mankind  be  there, 

Link'd  with  a  detestation  of  all  sin  : 
And  if  thou  find  it  so,  be  not  afraid 
Whate'er  against  thee  shall  be  done  or  said  : 

For  resolution,  built  upon  that  rock. 

Will,  of  all  raging  storms,  endure  the  shock. 

Make  Jesus  Christ  to  be  the  sole  foundation 

Of  thy  affection,  of  thy  hope  and  trust. 

Of  thy  beUef,  of  thy  sanctification. 

Of  all  thy  musings,  and  of  all  thou  dost  : 
For  nothing  justifies,  but  doth  condemn. 
That  is  not — in,  for,  from,  and  by  Him  j 

Without  respect  to  any  interest. 

Except  what  with  His  glory  may  consist. 

-  Lord !  thou  hast  by  renewing,  in  some  measure. 
My  much  depraved  will,  inclined  me 
In  all  things  to  submit  to  thy  good  pleasure ; 
Let  what's  defective  now,  made  perfect  be. 
That  known  it  may  be  to  this  generation, 
Man  may  attain  to  such  a  resignation. 
That  he  shall  more  delight  Thy  will  to  do 
Than  that  which  his  own  will  provokes  him  to." 

The  following  lines  occur  in  an  Address  to  the  city 
of  London,  of  which,  from  the  time  I  believe  of  his 
publishing  Britain's  Remembrancer,  he  had  conceived 
himself  to  be  a  kind  of  political  augur  and  spiritual 
laureat. 

"  What  I  have  been  to  thee,  it  hath  been  shown. 
What  thou  to  me  art,  it  will  now  be  known  : 
And,  possibly,  another  generation 
Will  heed,  that  I  am  somewhat  to  this  nation. 


35Q 

Deserving  better,  than  that  lie  I  should 
Within  a  jail,  at  seventy-three  years  old. 
For  acting  and  designing  nothing  w^orse 
Than  how  to  save  them  from  a  greater  curse. 
Look  to  yourselves  :  for  whether  bond  or  free 
I  am,  I  know  my  God  will  look  to  me  : 
And  I  and  mine  shall  be  both  cloth'd  and  fed. 
When  they  who  slighted  us,  want  robes  and  bread. 

So  believeth  Geokge  Wither." 

I  extract  a  few  characteristic  stanzas  from  "  An 
other  Meditation,  or  Ballad,  (as  the  world  perhaps  will 
call  it)  composed  by  the  same  prisoner  since  his  com- 
mitment to  Newffate." 

"  My  soul,  since  we  are  left  alone 

In  our  confinement  here. 
Where  we  disturbed  are  of  none. 

To  God,  come,  draw  we  near  3 
For  part  of  his  three  dreaded  woes 

Are  now  so  carrying  on. 
That  if  to  him  we  cling  not  close. 

We  may  be  quite  undone. 

'Tis  but  the  suburbs  unto  hell 

Whereto  we  now  are  sent ; 
And,  for  the  ftiture,  none  can  tell 

What  here  to  us  is  meant. 
To  better  men  worse  things  befall 

Than  seem  to  be  our  meed  j 
And  our  afflictions  are  but  small 

To  those  which  may  succeed. 

With  sickness  we  are  not  opprest 
In  body  or  in  mind : 


S5 


r> 


No  outv^ard  cares  disturb  our  rest> 

No  inward  fears  we  find. 
For  all  the  sufferings  wherewith  we 

As  yet  afflicted  seem. 
Are  only  such  as  grievous  be 

In  other  men's  esteem. 

But  should  I,  being  old  and  poor, 

Diseased  grow  within  : 
With  aches  have  my  limbs  made  sore. 

Or,  with  an  ulcer'd  skin. 
Be  turn'd  into  the  common  jail. 

To  lie  upon  the  ground  ; 
And  all  those  outward  helps  quite  fail, 

Which  I  have  lately  found. - 

-    The  plagues,  which  others  to  despair 

And  to  blaspheming  move. 
Shall  stir  me  up  to  praise  and  prayer. 

And  fill  my  heart  with  love. 
Yea,  that  which  on  the  kings  of  earth 

Will  dreadful  horrors  bring,  i 

Shall  make  me  with  triumphant  mirth 

A  Hallelujah  sing. 

How  blessed  is  that  heavenly  place 

Where  thou,  O  Christ !  dost  dwell ; 
If  thou  canst  bring  such  joy  and  peace 

Into  this  earthly  hell. 
He  with  whom  thou  still  present  art, 

Whate'er  on  him  is  laid. 
If  thee  he  loves  with  all  his  heart. 

Needs  no  where  be  afraid. 

Sept.  3,  1661." 
The  following  appears  to  have  been  written  in  the 

VOL.  II.  2  z 


354 

very  temper  and  spirit  of  the  great  Apostle  of  the  Gen- 
tiles. 

"  A  Return,  in  answer  to  some  of  them  who  sent  to  know  how 
it  fares  with  me  in  my  Imprisonment. 

God  gave  me  grace ;  by  grace  I  did  conceive 
A  saving  faith  ;  by  saving  faith  I  live. 
My  life  of  faith  hath  had  a  preservation. 
By  hearing,  acting,  and  by  meditation. 
By  meditation  I  reduce  to  words 
What  my  experience  in  this  life  affords  : 
By  that  experience  which  I  have  attain'd, 
A  patience  in  my  troubles  I  have  gain'd  : 
My  patience  hath  such  hopefulness  begot. 
That  this  disgraceful  prison  shames  me  not. 
Though  I  am  poor,  and,  as  our  proverb  says. 
As  poor  as  Job,  unto  my  God  be  praise, 
I  am  no  beggar ;  for  I  have  not  yet 
Been  forc'd  to  ask  for  money,  clothes,  or  meat ; 
Nor  tempted,  having  daily  bread,  to  borrow. 
Through  fear  of  wants  that  may  befal  to-morrow. 
And  well  rememb'ring  who  was  pleas'd  to  say — ■ 
There's  care  enough  belonging  to  each  day ; 
I,  for  a  day  to  which  I  may  not  live. 
Will  not,  of  what  I  have,  myself  deprive. 
With  my  condition  I  am  pleas'd,  and  merry  ; 
Of  my  long  sufferings  I  am  not  grown  weary ; 
And  wish  those,  who  pursue  me  with  most  hate. 
No  worse,  than  to  enjoy  the  like  estate. 
Except  my  bands. — I  have  acquir'd  this  rest 
By  those  means  and  degrees  afore  exprest ; 
And  this  unfeignedly  to  you  declares 
How  at  this  present  time  with  me  it  fares. 

Sept.  7,  l6t5l.     From  Newgate:' 


355 


A  short  poem,  entitled  "  A  Pass-by,  in  relatidn  to 
those  who  seem  offended  at  my  present  scribbhngs,  as 
they  call  them,"  speaks  with  much  self-complacency 
of  the  consolations  resulting  to  himself  from  his  owu 


wntmgs. 


"  Although  my  former  poems  and  my  musings 
Had  not,  until  of  late  days,  those  perusings 
Which  I  expected — nor  now  valued  be 
Of  many, — they  have  much  refreshed  me  : 
And,  otherwise,  for  supplements  have  stood 
Instead  of  sleep,  of  raiment,  or  of  food. 
In  troubles  me  they  more  content  have  made 
Than  wealth,  repute,  and  all  the  friends  I  had  : 
They  cause  me  to  be  fearless  of  my  foes ; 
'When  I  am  vex'd,  my  spirit  they  compose  : 
When  I  am  poor,  they  are  instead  of  wealth  : 
When  I  am  sick,  they  help  repair  my  health  : 
When  I  am  well,  they  are  my  recreation ; 
When  tempted  to  despair,  hope's  reparation. 
Thereby,  when  sadness  comes,  to  mirth  I  turn  it. 
When  I  am  slighted,  they  do  make  me  scorn  it. 
In  prisons  when  my  body  is  confin'd. 
They  do  so  many  ways  inlarge  my  mind. 
That,  doubting  whether  will  for  me  prove  best. 
The  freedom  lost,  or  that  which  is  possest, 
I  use  the  means  of  both ;  but  wholly  leave 
The  choice  to  God  ;  and  what  he  gives,  receive. 
They  are  companions,  when  I'm  left  alone  ; 
They  find  me  work  to  do,  when  I  have  none. 
By  day,  me  from  ill  company  they  keep. 
Make  nights  less  tedious,  when  I  cannot  sleep. 
They  ease  me,  when  I  am  opprest  with  wrongs ; 
When  I  want  music,  they  do  make  me  songs." 


366 

His  apology  for  composing  the  poem  called  P^ox 
Pulgi,  is  of  considerable  length,  and  has  many  pas- 
sages of  strong  feeling  and  vindictive  energy.  A  few 
of  them  only  shall  be  now  given.  He  writes  this  apO' 
logy  to  clear  his  aspersed  innocence. 

"  And  to  declare,  what  I  shall  now  express, 
I  may  hereafter  want  both  time  and  place : 
Or,  being  dead,  before  my  trial -day. 
My  false  accusers  to  my  charge  may  lay 
What  they  shall  please  :  and  none  be  certain  why 
I  was  committed  in  this  jail  to  die. 
God  give  me  strength  to  finish  this,  and  then 
Let  all  my  foes  do  and  say  what  they  can." 

He  complains  of  the  garbled  extracts  w^hich  had 
been  taken  from  his  production,  with  an  evil  intent; 
and  of  the  fallacious  inferences  deduced  from  those 
extracts,  in  order  to  make  it  appear  that  he  had  cast 
aspersions  on  the  Lower  House  of  Parliament.  He 
thus  proceeds : 

"  My  cause  may,  for  the  present,  injur' d  be. 
But  all  the  world  can  do  no  harm  to  me. 
Though  that  which  is  without  me  wrong' d  hath  been. 
And  may  be  still,  all  shall  be  safe  within, 
So  long  as  God  assisteth  me, — by  whom 
I,  witli  this  confidence,  am  arm'd  become: 
And,  peradventure,  they  who  think  to  spoil 
This  confidence,  may  give  themselves  the  foil." 

On  the  loss  of  his  property  he  thus  consoles  IiIl^- 
self : 


<f 


I,  with  my  losses  was  as  well  contentj 


337 

As  is  a  Christian  when  by  Turks  pursued. 

Who  overpower  him  by  their  multitude. 

He  wrecks  his  vessel  on  a  friendly  shore. 

Where  he  hath  life  and  freedom,  though  no  more." 

He  then  states  the  cause  of  persecution  against 
him — 

'"  that  whereby  most  blame  to  me  may  come. 
And  which  will  probably  be  charged  home. 
Is  an  impeachment  for  a  heinous  thing. 
That  some  are  pleas'd  to  call  a  libelling 
Against  the  Commons  :  which,  if  proved  true, 
I'll  ask  no  favour ;  for  I  think  none  due  j 
And  if  it  be  an  unjust  imputation, 
I,  for  my  sufferings,  claim  a  reparation. 
By  feigned  speakers,  I  have  only  said 
What  was  to  be  by  common  fame  convey' d. 
And  murmur' d  in  most  places,  to  worse  ends 
Than  that,  whereto  my  harmless  poem  tends. 
And  if  I  may  presume  the  tnath  to  teD, 
I  am  rewarded  ill  for  doing  well. 
For  thereby  I  not  only  turn'd  aside 
That  general  reproach  which  was  applied 
To  all  the  House  of  Commons,  and  alone 
To  them  confin'd  it,  who  brought  blame  thereon." 

The  personal  offence  was  given  to  Sir  Richard 
Onslow,  M.  P. 

The  remainder  of  this  tract  may  furnish  matter  for 
another  article  in  continuation. 

f 


358 


Ham  with  you  to  Saffron-Walden,  or  Gahridl  Har- 
•vey's  Hunt  is  up.  Containing  a  full  Answere  to 
the  eldest  sonne  of  the  Halter  maker.  Or  Nashe  his 
Confutation  of  the  sinfull  Doctor.  The  Mott  or 
Poesie  instead  of 

omne  tulit  punctum : 
Pads  Jiducia  nunquam. 

As  much  as  to  say,  as  J  sayd,  1  would  speake  with  km„ 
Printed  at  London  by  John  Danier,  lo96." 


4to,     Extends  to  sig.  X  3, 


The  names  of  Tom  Nash  and  Gabriel  Harvey  sel- 
dom fall  together  in  the  same  plain  of  paper  without 
reminding  the  reader  of  the  story  of  the  tiger  and  rhi- 
noceros, never  meeting  without  attacking  each  other ; 
and  we  expect,  as  a  natural  consequence,  a  spirited 
skirmish,  if  not  a  desperate  battle.  Though  their  ha- 
tred was  little  inferior  to  those  animals,  and  their  war- 
fare nearly  as  rude  and  ferocious,  yet  the  result  was 
never  equally  tragical.  Their  mode  of  attack  was 
uncertain :  sometimes  tilting  with  wit  and  irony,  as 
courtly  as  knights  errant ;  and  anon,  rudely  struggling 
and  wrestling  to  exhibit  each  other  as  bedaubed  with 
the  filth  of  the  fashionable  Ajax.  Had  either  of  their 
restless  minds  been  content  with  an  occasional  triumph, 
their  waspish  bickering  would  never  have  made  their 
controversy  to  have  lasted  nearly  as  many  years  as  the 
siege  of  Troy :  but  a  temporary  respite  seems  only  to 


359 

have  been  considered  as  preparatory  to  a  new  encounter. 
Notwithstanding  the  occasional  mendicity  which  their 
pages  display,  the  whole  are  richly  diversified  with 
matter  and  local  allusions ;  enlivened  with  witticisms, 
or  a  studied  vein  of  caustic  humour :  and  furnish  such 
an  assemblage  of  amusing  traits  of  manners  and  au- 
thors, that  the  controversy  may  be  called  the  granary 
for  commentators,  and  those  whose  research  has  turned 
to  the  EHzabethan  era.  More  notes  have  been  gather- 
ed from  the  light  tracts  of  Tom  Nash  than  from  the 
voluminous  productions  of  any  one  of  his  contempora- 
ries. It  may  therefore  be  regretted  that  the  whole  of  this 
literary  controversy  has  never  been  reprinted  compactly 
in  an  octavo  volume.  Even  an  epitome,  done  by  a  well 
versed  hand,  would  be  valuable ;  but  it  is  not  easy  to 
compress  all  their  best  flights,  or  determine  what  may 
be  rejected,  as  not  likely  to  elucidate  an  enigmatical 
passage  in  some  other  writer.  This  hint  is  thrown  out 
for  those  whom  it  may  concern.  Certainly  in  this  age 
of  reprints,  several  have  been  announced  of  less  value, 
and  undoubtedly  more  prosing  in  point  of  subject.  But 
to  our  task. 

The  dedicatory  epistle  is  addressed 

"  To  the  most  Orthodoxall  and  reuerent  Corrector  of  starhig 
haires,  the  sincere  and  finigraphicall  rarifier  ofprolixious 
rough  barlarisme,  the  thrice  egregious  and  censoriall  ani^ 
maduertiser  of  vagrant  mustachios,  chiefe  scauinger  of 
chins,  and  principal!  Head-man*  of  the  parish  wherein  he 
dwells,  speciall  superuisor  of  all  excrementall  superfluities 
for   Trinitie  Colledge  in  Cambridge,  and  (to  conclude)  a 

*  Quasi  conversant  about  heads. 


360 

notable  and  singular  benefactor  to  all  beards  in  generall, 
Don  Richardo  Barbarossa  de  Caesario ;  Tho.  Nashe  wish- 
eth  the  highest  Toppe  of  his  contentment  and  felicitie,  and 
the  shortning  of  all  his  enemies. 

Acute  and  amiable  Dick,  not  Die  mihi  Musa 
virum.  Musing  Dick,  that  studied  a  whole  yeare  to  know 
which  was  the  male  and  female  of  red  herrings :  nor  Die  ob- 
secro,  Dick  of  all  Dickes,  that  in  a  Church  where  the  Organs 
were  defac'd,  came  and  offred  himselfe  with  his  pipe  and  taber : 
nor  old  Dick  of  the  Castle,  that  vpon  the  newes  of  the  losse  of 
Calls,  went  and  put  a  whole  bird-spit  in  the  pipe  of  his  buckler : 
nor  Dick  Swash  or  Desperate  Dick,  that's  such  a  terrible  cutter 
at  a  chyne  of  beefe,  and  deuoures  more  meate  at  ordinaries  in 
discoursing  of  his  fraies,  and  deep  acting  of  his  slashing  and 
hewing,  than  would  serue  halfe  a  dozen  Brewers'  Dray-men  : 
nor  Dick  of  the  Cow,  that  mad  Demilance  Northren  Borderer, 
who  plaid  his  prizes  with  the  Lord  Jockey  so  brauely,  but  pa- 
raphrasticall  gallant  patron  Dick,  as  good  a  fellow  as  euer  was 
heigh  fill  the  post  hostesse :  curteous  Dicke,  comicall  Dicke, 
liuely  Dicke,  louely  Dicke,  learned  Dicke,  olde  Dicke  of  Lich- 
field, Juheo  te  plurimum  saluere,  which  is  by  interpretation,  I 
ioy  to  heare  thou  hast  so  profited  in  gibridge, 

I  am  sure  thou  wondrest  not  a  little,  what  I  meane  to  come 
vppon  thee  so  straungelye,  with  such  a  huge  dicker  of  Dickes 
in  a  heape  altogether :  but  that's  but  to  shew  the  redundance  of 
thy  honourable  familie,  and  how  affluent  and  copious  thy  name 
is  in  all  places,  though  Erasmus  in  his  Copia  verborum  neuer 
mentions  it. 

Without  further  circumstance  to  make  short,  (which  to 
speake  troth  is  onely  proper  to  thy  trade)  the  short  and  long  of 
it  is  this.  There  is  a  certaine  kinde  of  Doctor  of  late  very  pitti- 
fully  growen  balde,  and  thereupon  is  to  beshauen  immediately, 
to  trie  if  that  will  helpe  him :  now  I  know  no  such  nimble. 


361 


fellow  at  his  weapon  in  all  England  as  thyselfe^  who  (as  I  heare) 
standst  in  election  at  this  instant  to  bee  chiefe  Crowner  or 
clipper  of  crownes  in  Cambridge,  and  yet  no  defacer  of  the 
Queene's  coyne  neither  :  and  it  is  pittie  but  thou  shouldst  haue 
it,  for  thou  hast  long  seru'd  as  a  Clarke  in  the  crowne  office, 
and  concluded  syllogismes  in  Barbara  anie  time  this  sixteene 
yeare,  and  yet  neuer  metst  \\ith  anie  requitall,  except  it  were 
some  few  French  crownes,  pild  Friers'  crownes,  drye  shauen, 
not  so  muche  worth  as  one  of  these  Scottish  home  crownes  : 
which  (thy  verie  enemies  must  needes  confesse)  were  but  hare 
wages,  (yea,  as  bare  as  my  nayle,  I  faith)  for  thy  braue  desert 
and  dexteritie  :  and  some  such  thinnc  gratuitie  or  Haire-loome 
it  may  be  the  Doctor  may  present  thee  with,  but  how  euer  it 
falls,  hath  his  head  or  his  hayre  the  falling  sicknesse  neuer  so, 
without  anie  more  dely,  of  or  on,  trimm'd  hee  must  bee  with 
a  trice,  and  there  is  no  remedie,  but  thou  must  needes  come 
and  ioyne  with  me  to  giue  him  the  terrible  cut.  Wherefore 
(good  Dick)  on  with  thy  apron,  and  arme  thy  selfe  to  set  him 
downe  at  the  first  word  :  Stand  to  him,  I  say,  and  take  him  a 
button  lower,  feare  not  to  shew  him  a  knacke*  of  thy  occupation, 
and  once  in  thy  life  let  it  be  said,  that  a  Doctor  weares  thy  cloth,f 
or  that  thou  hast  caus'd  him  to  do  pennance,  and  weare  Haire 
cloth  for  his  sinnes.  Were  he  as  he  hath  been,  (I  can  assure  thee) 
he  would  clothe  and  adorne  thee  with  manie  gracious  gallant 
complements,  and  not  a  rotten  tooth  that  hangs  out  at  thy  shop 
window,  but  should  cost  him  an  indefinite  Turkish  armie  of  Eng- 
lish Hexameters.  O,  he  hath  been  old  dogge  at  that  drunken  stag- 
gering kind  of  verse,  which  is  all  vp  hill  and  downe  hill,  like 
the  way  betwixt  Stamford  and  Beechfeeld,  and  goes  like  a 
horse  plunging  through  the  myre  in  the  deep  of  winter,  now 
soust  vp  to  the  saddle,  and  streight  aloft  on  his  tip  toes.     In- 

*  Barbers  kiiacking  their  fingers. 

t  Tl^ejr  lousy  naprie  they  put  about  mens'  neckes,  whiles  tliey  are  trim- 
ming. 

VOL.  II.  3  A 


S62 

deed,  in  old  King  Harrie  sincerities  a  kind  of  verse  it  is,  bee 
hath  been  enfeoft  in  from  his  minoritie,  for  as  I  have  bin  faith- 
fiilly  informed^  hee  first  cryde  in  that  verse  in  the  verie  moment 
of  his  birth,   and  when  he  was  but  yet  a  fresh-in  Cambridge, 
he  set  vp  Siquisses,*  and  sent  his  accounts  to  his  father  in  those 
ioulting  Heroicks.     Come,   come,  account  of  him  as  you  list 
by  Poll  and  Aedipoll  I  protest,  your  noble  science  of  decisionf 
and  contraction  is  immortally  beholding  to  him,   for  twice 
double  his  patrimonie  hath  he  spent  in  carefull  cherishing  and 
preseruing  his  pickerdeuant :  and  besides  a  deuine  vicarly  bro- 
ther of  his,  called  Astrologicall  Richard,  some  few  yeares  since 
(for  the  benefit  of  his  countrey)  most  studiously  compyled  A 
profound  Abridgement  vpon  beards,  and  therein  copiously  di- 
lated of  the  true  discipline  of  peakes,  and  no  lesse  frutelessely 
determined,  betwixt  the  swallowe's  taile  cut,  and  the  round 
beard  like  a  rubbing  brush.     It  was  my  chaunce   (O  thrice 
blessed  chaunce)  to  the  great  comfort  of  my  Muse  to  peruse  it, 
although  it  came  but  priuately  in  print :  and  for  a  more  rate-t 
fied  pasport  (in  thy  opinion)  that  I  haue  read  it  and  digested  it, 
this  title  it  beareth,  A  DefenceX  of  short  haire  against  Synesius 
and  Pierius :  or  rather  in  move  familiar  English  to  expresse  it, 
A  Dash  ouer  the  head  against  baldnes,  verle  necessary  to  be 
obserued  of  all  the  looser  sort,  or  loose  hair'd  sort  of  yong  Gen-t 
tlemen  and  Courtiers,  and  no  less  pleasant  and  profitable  to  be 
remembred  of  the  whole  Common-wealth  of  the  Barbars.    The 
Posie  theretoo  annexed,  Prolixior  est  Ireuitate  sua;  as  much 
to  say,  as  burne  bees  and  haue  bees,  and  hair  the  more  it  is 
cut  the  more  it  comes  :  lately  deuised  and  set  forth  by  Richard 
JIaruey,  the  vnluckie  Prophet  of  prodigies.     If  this  may  not 
settle  thy  beleefe,  but  yet  thou  requirest  a  further  tokeii  to 

*  Slquis  a  bill  for  any  thing  lost, 
t  For  diuision  and  contraction. 

X  Therfore  belike  hee  gaue  it  that  title  because  it  was  most  of  it  shor^ 
haire  his  father  made  ropes  of. 


56S 

make  Vp  euen  mdney,  in  the  Epistle  Dedicatorie  tliereof  to  a 
great  man  of  this  land,  whom  he  calls  hisverie  right  honourable 
good  Lord,  he  recounteth  his  large  bounties  bestowed  vppon 
him,  and  talkes  of  the  secret  fauours  which  hee  did  him  in  his 
studie  or  closet  at  Court. 

Heare,  you  Dick,  marke  you  here  what  a  iewell  this  learning 
is :  how  long  will  it  be,  ere  thou  studie  thyselfe  to  the  like 
preferment.  No  reason,  I  see,  why  thou  being  a  Barber 
shouldst  not  be  as  hair-lrain'd  as  he.  Onely  for  writing  a 
booke  of  beards,  in  which  he  had  no  fiirther  experience,  but  by- 
looking  on  his  father  when  he  made  hairs,  hair  lines  I  meane, 
and  yet  not  such  lines  of  life  as  a  hangman  hath  in  his  hand, 
but  haire  lines  to  hang  linnen  on  :  for  that  smal  demerit  (I  say) 
is  he  thus  adiianced  and  courted,  and  from  Astrological  Dick 
raited  to  bee  fauorite  Dick.  And  verie  meete  it  is  he  should 
be  so  fauored  and  rais'd  by  high  personages,  for  before  he  was 
as  low  a  Parson  or  Vicar,  as  a  man  could  lightly  set  ey  on. 

With  teares  be  it  spoken,  too  fe'Cv  such  lowly  parsons  and 
preachers  we  haue,  who  laying  aside  all  worldly  encumbrances, 
and  pleasant  co''uersing  with  Saint  Austen,  lerome,  Chrisostome, 
wil  be  content  to  read  a  lecture  as  he  hath  done  de  lana  caprina, 
(almost  as  slender  a  cast  subiect  as  a  catt's  smelling  haires,)  or 
trauerse  the  subtile  distinctions  twixt  short  cut  and  long  taile. 

Fie,  this  is  not  the  fortieth  dandiprat  part  of  the  affectionate 
Items,  hee  hath  bequeathed  on  your  mysterie,  with  fiue  thousand 
other  doctrinal  deuotions,  hath  he  adopted  himselfe  more  than 
a  by  founder  of  your  trade,  conioyning  with  his  aforesaid  Doctor 
Brother  in  eightie-eight  browne  baker's  dozen  of  almanackes. 

In  euerie  of  which  famous  annals  of  the  foure  windes, 
vnfallible  rules  are  prescribed  for  men  to  observe  the  best  time 
to  breed  loue-lockes  in,  and  so  to  ringle*  a  thorough  hayre 

*  Some  holde  that  any  place  of  a  man's  cliin,  beeing  rub'd  with  a  gold 
ring,  bceiiig  heated,  will  so  harden  the  skin,  that  there  shall  neuer  anie  haire 
grow  there  more. 


364 

for  rooting,  that  it  shall  neuer  put  foorlh  his  snayle's  hornes 
again  :  as  also  vnder  what  planet  a  man  maye  with  least  dangef 
picke  his  teeth,  and  how  to  catch  the  sun  in  such  a  phisicall 
signe,  that  one  may  sweate  and  be  not  a  haire  the  w  orse. ,  . . 

Steele  thy  painted  may-pole,  or  njore  properly  to  tearme  it, 
thy  redoubted  rigorous  horsman's  stafFe  (which  at  thy  dore  as  a 
manifest  signe  thou  hangst  forth  of  thy  martiall  prowesse  and 
hardiment)  on  their  insolent  creasts,  that  maligne  and  despise 
me,  and  fofbeare  not  to  bring  forth  all  thy  brasse  peeces  against 
them.  It  is  well  knowen  thou  hast  been  a  Commaunder  and 
a  Souldier  euer  since  Tilhury  Carnpe,  and  earlie  and  late  walht 
the  round,  and  dealt  \ex\Q  short  and  round  with  all  those  that 
come  vnder  thy  fingers  :  strugled  through  the  foamie  deepe, 
and  skirmisht  on  the  dowries;  wherefore  if  thou  tak'st  them 
not  downe  soundlie,  with  a  hey  downe  and  a  derry,  and  doost 
not  shuffle  and  cut  with  them  lustilie,  actum  est  de  pudicitiu, 
I  aske  of  God  thou  maist  light  vpon  none  but  bald-pates  till 
thou  diest.  But,  I  trow,  thou  wilt  cary  a  better  pate  with 
thee,  and  not  suffer  any  of  these  indigent  old  fashion'd  iudge- 
ments  to  cany  it  away  :  whose  wits  were  right  stuffe  when 
those  loue-letters  in  rime  were  in  request,  and  whose  capacities 
neuer  minded  their  pace,  since  Pace  the  Duke  of  Korfolke's 
foole  died 

Plie  them,  plie  them  vncessantly  vnico  Dick,  euen  as  a 
water-man  plies  for  his  fares,  and  insinuate  and  goe  about  the 
bush  with  them,  Uke  as  thou  art  wont  to  insinuate  and  go  about 
the  grizlie  bushle  beard  of  some  sauage  Saracen  Butcher,  and 
neuer  surcease  flaunting  and  firking  it  in  fustain,  till  vnder  the 
vniuersities  vnited  hand  and  scale  they  bee  enacted  as  obsolaete 
a  case  of  Cockescombes,  as  euer  he  was  in  Trinitie  CoUedge, 
that  would  not  carrie  his  tutor's  bow  into  the  field,  because  it 
would  not  ediiie :  or  his  fellow  qui  qucs  codshead,  that  in  the 
Latine  tragcdie  of  K.  Richard,  cride,  Advrbs,  ad-vrbs,  advrls, 
when  his  whole  part  was  no  more  but,  Vrls,  vrls.  aJ  anna, 
ad  arma ^ 


365 

Gommence,  commence,  I  admonish  thee^  thy  merits  are 
tipe  for  it,   and  there  haue  been  Doctors  of  thy  facultie,  as 
Doctor  Dodipowle,   for  example :    and  here  in   London  yet 
extant  viua  voce  to  testifie  Doctor  Nott  and  Doctor  PowJe,  none 
of  which  in  not  ting  and  powling  go  beyond  thee.     To  vtter 
Vnto  thee  my  fimcie  as  touching  those  Neoterick  tongues  thou 
professest,  in  whose  pronunciation  old  Too/y  and  thou  varie  as 
much  as  Stephen  Gardineer  and  Sir  John  Cheeke  about  the 
pronunciation  of  the  Greeke  tongue :  loe,  for  a  testifying  in- 
couragement  how  much  I  wish  thy  encrease  in  those  languages^ 
I  haue  here  tooke  the  paines  to  nit  and  louze  ouer  the  Doc- 
tour's  Booke,  and  though  manie  cholericke  cookes  about  Lon- 
don in  a  mad  rage  haue  dismembred  it,  and  thrust  it  piping  hot 
into  the  ouen  vnder  the  bottoms  of  dowsets,   and  impiously 
prickt  the  torne  sheetes  of  it  for  basting  paper  on  the  outsides 
of  geese  and  roasting  beefe,  to  keepe  them  from  burning,  yet 
haue  I  naturally  cherisht  it  and  hug'd  it  in  my  bosome,  euen  as 
a  carrier  of  Bosome" s  Innc  doothe  a  cheese  vnder  his  arme,  and 
the  purest  Parmasen  magget  phrases  there-in^  cull'd  and  pickt 
cut  to  present  thee  with. 

******* 

Dick,  no  more  at  this  time,  but  Nosrda  diu  catawly,  and 
all  the  recompence  I  can  make  thee  for  being  like  a  Chanceiy 
declaration  so  tiring  troublesome  vnto  thee,  is  this,  if  thou  wilt 
haue  the  Doctour  for  an  anatomie,  thou  shalt ;  doo  but  speake 
the  word,  and  I  am  the  man  will  deliuer  him  to  thee  to  be 
scotcht  and  carbonadoed  :  but  in  anie  case,  speake  quickly,  for 
heere  he  lies  at  the  last  gaspe  of  surrendering  all  his  credit  and 
reputation. 

Thy  Friend  Tho.  Nash, 
if  ihou  I'eest  foe,  Dick,  to  all  the  generation  of 
the  Harueys." 


$66 

^  To  all  Christian  Readers,  to  whom  these  presents  shall  come, 

"Weli,  said,  my  maisters,  I  perceyiie  there  cannot  a  new 
booke  come  forth  but  you  will  haue  a  fling  at  it.  Say,  what 
are  you  reading  ?  Nashe  against  Haruey.  Vo,  that's  a  stale 
least,  hee  hath  been  this  two  or  three  yeare  about  it.  O  good 
Brother  Timothie,  rule  your  reason,  the  miller  gryndes  more 
mens*  come  than  one :  and  those  that  resolutely  goe  through 
with  anie  quarrell  must  set  all  their  worldly  business  at  a  stay, 

before  they  draw  it  to  the  point 

Haruey  and  I  (a  couple  of  beggers)  take  vpon  vs  to  bandie 
factions,  and  contend  like  the  Frsini  and  Coloni  in  Rome  :  or 
as  the  Turkes  and  Persians  about  Mahomet  and  Mortus  Alii, 
which  should  bee  the  greatest :  and  (witli  the  Indians)  head 
our  inuention's  arrowes  with  viper's  teeth,  and  steep  them  in 
the  bloud  of  adders  and  serpents,  and  spend  as  much  time  in 
arguing  pro  and  contra,  as  a  man  might  haue  found  out  the 
quadrature  of  the  circle  in  :  when  all  the  controuersie  is  no 
more  but  this,  he  began  with  mee,  and  cannot  tell  how  to 
make  an  end ;  and  I  would  faine  end  or  rid  my  hands  of  him, 
if  he  had  not  first  begun. 

I  protest  I  doo  not  write  against  him  because  I  hate  him,  but 
that  I  would  confirme  and  plainly  shew  to  a  number  of  weake 
beleeuers  in  my  sufEciencie,  that  I  am  able  to  answere  him :  and 
his  frends  and  not  his  enemies  let  him  thanke  for  this  heauie 
load  of  disgrace  I  lay  vpon  him,  since  theyr  extreame  disabling 
of  mee  in  this  kinde,  and  vrging  what  a  triumph  he  had  ouer 
me,  hath  made  me  to  ransacke  my  standish  more  than  I  would. 

This  I  will  boldly  say,  looke  how  long  it  is  since  he  writ  against 
me,  so  long  haue  I  giuen  him  a  lease  of  his  life,  and  he  hath 
onely  held  it  by  my  mercie. 

His  booke,  or  Magna  Charta,  which  against  M.  Lilly  and 
me  he  addrest,  I  hauing  kept  idle  by.me  in  a  by  settle  out  of 
sight  amongst  old  shooes  and  bootes  almost  this  two  yere,  an4 


367 

m  meere  pitie  of  him  would  neuer  looke  vpon  it  but  in  some 
calme  pleasing  humor,  for  feare  least  in  my  melancholy  too 
cruelly  I  should  haue  martyr' d  him. . . . 

In  loue  and  charity  I  take  my  leaue  of  you  all,  at  least  of 
all  such  as  heere  meane  to  leaue  and  reade  no  further,  and  hast 
to  tlie  launching  forth  of  my  dialogue. 

Haue  with  you  to  Saffron-walden. 

Dialogus. 

Interlocutores,  Senior  Importuno,  Grand  ConsiViadore ,  Domino 

Bentiuole,  Don  Carneades  de  loune  compagniola. 

Piers  Pennilesse,  Respondent. 

Our  limits  already  exceed  the  customary  proportion. 
In  the  course  of  the  pages  there  is  a  wood  cut  exhibit- 
ing Harvey,  that  neither  Hauns  Boll,  Hauns  Holbine, 
Hauns  MuUier,  Blockland,  Trusser,  or  Francis  de  Mur- 
re,  could  amend,  or  "  doo  a  thing  one  quarter  so  mas- 
terly." More  will  probably  be  given  hereafter  from 
this  rare  Tract.* 

Eu.  H. 


"  The  Trimming  of  Thomas  Nashe,  Gentleman,  hy  the 
high-tituled patron  Don  Richardo  de  Medico  campo, 
Barber  Chirurgion  to  Trinitie  Colledge  in  Cam- 
bridge, 

Faler  guns  fecit  compedes  ipse  gestat. 
London,  printed  for  Philip  Scarlet,  1597." 
4to.  G  4, 

*  It  seems  by  a  letter  at  sig,  V  2.  as  if  Henri)  Chettle  was  a  Compositor 
for  the  press.    Etlitor, 


368 


This  tract  is  written  in  the  name  of  "  Dick  Litch- 
field the  Barber  of  Trinity  College,  (following  the; 
words  of  Nashe)  a  rare  ingenuous  odde  merry  Greeke:" 
but  his  character  was  undoubtedly  assumed  by  Harvey 
for  the  purpose  of  defence. 

At  the  back  of  the  title  :  "  To  the  learned.  Eme, 
perlege,  nee  te  precii  panitehit.  To  the  simple.  Buy 
mee,  read  me  through,  and  thou  wilt  not  repente  thee 
of  thy  cost."     On  next  page  an  address 

"  To  the  gentle  Header. 

Proface  gentle  Ge~tlemen,  I  am  sorry  I  haue  no  better 
Gates  to  prese~t  you  with  :  but  pardon,  I  pray  you,   for  this 
which  I  haue  heere  prouided,  was  bred  in  Lent,  and  Lent  (you 
know)  is  said  of  leane,  because  it  macerates  and  makes  leane 
the  bodye  :  if  therefore  this  dish  bee  leane  and  nothing  answer- 
able to  your  expectation,  let  it  suffice  'twas  bred  in  Lent  : 
neither  had  it  anye  time  wherein  it  might  gather  anye  thinge 
vnto  it  selfe  to  make  it  more  fat  and  delightfall.     His  Epistle 
I  expected  any  time  these  three  yeares,  but  this  mine  aunswer, 
sbie  fuco  laquar,   (though  it  be  not  worthy  to  bee  called  the 
worke  of  one  well  spent  houre)  I  haue  wrought  foorth  out  of 
the  stolne  houres  of  three  weeks  :  for  although  occasion  hath 
been  offered  euer  since  the  Epistle  hath  been  extant,  to  answere 
it :  yet  held  in  suspence  considering  him  easily  answerable,  I 
haue  vndergone  it :  therefore  howsoeuer  you  see  it  crept  abroad 
Gentles,  receiiie  it  well  in  worth.     Your  fauours  happily  might 
adde  strength  vnto  it,  and  stirre  vp  the  faint  creeping  steps  to  a 
more  liuely  pace  :   it  by  hard  hap  being  denied  of  the  progresse, 
keeping  at  home  hath  growne  somewhat  greater.     To  tell  you 
what  the  man  is,  and  the  reason  of  this  book,  were  but  triuia'l 
and  superfluous,  only  this,  you  may  call  it,  The  trimming  <>/ 
Tho/nas  Nashe,  wherein  hee  is  described.     In  trimming  of 


369 


■which  description,  though  I  haue  founde  out  and  fetcht  from 
the  mint  some  few  new  wordes  to  coulor  him,  grant  me  par- 
don, I  thinke  tliem  fitte  for  him  who  is  so  limmed  and  couUored 
with  all  new  found  villanie  :  for  if  they  bee  etimologisde,  they 
no  whit  disagree  from  his  properties.  Slender  labour  hath  suf- 
fised  to  weaue  this  thinne  superliciall  vaile  to  couer  his  crimson 
Epistle,  and  sbaddow  it  foorth  vnto  the  world.  . .  .  If  this  bee  not 
so  well  set  foorth  as  you  could  wish  it  were,  blame  me  not :  for 
as  the  m.oon  being  naked  and  bare,  is  said  once  to  haue  gone  to 
her  mother,  and  asked  of  her  a  coat  to  cloath  her :  but  she 
answered,  there  could  bee  no  coate  made  fit  for  her,  for  her 
instabilitie,  sometime  she  being  in  the  ful,  and  somtime  in  the 
wane  :  so  hee  being  a  man  of  so  great  reuolution,  I  could  not 
fit  him,  for  if  I  had  vndertaken  to  speak  of  one  of  his  properties, 
another  came  into  my  mind,  and  another  followed  that,  which 
bred'  confusion,  making  it  too  little  for  him  :  therefore  were  it 
not  too  little,  it  might  be  'twold  be  fit,  but  howsoeuer,  pardon 
(Gentlemen)  my  boldnes  in  presenting  to  your  fauourable 
yiewes  this  little  and  co'^fused  coate. 

Yours  in  all  curtesie, 

Richard  Lichfield." 


U 


The  Trimming  of  Thomas  Nashe. 


Sir,  heere  is  a  gentleman  at  the  doore  would  speake  with 
you.  Let  him  come  in,  M.  Nashe !  welcome.  What,  you 
would  be  trim'd  ?  and  I  cannot  denie  you  that  fauour.  Come, 
sit  downe,  lie  trim  you  myseife.  How  now  ?  what  makes  you 
sit  downe  so  tenderly  ?  you  crintch  in  your  buttocks  like  old 
father  Pater  patricc,  he  that  was  father  to  a  whole  countrey  of 
Taastards.  Dispatch,  st,  boy,  set  the  water  to  the  fire !  but, 
sirra,  hearke  in  your  eare,  first  goe  prouide  me  my  breakfast, 
that  I  goe  not  fasting  about  him ;  then  goe  to  the  apoihecarie, 
VOL.  n,  3  B 


370 

and  fetcht  mee  some  repressiue  Antidotum  to  put  into  the  bason, 
to  keep  downe  the  venomous  vapors  that  arise  fi'om  his  infec- 
tious excremet~s :  for  (I  tell  you)  I  like  not  his  countenance, 
I  am  afraid  he  labours  of  the  venereall  murre.  Muse  not  (gen- 
tle Thomas)  that  I  come  so  roughly  vppon  you  with  Sit  downe, 
without  anie  Dedicatorie  Epistle,  which  (I  know)  you  expected ; 
for  that  your  Epistle  (in  some  wise)  brought  forth  this  small 
worke  :  which  purposely  I  omitted  scorning  patronage  against 
you.  For  if  (by  an  Epistle)  I  had  made  some  Lord  or  Knight 
my  patron,  it  would  hace  mennaged  and  giuen  courage  to  you 
that  (not  sufficient  of  myselfe)  I  should  get  some  Protector  to 
stand  out  with  you. ...  I  made  choice  of  you,  that  like  an  asse 
you  might  bear  your  burden,  and  patronize  your  owne  scourge, 
as  dooth  the  silly  hedge-sparrow,  that  so  long  fostereth  vp  the 
cuckow  in  her  neast,  till  at  length  she  be  deuoured  of  her :  or 
the  viper  that  is  destroyed  of  her  owne  whelpes.  All  England 
for  a  Patron.  But  to  this  sodaine  ioy,  (for  sodaine  ioy  soone 
ends)  this  crosse  happened.  That  *  knowing  it  to  bee  my 
duetie  to  gratulate  my  Patrone  with  the  first  hereof,  but  not 
knowing  where  to  finde  you,  for  that  you  (the  world's  citizen) 
are  heere  and  there,  you  may  dine  in  this  place,  and  goe  supper- 
less  to  bed,  if  you  know  where  to  haue  your  bed  :f  you  may  bee 
in  one  prison  to  day,  and  in  another  tt)  morrow  :  so  that  you  haue 
a  place  but  as  a  fleeting  incorporeall  substance,  circumscribed 
with  no  limits,  that  of  your  owne  you  haue  not  so  much  as  one 
of  Diogenes  his  poore  cottages.  You  haue  indeed  a  terminus  a 
(juo  (as  we  Logicians  speake)  but  no  terminus  ad  quern.  Now, 
sir,  for  the  vncertaintie  of  your  mansion  house,  you  hauing  all 
the  world  to  keep  court  in,  and  being  so  haunted  with  an  earth- 
quake, that  in  what  house  soeuer  you  are  one  daye,  you  aire 
shaken  out  the  next,  J  my  little  Booke  might  kill  three  or  foiire 
porters,  that  must  run  vp  and  downe  London  to  seeke  you^ 

♦  Item  for  you.  t  Wei  put  in. 

X  How  hardly  I  teaue  this  common  place. 


371 

and  at  the  last  might  dye  it  selfe  for  want  of  succour  before  it 
fames  to  your  hands.  Yet  it  might  bee,  that  in  your  request 
you  are  insatiable,  you  will  take  no  excuse,  your  will  is  your 
reason,  nay  may  not  be  admitted.  Well,  it  shall  be  yours : 
for  your  Epistle's  sake,  haue  at  you  with  an  Epistle. 

"  To    the  polypragmaticall,    parasitupocriticall,  and  panto- 
phainoudeconticall  Puppie,  Thomas  Nashe,  Richard  Leick- 
Jield  wisheth  the  continuance  of  that  he  hath :  that  is,  that 
he  want  not  the  want  of  health,  wealth,  and  lilertie. 

Mitto  till  Nashum  prora  N  puppi  haxaque  carentem.  Na$  hum. 

God  saue  you  (right  glossomachicall  Thomas).  The  ver- 
tuous  riches,  wherewith  (as  broad  spread  Fame  reporteth)  you 
are  indued,  though  fama  malum„  (as  saith  the  poet)  which  I 
confirme  :  for  that  shee  is  tamjicti  prouique  tenax,  quam  nuncia 
veri,  as  well  saith  Master  William  Lilly  in  his  Adiectiua  verhalia 
in  ax.  I  say  the  report  of  your  rich  vertues  so  bewitched  me 
toward  you,  that  I  cannot  but  send  my  poore  Book  to  be  ver- 
tuously  succoured  of  you,  that  when  both  yours  and  my  frends 
shall  see  it,  they  may  (for  your  sake)  vertuously  accept  of  it. 
But,  it  may  be,  you  denie  the  Epistle,  the  Booke  is  of  you,  the 
Epistle  must  be  to  some  other.  I  answer,  you  are  desirous  of  an 
Epistle.  Did  not  Ccesar  v/rite  those  things  himself  which  him- 
selfe  did  ?  and  did  not  Lucius,  that  golden  asse,  speak  of  him- 
self, which  was  the  asse  ?  and  will  not  you  (though  an  asse,  yet 
neither  golden  nor  siluer)  patronize  that  which  others  tooke 
paines  to  write  of  you?  Ccesar  and  Lucius,  for  that  shall  line 
for  euer :  and  so  shall  you,  as  long  as  euer  you  line.  Go  too, 
I  say,  he  is  an  ill  horse  that  will  not  canie  hi?  own  prouender. 
"But  chiefly  I  am  to  tell  you  of  one  thing,  which  I  chuse  to  tell 
you  of  in  my  Epistle,  both  because  of  Epistles  some  be  denun- 
tiatorie,  as  also  considering  that  wise  saying  elswhere  of  the 
precise  schoole-master :    If  thy  frend  commit  anie  enormious 


37Q 

offence  toward  thee,  tell  him  of  it  in  an  Epistle.  And  truly 
this  Is  a  great  and  enormious  otTence,  at  which  my  choller  stands 
vpright,  neither  will  I  put  it  vp.  Therefore  in  sadness  prouide 
your  Lawier,  I  haue  mine,  it  will  beare  as  good  an  action,  as  if 
you  should  haue  come  into  another  man's  house,  and  neuer  say. 
Hoe,  God  be  here  :  that  is,  you  wrote  a  foule  Epistle  to  mee, 
and  neuer  told  me  of  it  before  :  you  might  haue  said,  By  your 
leaue,  sir.  I  warrant  you  I  write  but  this  small  Epistle  to  you, 
and  I  tell  you  of  it  as  long  before  as  the  Epistle  is  long.  But 
now  I  remember  me,  there  was  no  hatred  between  vs  before, 
and  therefore  'twould  be  prooued  but  chaunce-medley.  Let  it 
euen  alone,  it  cannot  be  vndone,  for  a  thing  easely  done,  neuer 
can  be  vndone :  and  a  man  may  quickly  become  a  knave,  but 
hardly  an  honest  man.  And  thus  (maleuolent  Tom)  I  leaue 
thee.     From  my  chamber  in  Camb.  to  your.* 

Yours  in  love  vs^ue  ad  aras^f 

Rich.  Lichfield. 

You  see  howe  louingly  J  deale  with  you  in  my  Epistle,  and 
tell  of  yourvertues,  which  (God  forgiue  me  for  it)  is  as  arrant 
a  lye  as  euer  was  told  :  but  to  leaue  these  parergasticall  speeches 
and  to  come  to  your  trimming,  because  I  will  deale  roundly 
with  you,  J  I  wil  cut  you  with  the  round  cut,  in  which  I  in- 
clude two  cuts  :  First,  the  margent  cut :  Secondly,  the  perfect 
cut :  The  margent  cut  is  nothing  els  but  a  preparation  to  the 
perfect  cut,  wherby  I  might  more  perfectly  discharge  that  cut  vpon 
you,  for  as  in  a  deep  standing  poole,  the  brinks  therof,  which 
are  notvnfitly  called  the  margents  being  pared  away,  we  may  the 
better  see  thereinto  :  so  the  margents  which  fitly  we  may  terme 
the  brinkes  of  your  stinking  standing  poole  (for  it  infects  the 

*  Where  ca*  you  tell  ? 

t  That  is,  that  wold  folow  thee  euen  to  the  gallowes. 

^  All  your  parts. 


373 

eare  as  doth  tke  stinking  poole  the  smell)  being  cut  away,  I 
may  the  better  finish  this  perfect  cut,  and  rid  myselfe  of  you. 
To  the  margent  cut.     When  first  your  Epistle  came  into  my 
hands,   I  boldly  opened  it,   and  scaling  the  margents  of  it,   I 
espied  a  seely  note,  quasi  conuersant  about  heads.     I  sayd  not 
a  word,  but  turning  ouer  a  leafe  or  twoo  more,  to  see  if  you 
continued  in  those  simple  animaduerslons,   and  indeed  I  saw 
you  to  bee  no  changling,  for  there  I  espied  barbers  knocking  of 
their  fingers,  and  loivsie  naperie,  as  foolish  as  the  other,  semper 
idem  (thought  I)  might  be  your  mot,  and  so  you  will  dye. .  . . 
Now  to  the  perfect  cut :   I  cannot  but  admire  you  in  the  tittle 
you  allow  me,  seeing  wee  admire  monsters  as  vi  ell  as  vertuou* 
men,  and  a  foole   (as  oft  I  haue  heard  scholers  dispute  in  mine 
office)  as  a  monster  :  other  Barbers  like  not  the  title,  it  pleaseth 
me,  and  all  the  Dukes  in  Spaine  cannot  shew  the  lilye,  and  J 
thinke  that  halfe  a  yeere's  study  did  not  bring  it  out  of  thy 
dunsticall   hammer-headed  scalpe,    but  thou   dost  to  disgrace 
mee,  and  thinkst  thy  title  decketh  a  Barber,  and  that  a  Barber 
•vrith  thy  title  is  as  a  rotten  chamber  hang'd  with  cloth  of  arras, 
but  'tis  not  so :  alas,  thy  reading  affoords  thee  not  to  knowe  the 
ancient  and  valorous  power  of  Barbers.     I  could  speake  howe 
they  flourished  amongst  the  Abants,  a  fierce  and  warlike  peo- 
ple,  and  by  the  Barbers'  perpolike  cunning  as  it  were  amend- 
ing nature,  and  shaping  their  faces  to  more   austeritie,    they 
became  more  victorious,   as  Plutarch  recordeth  in  the  life  of 
Theseus :  and  young  striplings,  newly  fit  for  amies,  first  were 
brought  to  Delphos,  and  there  offered  the  first  fruites  of  their 
hair  to  Jupiter,  next  him  the  Barbers  were  serued  and  they  cut 
them,   and  were  as  hues  Vises  to  make  them  fit  for  warre.-. 
They  flourished  before  with  the  Arabians,  the  Mysians,  the 
Dacians,  the  Dalmacians,   the  Macedonians,  the  Thracians, 
the  Seruians,  the  Sarviacians,   the  Valachians,  and  the  Bul- 
garians, as  saith  Polidoroiis  Virgil:  afterwards  Alexander  en- 
tertained into  his  campes  Barbers,  as  the  spun  es  and  whetstones 


S74 

of  his  armies.  Dionhius,  that  blood-thirstie  tyrant,  that  feared 
no  peeres,  stoode  alwaies  in  feare  of  Barbers,  and  rather  would 
haue  his  hayre  burnt  off,  than  happen  into  the  Barber's  handes. 
Therefore  in  a  Barber's  shop  (as  Plutarche  reporteth)  where 
some  few  were  talking  of  the  tyranyof  the  tyger  Dionysius.  What 
(said  the  Barber)  are  you  talking  of  King  Dionysius,  whome 
within  these  two  or  three  daies  I  must  shaue  ?  When  Dionysius 
heard  of  this,  he  gate  the  Barber  secretly  to  be  put  to  death, 
for  feare  of  after-claps.  The  Barber's  chaire  is  the  verie  Royall- 
Exchange  of  newes.  Barbers  tlie  head*  of  all  trades.  I  could 
speake  of  their  excellencie,  for  that  a  man's  face  (the  principall 
part  of  him)  is  committed  onely  to  Barbers.  All  trades  adorne 
the  life  of  man,  but  none  (except  Barbers)  haue  the  life  of 
man  in  their  power,  and  to  them  they  hold  vp  their  throates 
readie,  If  they  be  happie,  whom  pleasure,  profit  and  honor 
make  happie,  then  the  Barbers  with  great  facilitic  attaine  to 
happines.  For  pleasure,  if  they  be  abroad,  they  are  soght  too 
of  the  best  companions.  Knights  and  Esquires  send  for  them  : 
if  at  home  and  at  worke,  they  are  in  pleasing  conference ;  if 
idle,  they  passe  that  time  in  life-delighting  musique.  For  pro- 
fite,  a  Barber  hath  lluing  in  all  parts  of  England :  he  hath 
money  brought  in  as  due  as  rents,  of  those  whom  he  neuer 
saw  before.  For  honour.  Kings  and  ruling  Monarchs,  (to 
whom  ail  men  crouch  with  cap  in  hand  and  knee  on  ground) 
onely  to  Barbers  sit  barehead,  and  with  bended  knees.  But  for 
all  this,  thou  sparest  not  to  raile  on  Barbers,  as  on  all  others. .  . . 
You  knowe  or  at  the  least  ought  to  knowe  that  writers  shoulde 
eschew  lyes  as  scorpions,  but  your  lyes  that  you  deuised  of  one 
are  the  greatest  parte  of  the  matter  of  your  Epistle,  as.  My 
shoppe  in  the  towne,  the  teethe  that  hange  out  at  my  wiridowe, 
my  painted  may-poole,  with  many  others  which  fill  vp  roome 
in  the  Epistle  in  aboundant  manner,  and  which  are  nothing 
else  but  meere  lyes  and  fictions  to  yeeld  the  matter,  whereby  I 

*  None  but  Barbers  meddle  witli'tlie  head. 


375 

perceiue  hov/e  threade-bare  thou  art  waxen,  howe  barren  thy 
Inuention  is,  and  that  thy  true  amphfying  vaine  is  quite  dryed 
vppe.  Repent,  repent,  I  say,  and  leaue  of  thy  lying,  which 
without  repentance  is  very  haynous,  that  one  lye  I  make  of 
thee  in  this  booke  is  presently  washed  away  with  repentance. 
An  other  lye  I  cannot  but  tell  you  off,  which  you  clappe  in  my 
teeth  in  the  very  beginning  of  your  Epistle,  which  nothinge 
greeueih  mee  for  that  I  suppose  it  to  bee  committed  of  igno- 
rance, that  is,  you  tell  mee  that  you  come  vpon  mee  with 
but  a  dicke  of  Dickes,  but  you  come  vppon  mee  with  seuen- 
teene  or  eighteene  Dickes,  whereby  I  see  thy  ignorance  in  the 
Greeke  tongue,  thou  knowest  not  what  a  dicker  is,  a  dicker  is 
but  ten  of  any  thing,  for  it  commeth  of  the  Greeke  word  $s'yA 
which  is  by  interpretation.  Ten,  Thou  obiectest  that  olde 
Tooly^  and  I  differed,  I  confesse  it,  I  am  a  man  alone,  I  scorne 
suche  ragged  rent-foorth  speech,  yet  thou  mayest  well  praye 
for  the  duall  number,  thou  scabbed,  scalde,  lame,  halting  ad- 
jectiue  as  thou  art,  in  all  thy  guiles,  thou  neuer  hadest  that  guile 
as  alone  to  get  thee  one  crust  of  breade  :  no,  I  knowe  not  who 
had  a  hande  with  you  in  this  seely  Epistle,  goe  too,  hee  is  not 
a  minister,  he  hadde  but  small  reason  for  it." 

These  Extracts  are  probably  enough  to  awaken  if 
not  entirely  to  gratify  the  reader's  curiosity.  At  sigi 
E  2.  there  is  an  exhibition  of  Nash  in  fetters,  intended, 
no  doubt,  to  rebut  the  effect  of  the  one  of  Harvey,  al- 
ready noticed  in  the  preceding  article  :  it  is  founded 
on  the  story  of  his  confinement  relative  to  the  play  of 
the  "  hie  of  Dogsr 

Eu.  H. 


o 


76 


t{ 


The  XV.  Bookes  ofMP.  Ouiduis  Naso,  M  entituled,ViL 
Metamorphosis.  %  A  work  very  pleasant  and  de- 
lectable. ^  Translated  out  of  Latin  into  English 
M,  Meeter,  hy  Arthur  Golding,  ^  gentleman. 

With  skill,  heed,  and  ludgement  this  worke  must  he  read. 
For  else  to  the  reader  it  stands  in  small  stead. 

At  London,  ^  Imprinted  hy  Robert  Walde-graue,  M 
Anno  Domini,  1587-" 

4to.  iF.  200. 

*'  To  the  right  honouralle  and  his  singular  good  Lord,  Robert 

Earl  oj  Leicester,  Baron  of  Denbigh,  Knight  of  the  most 

voile  Order  of  the  Garter,  ^c,  Arthur   Golding,    gent. 

wisheth  continuance  of  health,  with  prosperous  estate  and 

felicity. 

At  length  my  chariot  wheel  about  the  mark  hath  found  the 

way. 
And  at  then-  weary  race's  end,  my  breathless  horses  stay. 
Tlae  work  is  brought  to  end,  by  which  the  author  did  account 
(And  rightly)  with  eternal  fame  above  the  stars  to  mount. 
For  whatsoever  hath  been  writ  of  ancient  time  in  Greek 
Ey  sundry  men  dispersedly,  and  in  the  Latin  eke. 
Of  this  same  dark  philosophy  of  turned  shapes,  the  same 
Hath  Ovid  into  one  whole  mass  in  this  book  brought  in  frame. 
Four  kind  of  things  in  this  his  work  the  Poet  doth  contain  : 
That  nothing  under  heaven  doth  ay  in  stedfast  state  remain. 
And  next  that,  nothing  perisheth,  but  that  each  substance  takes 
Another  shape  than  that  it  had ;  of  these  two  points  he  makes 


377 

The  proof,  by  shewing  through  his  work  the  wonderful  ex- 
change 
Of  gods,  men,  beasts,  and  elements,  to  sundry  shapes  right 

sti'ange  5 
Beginning  with  creation  of  the  world,  and  man  of  slime. 
And  so  proceeding  with  the  turns  that  happen'd  till  his  time : 
Then  sheweth  he  the  soul  of  man  from  dying  to  be  free. 
By  samples  of  the  noble  men,  who  for  their  virtues  be 
Accounted  and  canonised  for  gods  by  heathen  men. 
And  by  the  pains  of  Lymbo  lake,  and  blissful  state  again 
Of  spirits  in  the  Elysian  fields.     And  tho'  that  of  these  three 
He  make  discourse  dispersedly  :  yet  'specially  they  be 
Discussed  in  the  latter  book  in  that  oration  ;  where 
He  bringeth  in  Pythagoras,  dissuading  men  from  fear 
Of  death,  and  preaching  abstinence  from  flesh  of  living  things. 
But  as  for  that  opinion  which  Pythagoras  there  brings 
Of  souls  removing  out  of  beasts  to  men,  and  out  of  men 
To  birds  and  beasts,  both  wild  and  tame,  both  to  and  fro  again  : 
It  is  not  to  be  understand  of  tliat  same  soul,  whereby 
"We  are  endued  with  reason  and  discretion  from  on  high  : 
But  of  that  soul  or  life  the  which  brute  beasts  as  well  as  we 
Enjoy.    Three  sorts  of  life  or  soul  (for  so  they  termed  be) 
Are  found  in  things.    The  first  gives  power  to  thrive^  encrease, 

and  grow. 
And  this  in  senseless  herbs  and  trees  and  shrubs  itself  doth 

shew. 
The  second  giveth  power  to  move,  and  use  of  senses  five. 
And  this  remains  in  brutish  beasts,  and  keepeth  them  alive. 
Both  these  are  mortal,  as  the  which  received  of  the  air 
By  force  of  Phoebus,  after  death,  do  thither  oft  repair. 
The  third  gives  understanding,  wit,  and  reason  :  and  the  same 
Is  it  alonely  which  with  us  of  soul  doth  bear  the  name. 
And  as  the  second  doth  contain  the  first :  even  so  the  third 
Containeth  both  the  other  twain.     And  neither  beast,  nor  bird, 
VOL.  ll.  3  c 


378 

Nor  fish,  nor  horb,  nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  any  earthly  wight- 
(Save  only  man)  can  of  the  same  partake  the  heavenly  might. 
I  grant  that  when  our  breath  doth  from  our  body  go  away. 
It  doth  eft  soon  return  to  air,  and  of  that  air  there  may 
Both  bird  and  beast  participate,  and  we  of  theirs  likewise. 
For  while  we  live  (the  thing  itself  appeareth  to  our  eyes) 
Both  they  and  we  draw  all  one  breath.     But  for  to  deem  or  say 
Our  noble  soul  (which  is  divine  and  permanent  for  ay) 
Is  common  to  us  with  the  beasts,  I  think  it  nothing:  less 
Than  for  to  be  a  point  of  him  that  wisdom  doth  profess. 
Of  this  I  am  right  well  assur'd,  there  is  no  christian  wight. 
That  can  by  fondness  be  so  far  seduced  from  the  right. 
And  finally,  he  doth  proceed  in  shewing  that  not  all 
That  bear  the  name  of  men,  (how  strong,  fierce,  stout,  bold, 

•  hardy,  tall. 
How  wise,  fair,  rich,  or  highly  born,  how  much  renown' d  by 

fame. 
So  ere  they  be,  although  on  earth  of  gods  they  bear  the  name. 
Are  for  to  be  accounted  men  :  but  such  as  under  awe 
Of  reason's  rule  continually  do  live  in  virtue's  jaw. 
And  that  the  rest  do  differ  nought  from  beasts,  but  rather  be 
Much,  worse  than  beasts,  because  they  do  abuse  their  own  de- 
gree. 
To  natural  philosophy  the  foremost  three  pertain. 
The  fourth  to  moral :   and  in  all  are  pithy,  apt,  and  plain 
Instructions,  which  import  the  praise  of  virtues,  and  the  shame 
Of  vices,  with  the  due  rewards  of  either  of  the  same. 
%  As  for  example,  in  the  tale  of  Daphne  turn'd  to  Bay,* 
A  mirror  of  virginity  appear  unto  us  may. 
Which  yielding  neither  unto  fear,  nor  force,  nor  flattery. 
Doth  purchase  everlasting  fame  and  immortality. 
%  In  Phaeton's  fable  unto  sight  the  Poet  doth  expressf 
The  natures  of  ambition  blind,  and  youthful  wilfulness, 

•  Out  of  the  first.  t  Out  ©f  the  second. 


S79 

The  end  w^hereof  is  misery,  and  bringeth  at  the  last 

Repentance  when  it  is  too  late,  that  all  redress  is  past. 

And  how  the  weakness  and  the  want  of  wit  in  magistrate 

Confoundeth  both  his  common  weale  and  eke  his  own  estate. 

This  fable  also  doth  advise  all  parents,  and  all  such 

As  bring  up  youth  to  take  good  heed  of  cockering  them  too 

much. 
It  further  doth  commend  the  mean  :  and  willeth  to  beware 
Of  rash  and  hasty  promises  which  most  pernicious  are^ 
And  not  to  be  performed  :   and  in  fine  it  plainly  shews 
What  sorrow  to  the  parents  and  to  all  the  kindred  grows 
By  disobedience  of  tlie  child  :  and  in  the  child  is  meant 
The  disobedient  subject  that  against  his  prince  is  bent. 
The  transformations  of  the  crow  and  raven  do  declare 
That  clawbacks  and  coalcarriers  eke,  ought  wisely  to  beware 
Of  .whom,  to  whom,  and  what  they  speak.     For  sore  against 

his  will 
Can  any  friendly  heart  abide  to  hear  reported  ill 
The  party  whom  he  favoureth.     This  tale  doth  eke  bewray 
The  rage  of  \vrath  and  jealousy  to  have  no  kind  of  stay  : 
And  that  light  credit  to  reports  in  no  wise  should  be  given. 
For  fear  that  men  too  late  to  just  repentance  shoiold  be  driven. 
The  fable  of  Ocyoree  by  all  such  folk  is  told. 
As  are  in  searching  things  to  come  too  curious  and  too  bold. 
A  very  good  example  is  describ'd  in  Battus'  tale 
For  covetous  people  which  for  gain  do  set  their  tongues  to  sale. 
^  All  such  as  do  in  flattering  freaks,   and  hawks,  and  hounds, 

delight,* 
And  dice,  and  cards,  and  for  to  spend  the  time  both  day  and 

night. 
In  foul  excess  of  chamber  work,  or  too  much  meat  and  drink. 
Upon  the  piteous  story  of  Acteon  ought  to  think. 
For  these  and  their  adherents  us'd  excessive  are  in  deed 
The  dogs  that  daily  do  devour  their  followers  on  with  speed. 

*  Out  of  Ihc  third. 


S80 

Tyfesias  wills  inferior  folk  in  any  wise  to  shun 

To  judge  between  their  betters,  lest  in  peril  they  do  run. 

Narcissus  is  of  scornfulness  and  pride  a  mirror  clear. 

Where  beauty's  fading  vanity  most  plainly  may  appear. 

And  Echo  in  the  self  same  tale  doth  kindly  represent 

The  lewd  behaviour  of  a  bawd,  and  his  due  punishment. 

^  The  piteous  tale  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  doth  contain* 

The  heady  force  of  frantic  love  whose  end  is  woe  and  pain. 

The  snares  of  Mars  and  Venus  shew  that  time  will  bring  to  light 

The  secret  sins  that  folk  commit  in  corners  or  by  night. 

Hermaphrodite  and  Salmacis  declare  that  idleness 

Is  chiefest  nurse  and  cherisher  of  all  voluptuousness. 

And  that  voluptuous  life  breeds  sin  ;  which  linking  altogether. 

Make  men  to  be  effeminate,  unwieldy,  weak,  and  lither. 

^  Rich  Piers'  daughters  turn'd  to  Pies,  do  openly  declarCjf 

That  none  so  bold  to  vaunt  themselves  as  blindest  bayards  are. 

The  Muses  plainly  do  declare  again  a  'tother  side. 

That  whereas  chiefest  wisdom  is,  most  mildness  doth  abide. 

%  Arachne  may  example  be  that  folk  should  not  contend;^ 

Against  their  betters,  nor  persist  in  error  to  the  end. 

So  doth  the  tale  of  Nicobee  and  of  her  children  :  and 

The  transformation  of  the  carles  that  dwelt  in  Licie  land. 

Together  with  the  fleeing  off  of  piper  Marsie's  skin. 

The  first  do  also  shew  that  long  it  is  ere  God  begin 

To  pay  us  for  our  faults,  and  that  he  warns  us  oft  before 

To  leave  our  folly  :  but  at  length  with  vengeance  striketh  sore. 

And  therefore  that  no  wight  should  strive  with  God  in  word, 

nor  thought. 
Nor  deed.     But  pride  and  fond  desire  of  praise  have  ever 

wrought 
Confusion  to  the  parties  which  account  of  them  do  make. 
For  some  of  such  a  nature  be  that  if  they  once  do  take 


*  Out  of  the  fourth.  t  Out  of  the  fifth.  J  Out  of  the  sixth. 


381 

Opinion,  (be  it  right  or  wrong)  they  rather  will  agree 

To  die,  than  seem  to  take  a  foil :  so  obstinate  they  be. 

The  tale  ot'Tereus,  Philoniele,  and  Progne  doth  contain. 

That  folk  are  blind  in  things  that  to  their  proper  weale  pertain. 

And  that  the  man  in  whom  the  fire  of  furious  lust  doth  reign. 

Doth  run  to  mischief,  like  a  horse  that  getteth  loose  the  rein. 

It  also  shews  the  crael  wreak  of  women  in  their  wrath. 

And  that  no  heinous  mischief  long  delay  of  vengeance  hath. 

And  lastly  that  distress  doth  drive  a  man  to  look  about. 

And  seek  all  corners  of  his  wits,  what  way  to  wind  him  out. 

5[  The  good  success  of  Jason  in  the  land  of  Colchos  j  and* 

The  doings  of  Medea  since,  do  give  to  understand. 

That  nothing  is  so  hard,  but  pain  and  travel  do  it  win. 

For  fortune  ever  favoureth  such  as  boldly  do  begin  : 

Thaf  women  both  in  helping  and  in  hurting  have  no  match. 

When  they  to  either  bend  their  wits  :  and  how  that  for  to  catch 

An  honest  meaner  under  fair  pretence  of  friendship,  is 

An  easy  matter.     Also  there  is  warning  given  of  this. 

That  men  should  never  hastily  give  ear  to  fugitives ; 

Nor  into  hands  of  sorcerers  commit  their  state  and  lives. 

It  shews  in  fine  of  stepmothers  the  deadly  hate  in  part. 

And  vengeance  most  unnatural  that  was  in  mother's  heart. 

The  deeds  of  Theseus  are  a  spur  to  prowess,  and  a  glass 

How  princes'  sons  and  noblemen  their  youthful  years  should 

pass. 
K^ing  Minos  shews  that  kings  in  hand  no  wrongful  wars  should 

take. 
And  what  provision  for  the  same  they  should  before  hand  make. 
King  iEacus  gives  also  their  example  how  that  kings 
Should  keep  their  promise  and  their  leagues  above  all  other 

things. 
His  grave  description  of  the  plague  and  end  thereof,  express 
The  wrath  of  God  on  man  for  sin  :  and  how  that  ne'ertheless 

•  Out  of  the  seventh. 


582 

He  doth  us  spare  and  multiply  again  for  good  men's  sakes. 
The  whole  discoure  of  Cephalus  and  Procris  mention  makes. 
That  married  folk  should  warily  shun  the  vice  of  jealousy. 
And  of  suspicion  should  avoid  all  causes  utterly. 
Reproving  by  the  way  all  such,  as  causeless  do  misdeem 
The  chaste  and  guiltless  for  the  deeds  of  those  that  faulty  seem. 
^  The  story  of  the  daughter  of  king  Nisus  setteth  out* 
What  wicked  lust  drives  folk  unto,  to  bring  their  wills  about. 
And  of  a  righteous  judge  is  given  example  in  the  same. 
Who  for  no  meed  nor  friendship  will  consent  to  any  blame. 
We  may  perceive  in  Daedalus  how  every  man  by  kind 
Desires  to  be  at  liberty,  and  with  an  earnest  mind 
Doth  seek  to  see  his  native  soil,  and  how  that  streight  distress 
Doth  make  men  wise,  and  sharp  their  wits  to  find  their  own 

redress. 
We  also  learn  by  Icarus  how  good  it  is  to  be 
In  mean  estate,  and  not  to  climb  too  high,  but  to  agree 
To  wholesome  counsel :  for  the  hire  of  disobedience  is 
Repentance  when  it  is  too  late  fore- thinking  things  amiss. 
And  Partrich  tells,  that  excellence  in  any  thing  procures 
Men  envy,  even  among  those  friends  whom  nature  most  assures. 
Philemon  and  his  feer  are  rules  of  godly  patient  life. 
Of  sparing  thrift,  and  mutual  love  between  the  man  and  wife. 
Of  due  obedience,  of  the  fear  of  God,  and  of  reward. 
For  good  or  evil  usage  shew'd  to  wand'ring  strangers  ward. 
In  Erisicthon  doth  appear  a  lively  image  both 
Of  wickedness  and  cruelty,  which  any  wight  may  loth. 
And  of  the  hire  that  'longs  thereto.     He  sheweth  also  plain. 
That  whereas  prodigality  and  gluttony  doth  reign. 
A  world  of  riches  and  of  goods  are  ever  with  the  least 
To  satisfy  the  appetite  and  eye  of  such  a  beast. 
^  In  Hercules'  and  Acheloys'  encounters  is  set  out,t 
The  nature  and  behaviour  of  two  wooeis  that  be  stout : 

*  Out  of  the  eighth.  t  Out  of  the  ninth. 


383 

Wherein  the  Poet  covertly  taunts  such  as  behig  base. 

Do  seek  by  forged  pedigrees  to  seem  of  noble  race. 

Who  when  they  do  perceive  no  truth  upon  their  side  to  stand. 

Instead  of  reason  and  of  right,  use  force  and  might  of  hand. 

This  fable  also  signifies,  that  valiantness  of  heart 

Consisteth  not  in  words,  but  deeds  :  and  that  all  slight  and  act 

Give  place  to  prowess.     Furthermore  in  Nessus  we  may  see 

What  breach  of  promise  cometh  to,  and  how  that  such  as  be 

Unable  for  to  wreak  their  harms  by  force,  do  oft  devise 

To  wreak  themselves  by  policy  in  far  more  cruel  wise. 

And  Deyanira  doth  declare  the  force  of  jealousy. 

Deceived  through  too  light  belief  and  fond  simplicity. 

The  process  following  painteth  out  true  manliness  of  heart. 

Which  yieldeth  neither  unto  death,  to  sorrow,  grief,  nor  smart. 

And  finally  it  shews,  that  such  as  live  in  true  renown 

Of  virtue  here,  have  after  death  an  everlasting  crown 

Of  glory  :   Cawne  and  Byblis  are  examples  contrary  : 

The  maid  of  most  outrageous  lust,  the  man  of  chastity. 

%  The  tenth  book  chiefly  doth  contain  one  kind  of  argument,* 

Reproving  most  prodigious  lusts  of  such  as  have  been  bent 

To  incest  most  unnatural.     And  in  the  latter  end 

It  sheweth  in  Hippomenes  how  greatly  folk  oflfend. 

That  are  ingrate  for  benefits  which  God  or  man  bestow 

Upon  them  in  the  time  of  need.     Moreover,  it  doth  shew 

That  beauty  (will  they,  will  they)  ay  doth  men  in  danger  thi"ow : 

And  that  it  is  a  foolishness  to  strive  against  the  thing. 

Which  God  before  determineth  to  pass  in  time  to  bring. 

And  last  of  all  Adonis'  death  doth  shew,  that  manhood  strives 

Against  fore- warning,  though  men  see  the  peril  of  their  lives. 

^  The  death  of  Orphey  sheweth  God's  just  vengeance  on  the 

vilef  t^ 

And  wicked  sort,  which  horribly  with  incest  them  defile. 

•  Out  of  the  tenth.  t  Oiitof  the  eleventh. 


384 


in  Midas  of  a  covetous  wretch  the  image  we  may  see. 

Whose  riches  justly  to  himself  a  hellish  torment  be ; 

And  of  a  fool  whom  neither  proof  nor  warning  can  amend. 

Until  he  feel  the  shame  and  smart  that  folly  doth  him  send. 

His  barber  represents  all  blabs  which  seem  with  child  to  be. 

Until  that  they  have  blaz'd  abroad  the  things  that  hear  or  see. 

In  Ceyx  and  Alcyone  appears  most  constant  love. 

Such  as  between  the  man  and  wife  to  be  it  doth  behove. 

This  Ceyx  also  is  a  light  of  princely  courtesy 

And  bounty  toward  those  whom  need  compelleth  for  to  fly. 

His  viage  also  doth  declare  how  vainly  men  are  led 

To  utter  peril  thro'  fond  toys  and  fancies  in  their  head. 

For  idols'  doubtful  oracles  and  soothsayers'  prophecies 

Do  nothing  else  but  make  fools  fain  and  blind  their  bleared 

eyes. 
Dedalion's  daughter  warns  to  use  the  tongue  with  modesty. 
And  not  to  vaunt  with  such  as  are  their  betters  in  degree. 
%  The  siege  of  Troy,  the  death  of  men,  the  razing  of  the  city,* 
And  slaughter  of  king  Priam's  stock  without  remorse  of  pity. 
Which  in  the  XII  and  XIII  books  be  written,  do  declare 
How  heinous  wilful  perjury  and  filthy  whoredom  are 
In  sight  of  God.     The  frantic  fray  between  the  Lapithes  and 
The  Centaurs  is  a  note,  whereby  is  given  to  understand 
The  beastly  rage  of  drunkenness.     %  Ulysses  doth  expressf 
The  image  of  discretion,  wit,  and  great  advisedness. 
And  Ajax  on  the  other  side  doth  represent  a  man. 
Stout,  heady,  irefuU,  hault  of  mind,  and  such  a  one  as  can 
Abide  to  suffer  no  repulse.     And  both  of  them  declare 
How  covetous  of  glory  and  reward  men's  natures  are. 
And  finally  it  sheweth  plain,  that  wisdom  doth  prevail 
In  all  attempts  and  purposes  when  strength  of  hand  doth  fail. 
The  death  of  fair  Polyxena  doth  shew  a  princely  mind. 
And  firm  regard  of  honour  rare  ingraft  in  woman-kind. 

•  Out  of  the  twelfth.  t  Out  of  the  XIII. 


385 

And  Polymnystor  king  of  Thrace  doth  shew  himself  to  be 

A  glass  for  covetous  wretched  folk  wherein  themselves  to  see. 

This  story  flirther  witnesseth,  that  raurther  cryeth  ay 

For  vengeance,  and  itself  one  time  or  other  doth  bewray. 

The  tale  of  giant  Polypheme  doth  evidently  prove 

That  nothing  is  so  fierce  and  wild,  which  yieldeth  not  to  love ; 

And  in  the  person  of  the  self  same  giant  is  set  out. 

To  rude  and  homely  wooing  of  a  country  clown  and  lout. 

^[  The  tale  of  Apes  reproves  the  vice  of  wilful  perjury,* 

And  willeth  people  to  beware  they  use  not  for  to  lie. 

./Eneas  going  down  to  hell  doth  shew,  that  virtue  may 

In  safety  travel  where  it  will,  and  nothing  can  it  stay. 

The  length  of  life  in  Sybil  doth  declare  it  is  but  vain 

To'wish  long  life,  sith  length  of  life  is  also  length  of  pain. 

The  Grecian  Achemenides  doth  learn  us  how  we  ought 

Be  thankful  for  the  benefits  that  any  man  hath  wrought. 

And  in  this  Achemenides  the  Poet  doth  express 

The  image  of  exceeding  fear  in  danger  and  distress. 

What  else  are  Circe's  witchcrafts  and  inchantments,  than  the 

vile 
And  filthy  pleasures  of  the  flesh,  which  do  our  souls  defile  ? 
And  what  is  else  the  herb  Moly,  than  the  gift  of  stayedness 
And  temperance,  which  doth  all  foul  concupiscence  express  ? 
The  tale  of  Anaxarete  wills  dames  of  high  degree 
To  use  their  lovers  courteously,  how  mean  soe'er  they  be. 
And  Iphis  learns  inferior  folks  so  fondly  not  to  set 
Their  love  on  such,  as  are  too  high  for  their  estate  to  get. 
^  Aiemon's  son  declares  that  men  do  willingly  obeyf 
What  God  commands,  and  not  upon  exceptions  seem  to  stay  j 
For  he  will  find  the  means  to  bring  the  purpose  well  about, 
And  in  their  jpost  necessity  dispatch  them  safely  out 
Of  danger.     The  oration  of  Pythagoras  implies 
A  sum  of  all  the  former  work.     What  person  can  devise 

•  Out  of  the  XIIII.  t  Out  of  the  XV. 

VOL.  ir.  5  D 


386 


A  notabler  example  of  true  love  and  godliness 

To  one's  own  native  country- ward,  than  Cippus  doth  express  ? 

The  turning  to  a  blazing  "tar  of  Julius  Cesar  shews. 

That  fame  and  immortality  of  virtuous  doing  grows. 

And  lastly  by  examples  of  Augustus  and  a  few 

Of  other  noble  princes'  sons  the  author  there  doth  shew 

That  noblemen  and  gentlemen  should  strive  to  pass  the  fame. 

And  virtues,  of  their  ancestors,  or  else  to  match  the  same. 

These  fables  out  of  every  book  I  have  Interpreted, 
To  shew  how  they  and  all  the  rest  may  stand  a  man  in  stead. 
Not  adding  over  curiously  the  meaning  of  them  all. 
For  that  were  labour  infinite,  and  tediousness  not  small 
Both  unto  your  good  lordship,  and  the  rest  that  should  them 

.  read. 
Who  well  might  think  I  did  the  bounds  of  modesty  exceed. 
If  I  this  one  epistle  should  with  matters  overcharge, 
"Which  scarce  a  book  of  many  quires  can  well  contain  at  large ; 
And  whereas  in  interpreting  these  few,  I  attribute 
The  things  to  one,  which  heathen  men  to  many  gods  impute. 
Concerning  mercy,  wrath  for  sin,  and  other  gifts  of  grace. 
Described  for  example's  sake  in  proper  time  and  place  :j 
Let  no  man  marvel  at  the  same.     For  tho'  that  they  as  blind 
Through  unbelief,  and  led  astray  thro'  error  even  of  kind. 
Knew  not  the  true  eternal  God,  or  if  they  did  him  know. 
Yet  did  not  well  acknowledge  him,  but  vainly  did  bestow 
The  honour  of  the  maker  on  the  creature :  yet  it  doth 
Behove  all  us  (who  rightly  are  instructed  in  the  sootli) 
To  think  and  say  that  God  alone  is  he  that  rules  all  things. 
And  worketh  all  in  ail,  as  Lord  of  lords  and  King  of  kings. 
With  whom  there  are  none  other  gods  that  any  sway  may 

bear. 
No  fatal  law  to  bind  him  by,  no  fortune  for  to  fear. 
For  gods,  and  fate,  and  fortune  are  the  terms  of  heaihenness. 
If  men  usurp  them  in  the  sense  that  Paynims  do  express. 


387 

But  if  we  will  reduce  their  sense  to  right  of  Christian  law. 
To  signify  three  other  things  these  terms  we  well  may  draw. 
By  gods  we  understand  all  such,  as  God  hath  plac'd  in  chief 
Estate  to  punish  sin,  and  for  the  godly  folks'  relief. 
By  fate  the  order  which  is  set  and  stablished  in  tilings 
By  God's  eternal  will  and  word,  which  in  due  season  brings 
All  matters  to  their  falling  out.     Which  falling  out  or  end. 
Because  our  curious  reason  is  too  weak  to  comprehend 
The  cause  and  order  of  the  same,  and  dotli  behold  it  fall 
(Uiiwares  to  us)  by  name  of  chance  orfortune  we  do  call. 
If  any  man  will  say,  these  things  may  better  learned  be 
Out  of  divine  philosophy  or  Scripture,  I  agree 
That  nothing  may  in  worthiness  with  holy  writ  compare. 
Howbeit  so  far  forth  as  things  no  whit  impeachment  are 
To  virtue  and  to  godhness,  but  furtherers  of  the  same, 
I  trust  we  may  them  safely  use  without  desert  of  blame. 
And  yet  there  are  (and  those  not  of  the  rude  and  vulgar  sort. 
But  such  as  have  of  godliness  and  learning  good  report) 
To  think  the  poets  took  their  first  occasion  of  these  things 
From  Holy  Writ,  as  from  the  well  from  whence  all  wisdom 

springs. 
What  man  is  he  hut  would  suppose  the  author  of  this  book 
The  first  foundation  of  his  work  from  Moses'  writings  took? 
Not  only  in  effect  he  doth  with  Genesis  agree. 
But  also  in  the  order  of  creatioti,  save  that  he 
Makes  no  distinction  of  the  days.     For  what  is  else  at  all 
That  shapeless,  rude,  and  pester'd  heap,  which  chaos  he  doth 

call. 
Than  even  that  universal  mass  of  things,  which.  God  did  make 
In  one  whole  lump  before  that  each  their  proper  place  did  take. 
Of  which  the  Bible  saith,  that  in  the  first  beginning,  God 
Made  heaven  and  earth  :  the  earth  wai^waste,  and  darkness  yet 

abode 
Upon  the  deep :  which  holy  words  declare  unto  us  plain, 
"  That  fire,  air,  water,  and  the  earth  did  undistinct  remaiq. 


388 

"  In  one  gross  body  at  the  first.     5F  For  God  the  fathei-,  that 

"  Made  all  things,  framing  out  the  world  according  to  the  plat, 

"  Conceived  everlastingly  in  mind,  made  tirst  of  all 

"  Both  heaven  and  earth  uncorporal,  and  such  as  could  not  fall, 

*'  As  objects  under  sense  of  sight :  and  also  air  likewise, 

"  And  emptiness  :  and  for  these  twain  apt  terms  he  did  devise. 

"  He  called  air  darkness  :  for  the  air  by  kind  is  dark, 

"  And  emptiness  by  name  of  depth  full  aptly  he  did  mark : 

"  For  emptiness  is  deep  and  waste  by  nature.     Overmore 

"  He  formed  also  bodiless  (as  other  things  before) 

"  The  natures  both  of  water  and  of  spirit.     And  in  fine 

"  The  light :  which  being  made  to  be  a  pattern  most  divine, 

"  Whereby  to  form  the  fixed  stars,  and  wandring  planets  seven, 

"  Which  all  the  lights,    that  afterward  should  beautify  the 

heaven. 
Was  made  by  God,  both  bodiless,  and  of  so  pure  a  kind. 
As  that  it  could  alonely  be  perceived  by  the  mind. 
To  this  effect  are  Philo's  words.     And  certainly  this  fame 
Is  it  that  poets  in  their  work  confused  Chaos  name. 
Not  that  God's  works  at  any  time  were  pact  confusedly 
Together  :  but  because  no  place  nor  outward  shape  whereby 
To  shew  them  to  the  feeble  sense  of  man's  deceitful  sight. 
Was  yet  appointed  unto  things,  until  that  by  his  might 
And  wondrous  wisdom,  God  in  time  set  open  to  the  eye 
The  things  that  he  before  all  time  had  everlastingly 
Decreed  by  his  providence.     But  let  us  further  see 
How  Ovid's  scantlings  with  the  whole  true  pattern  do  agree. 
The  first  day  by  his  mighty  word  (saith  Moses'  God  made  light. 
The  second  day  the  firmament,  which  heaven  or  welkin  hight. 
The  third  day  he  did  part  the  earth  from  sea,  and  made  it  dry. 
Commanding  it  to  bear  all  kind  of  fruits  abundantly. 
The  fourth  day  he  did  make  The  lights  of  heaven  to  shine  from 

high. 
And  'stablished  a  law  in  them  to  rule  then:  courses  by. 


$S9 

The  fifth  day  he  did  make  the  whales  and  fishes  of  the  deep. 
With  all  the  birds  and  feathered  fowls  that  in  the  air  do  keep. 
The  sixth  day  God  made  every  beast,  both  wild  and  tame,  and 

worms. 
That  creep  on  ground,  according  to  their  several  kinds  and 

forms. 
And  in  the  image  of  himself  he  formed  man  of  clay. 
To  be  the  lord  of  all  his  works  the  very  selfsame  day. 
This  is  the  sum  of  Moses'  words.     And  Ovid  (whether  it  were 
By  following  of  the  text  aright,  or  that  his  mind  did  bear 
Him  witness  that  there  are  no  gods  but  one)  doth  plain  up- 
hold 
That  God  :  although  he  knew  it  not)  was  he  that  did  unfold 
The  former  chaos,  pulling  it  in  form  and  fashion  new. 
As  may  appear  by  these  his  words  which  underneath  ensue  : 
This  strife  did  God  and  nature  break  and  set  in  order  due. 
"  The  earth  from  heaven,  the  sea  from  earth  he  parted  orderly, 
"  And  from  the  thick  and  foggy  air  he  took  the  lightsome  sky. 
"  In  these  few  lines  he  comprehends  the  whole  effect  of  that 
Which  God  did  work  the  first  three  days  about  this  noble  plat. 
And  then  by  distribution  he  entreateth  by  and  by 
More  largely  of  the  self  same  things,  and  paints  them  out  to 

eye 
With  all  their  bounds  and  furniture  :  and  whereas  we  do  find 
The  term  of  nature  join'd  with  God  :   (according  to  the  mind 
Of  learned  men,)  by  joining  so,  is  meant  none  other  thing. 
But  God  the  Lord  of  nature  who  did  all  in  order  bring. 
The  distributions  being  done  right  learnedly,  anon. 
To  shew  the  otlier  three  days'  works,  he  thus  proceedeth  on. 
"  The  heavenly  soil  to  Gods  and  stars  and  planets  first  he  gave  j 
"  The  waters  next  both  fresh  and  salt  he  let  the  fishes  have  j 
"  The  subtle  air  to  flickering  fowls  and  birds  he  hath  assign'd  ; 
"  The  earth  to  beasts,  both  wild  and  tame,  of  sundry  sorts  and 
kind. 


390 

Thus  partly  in  the  outward  phrase,  but  more  in  veiy  deed. 
He  seems  according  to  the  sense  of  Scripture  to  proceed. 
And  when  he  comes  to  speak  of  man,  he  doth  not  vainly  say 
(As  some  have  written)  that  he  was  before  all  time  for  ay, 
Ne  mentioneth  more  gods  than  one  :n  making  him.    But  thus 
He  both  in  sentence  and  in  sense  his  meaning  doth  discuss  : 
*'  Howbeit  yet  of  all  this  while  the  creature  wanting  was 
"  Far  more  divine,  of  nobler  mind,  which  should  the  resdue 

pass 
"  In  depth  of  knowledge,  reason,  wit,  and  high  capacity, 
*'  And  which  of  all  the  resdue  should  the  lord  and  ruler  be. 
"  Then  either  he  that  made  the  world,  and  things  in  order  set, 
"  Of  heavenly  seeds  engender'd  man  :  or  else  the  earth  as  yet, 
**  Young,  lusty,  fresh,  and  in  her  flower,  and  parted  from  the 

sky 
"  But  late  before,  the  seeds  thereof  as  yet  held  inwardly. 
*'  The  which  Prometheus  tempering  sti'aight  with  water  of  the 

spring, 
*'  Did  make  in  likeness  to  the  gods  that  govern  every  thing. 
What  other  thing  means  Ovid  here,  by  term  of  hea'.ienly  seed. 
Than  man's  immortal  soul,  which  is  divine,  and  comes  indeed 
From  heaven,  and  was  inspir  d  by  God,  as  Moses  sheweth  plain. 
And  whereas  of  Prometheus  he  seems  to  add  a  vain 
Device,  as  tho'  he  meant  that  he  had  formed  man  of  clay, 
Altho'  it  be  a  tale  put  in  for  pleasure  by  the  way  : 
Yet  by  th'  interpretation  of  tlie  name  we  well  may  gather,, 
He  did  include  a  mystery,  and  secret  meaning  rather. 
This  word  Prometheus  signifies  a  person  sage  and  wise. 
Of  great  foresight,  who  headily  will  nothing  enterprise. 
It  was  the  name  of  one  that  first  did  images  invent. 
Of  whom  the  Poets  do  report,  that  he  to  heaven  up  went. 
And  there  stole  fire,  through  which  he  made  his  images  alive : 
And  therefore,  that  he  formed  men,  the  Paynims  did  contrive^  ' 


391 

Now  when  the  Poet  read  perchance,  that  God  Almighty,  bf 
His  providence,  and  by  his  word  (which  everlastingly 
Is  ay  his  wisdom)  made  the  world,  and  also  man  to  bear 
His  image,  and  to  be  the  lord  of  all  the  things  that  were 
Erst  made,  and  that  he  shaped  him  of  earth,  or  slimed  clay : 
He  took  occasion  in  the  w.iy  of  fabling  for  to  say. 
That  wise  Prometheus  temp'ring  earth  with  water  of  the  spring. 
Did  form  it  like  the  gods  above,  that  govern  every  thing. 
Thus  may  Prometheus  seem  to  be  th'  eternal  word  of  God, 
His  wisdom  and  his  providence,  which  formed  man  of  clod. 
"  And  where  all  other  things  behold  the  ground  with  groveling 

eye, 
*'  He  gave  to  man  a  stately  look  replete  with  majesty, 
*'  And  wiird  him  to  behold  the  heavens  with  countenance  cast 

on  h'igh, 
"  To  mark  and  understand  what  things  are  in  the  starry  sky." 
In  these  same  words  both  parts  of  man  the  Poet  doth  express 
As  in  a  glass,  and  giveth  us  instructions  to  address 
Ourselves  to  know  our  own  estate.     As  that  we  be  not  bom 
To  follow  lust,  or  serve  the  paunch  like  brutish  beasts  forlorn. 
But  for  to  lift  our  eyes  as  well  of  body  as  of  mind. 
To  heaven,  as  to  our  native  soil  from  whence  we  have  by  kind 
Our  better  part :  and  by  the  sight  thereof  to  learn  to  know. 
And  knowledge  him  that  dwelleth  there  :  and  wholly  to  bestow 
Our  care  and  travel  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  his  name. 
Who  for  the  sakes  of  mortal  men  created  first  the  same. 
Moreover  by  the  golden  age  what  other  thing  is  meant. 
Than  Adam's  time  in  Paradise,  who  being  innocent. 
Did  lead  a  blest  and  happy  life,  until  that  thorough  sin 
He  fell  from  God  :  from  which  time  forth  all  sorrow  did  begin. 
The  earth  accursed,  for  his  sake  did  never  after  more 
Yield  food  witliout  great  toil.    Both  htzt  and  cold  did  vex  him 

sore. 


392 

Disease  of  body,  care  of  mind,  with  hunger,  thirst,  and  need  ; 
Fear,  hope,  joy,  grief,  and  trouble  fell  to  him,  and  on  his  seed. 
And  this  is  term'd  the  silver  age.    Next  which  there  did  succeed 
The  brazen  age,  when  malice  first  in  people's  hearts  did  breed ; 
Which  never  ceased  growing  till  it  did  so  far  outrage. 
That  nothing  but  destruction  could  the  heat  thereof  assuage : ;  • 
For  why  ?    Men's  stomachs  waxing  hard  as  steel  against  their 

God, 
Provoked  him  from  day  to  day  to  strike  them  with  his  rod. 
Proud  giants  also  did  arise,  that  with  presumptuous  wills 
Heap'd  wrong  on  wrong,  and  sin  on  sin,  like  huge  and  lofty 

hills. 
Whereby  they  strove  to  climb  to  heaven,  and  God  from  thence 

to  drawj 
In  scorning  of  his  holy  word,  and  breaking  nature's  law. 
For  which  anon  ensued  the  flood  which  overflowed  all 
Tlie  whole  round  earth,  and  drowned  quite  all  creatures  great 

and  small. 
Excepting  few  that  God  did  save  as  seed,  whereof  should  grow 
Another  offspring.     All  these  things  the  Poet  here  doth  shew 
In  colour,  altering  both  the  names  of  persons,  time,  and  place. 
For  where  according  to  the  truth  of  Scripture  in  this  case. 
The  universal  flood  did  fall  but  sixteen  hundred  years 
And  six  and  fifty  after  the  creation  (as  appears 
By  reckoning  of  the  ages  of  the  fathers)  under  Noy, 
With  whom  seven  other  persons  mo  like  safeguard  did  enjoy 
Within  the  Ark,  which  at  the  end  of  one  whole  year  did  stay 
Upon  the  hills  of  Armeny:  the  Poet  following  ay 
The  fables  of  the  glorying  Greeks  (who  shamelessly  did  take 
The  praise  of  all  things  to  themselves)  in  febling  wise  doth 

make 
It  happen  in  Deucalion's  time,  v/ho  reigu'd  in  Thessaly 
Eight  hundred  winters  since  Noy's  flood,  or  thereupon  well 
nigh. 


393 

Because  that  in  the  reign  of  him  a  mighty  flood  did  fall. 

That  drown'd  the  greater  part  of  Greece,  towns,  cattle,  folk, 

and  all ; 
Save  few  that  by  the  help  of  boats  attained  unto  him. 
And  to  the  highest  of  the  fork'd  Parnassus'  top  did  swim  j 
And  for  because  that  he  and  his  were  driven  awhile  to  dwell 
Among  the  stony  bills  and  rocks  until  the  water  fell. 
The  Poets  hereupon  did  take  occasion  for  to  fain. 
That  he  and  Pyrrha  did  repair  mankind  of  stones  again. 
So  in  the  sixth  book  afterward  Amphion's  harp  is  said 
The  first  foundation  of  the  walls  of  Thebe  to  have  laid  ; 
Because  that  by  his  eloquence  and  justice  (which  are  meant 
By  true  accord  of  harmony  and  musical  consent) 
He  gather' d  into  Thebe  town,  and  in  due  order  knit 
The  people  that  dispers'd  and  rude  in  hills  and  rock  did  sit. 
So  Orphey  in  the  tenth  book  is  reported  to  dehght 
The  savage  beasts,  and  for  to  hold  the  fleeting  birds  from  flight; 
To  move  the  senseless  stones,  and  stay  swift  rivers,  and  to  make 
The  trees  to  follow  after  him  :  and  for  his  music'  sake 
To  yield  him  shadow  where  he  went.     By  which  is  signified 
That  in  his  doctrine  such  a  force  and  sweetness  was  implied. 
That  such  as  were  most  wild,  stowre,  fierce,  hard,  witless, 

rude,  and  bent. 
Against  good  order,  were  by  him  persuaded  to  relent. 
And  for  to  be  conformable  to  live  in  reverend  awe. 
Like  neighbours  in  a  commonweal  by  justice  under  law. 
Considering  then  of  things  before  rehears'd,  tlie  whole  effect, 
I  trust  there  is  already  shew'd  sufficient  to  detect 
That  Poets  took  the  ground  of  all  their  chiefest  fables  out 
Of  Scripture :  which  they  shadowing  with  their  gloses,  went 

about 
To  turn  the  truth  to  toys  and  lies.     And  of  the  self-same  rate 
Ai-e  also  these  :  their  Phlegeton,  their  Styx,  tiieir  blissful  state 
Of  spirits  in  the  Elysian  fields.     Of  which  the  former  twain 
Seem  counterfeited  of  the  place  where  damned  souls  remain, 

VOL.  II.  3  E 


394. 

Which  we  call  hell.   The  third  doth  seem  to  fetch  his  pedigree 
From  Paradise,  which  Scripture  shews  a  place  of  bliss  to  be. 
If  Poets  then  with  leasings  and  with  fables  shadow' d  so 
The  certain  truth,  what  letteth  us  to  pluck  those  visers  fro 
Their  doings,  and  to  bring  again  the  darken'd  truth  to  light. 
That  all  men  may  behold  thereof  the  clearness  shining  bright  ? 
The  readers  thereof  earnestly  admonish'd  are  to  be 
To  seek  a  further  meaning  than  the  letter  gives  to  see. 
The  travel  tane  in  that  behalf  altho'  it  have  some  pain. 
Yet  makes  it  double  recompence  with  pleasure  and  with  gain. 
With  pleasure,  for  variety  and  strangeness  of  the  things. 
With  gain,  for  good  instruction  which  the  understanding  brings. 
And  if  they  hap'ning  for  to  meet  with  any  wanton  word 
Or  matter  lewd,  according  as  the  person  doth  award  j 
In  whom  the  evil  is  describ'd,  do  feel  their  minds  thereby 
Provok'd  to  vice  and  wantonness  (as  nature  commonly 
Is  prone  to  evil)  let  them  thus  imagine  in  their  mind  ; 
Behold,  by  scent  of  reason,  and  by  perfect  sight  1  find 
A  panther  here,  whose  painted  coat  with  yellow  spots  like  gold. 
And  pleasant  smell  allure  mine  eyes  and  senses  to  behold. 
But  well  I  know  his  face  is  grim  and  fierce,  which  he  doth 

hide 
To  this  intent,  that  while  I  thus  stand  gazing  on  his  hide. 
He  may  devour  me  unbewares.     Ne  let  them  more  offend 
At  vices  in  this  present  work,  in  lively  colours  penn'd. 
Than  if  that  in  a  christal  glass  foul  images  they  found. 
Resembling  folks'  foul  visages  that  stand  about  it  round. 
For  sure  these  fables  are  not  put  in  writing  to  th'  intent 
To  further  or  allure  to  vice  :  but  rather  this  is  meant. 
That  men  beholding  what  they  be  when  vice  doth  reign  instead 
Of  virtue,  should  not  let  their  lewd  affections  have  the  head  ; 
For  as  there  is  no  creature  more  divine  than  man,  as  long 
As  reason  hath  the  sovereignty,  and  standeth  firm  and  strong; ; 


395 

So  is  there  none  more  beastly,  vile,  and  devilish,  than  is  he. 

If  reason  giving  over,  by  aiFection  mated  be. 

The  use  of  this  same  book  therefore,  is  this  :  that  every  man 

(Endeavouring  for  to  know  himself  as  nearly  as  he  can) 

(As  tho'  he  in  a  chariot  sate  well  ord'red)  should  direct 

His  mind  by  reason  in  the  way  of  virtue,  and  correct 

His  fierce  affections  with  the  bit  of  temp'rance,  lest  perchance 

They  taking  bridle  in  the  teeth  like  wilfiil  jades  should  prance 

Away,  and  headlong  carry  him  to  every  filthy  pit 

Of  vice,  and  drinking  of  the  same,  defile  his  soul  with  it :  ' 

Or  else  all  headlong  harry  him  upon  the  rocks  of  sin. 

And  overthrowing  forcibly  the  chariot  he  sits  in. 

Far  worse  him  tear  than  ever  was  Hippolitus,  the  son 

Of  Theseus,  when  he  went  about  his  father's  wrath  to  shun. 

This  worthy  work  in  which  of  good  examples  are  so  many. 

This  orchard  of  Alcinous,  in  which  there  wants  not  any 

Herb,  tree,  or  fi-uit,  that  may  man's  use  for  health  or  pleasure 

serve. 
This  plenteous  horn  of  Acheloy,  which  justly  doth  deserve 
To  bear  the  name  of  treasury  of  knowledge,  I  present 
To}'X>ur  good  Lordship  once  again,  not  as  a  member  rent. 
Or  parted  from  the  resdue  of  the  body  any  more  : ; 
But  fully  now  accomplished,  desiring  you  therefore 
To  let  your  noble  curtesy  and  favour  countervail 
My  faults,  where  art  or  eloquence  on  my  behalf  doth  fai>. 
For  sure  the  mark  whereat  I  shoot,  is  neither  wreaths  of  bay. 
Nor  name  of  Poet,  no,  nor  meed  :   but  chiefly  that  it  may 
Be  liked  well  of  you,  and  all  the  wise  and  learned  sort. 
And  next  that  every  wi^ht  that  shall  have  pleasure  for  to  sport 
Him  in  this  garden,  may  as  well  bear  wholesome  fruit  away. 
As  only  on  the  pleasant  flowers  his  rechless  senses  stay. 
But  why  seem  I  these  doubts  to  cast,  as  if  that  he  who  took. 
With  favour  and  with  gentleness,  a  parcel  of  the  book. 
Would  not  likewise  accept  the  whole  ?  or  even  as  if  that  they. 
Who  do  excel  in  wisdom  and  in  learning :  would  not  weigh 


396 

A  wise  and  learned  work  aright  ?  or  else,  as  if  that  I 
Ought  ay  to  have  a  special  care  how  all  men  do  apply 
My  doings  to  their  own  behoof?  as  of  their  former  twain 
I  have  great  hope  and  confidence :  so  would  I  also  fain 
The  other  should  according  to  good  meaning  find  success. 
If  otherwise,  the  fault  is  theirs,  not  mine,  they  must  confess  : 
And  therefore  briefly  to  conclude,  I  turn  again  to  thee, 

0  noble  Earl  of  Leicester,  whose  life  God  grant  may  be 

As  long  in  honor,  health,  and  wealth,  as  ancient  Nestor's  was  j 
Or  rather  as  Tithonus's :  that  all  such  students  as 
Do  travel  to  inrich  our  tongue  with  knowledge  heretofore 
Not  common  to  our  vulgar  speech,  may  daily  more  and  more 
Proceed  thro'  thy  good  furtherance  and  favor  in  the  same. 
To  all  men's  profit  and  delight,  and  thy  eternal  fame : 
And  that  (which  is  a  gi-eater  thing)  our  native  country  may 
Long  time  enjoy  thy  counsel,  and  thy  travel  to  her  stay. 

At  Berwick  the  20.  of  April,  156/. 

Your  good  L.  most  humbly  to 

command,  Arthur  Golding/' 

"  To  the  Reader, 

1  would  not  wish  the  simple  sort  offended  for  to  be. 

When  in  this  book  the  heathen  names  of  feigned  gods  they  see. 
The  true  and  everliving  God  the  Paynims  did  not  know, 
Wliich  caused  them  the  name  of  gods  on  creatures  to  bestow. 
For  nature  being  once  corrupt,  and  knowledge  blinded  quite. 
By  Adam's  fall,  those  little  seeds  and  sparks  of  heavenly  light. 
That  did  as  yet  remain  in  man,  endeavouring  forth  to  burst, 
Aud  wanting  grace  and  power  to  grow  to  tliat  they  were  at 
first. 


S97 

To  superstition  did  decline,  and  drave  the  fearful  mind. 
Strange  worships  of  the  living  God  in  creatures  for  to  find. 
The  which  by  custom  taking  root,  and  growing  so  to  strength. 
Through  Satan's  help  possest  the  hearts  of  aU  the  world  at 

length. 
Some  worshipp'd  all  the  host  of  heaven :    some  dead  men's 

ghosts  and  bones : 
Some  wicked  fiends :  some  worms  and  fowls,  herbs,  fishes, 

trees,  and  stones. 
The  fire,  the  air,  the  sea,  the  land,  and  every  running  brook, 
Each  queachie  grove,  each  cragged  cliff,  the  name  of  godhead 

took. 
The  night  and  day,  the  fleeting  hours,  the  seasons  of  the  year. 
And  eveiy  strange  and  monstrous  thing,  for  gods  mistaken 

were. 
TJiere  was  no  virtue,  no,  nor  vice,  there  was  no  gift  of  mind 
Or  body,  but  some  god  thereto  or  goddess  was  assign' d. 
Of  health  and  sickness,  life  and  death,  of  neediness  and  wealth. 
Of  peace  and  war,  of  love  and  hate,  of  murder,  craft,  and 

stealth, 
Of  bread  and  wine,  of  slothftd  sleep,  and  of  their  solemn  games. 
And  every  other  trifling  toy  their  gods  did  bear  the  names. 
And  look  how  every  man  was  bent  to  goodness  or  to  ill. 
He  did  sivrmise  his  foolish  gods  inclining  to  his  will. 
For  God  perceiving  man's  perverse  and  wicked  wiU  to  sin. 
Did  give  him  over  to  his  lust  to  sink  or  swim  therein. 
By  means  whereof  it  came  to  pass  (as  in  this  book  ye  see) 
That  all  their  gods  with  whoredom,  theft,  or  murder  blotted 

be  : 
Which  argues  them  to  be  no  gods,  but  worser  in  effect 
Than  they  whose  open  punishment  their  doings  doth  detect. 
Who  seeing  Jove  (whom  heathen  folk  do  arm  with  triple  fire) 
In  shape  of  eagle,  bull,  or  swan,  to  win  his  foul  desire  : 
Or  grisly  Mars,  their  god  of  war,  entangled  in  a  net 
By  Venus'  husband,  purposely  to  trap  him,  warely  set : 


398 

Who  seeing  Saturn  eating  up  the  children  he  begat. 
Or  Venus  dallying  wantonly  with  every  lusty  mate  ? 
Who  seeing  Juno  play  the  scold  ?  or  Phoebus  mourn  and  me 
For  loss  of  her  whom  in  his  rage  thro'  jealous  mood  he  slew  ?     -^ 
Or  else  the  subtle  Mercury,  that  bears  the  charmed  rod. 
Conveying  neat  and  hiding  them,  would  take  him  for  a  god  j 
For  if  these  faults  in  mortal  men  do  justly  merit  blame. 
What  greater  madness  can  there  be  than  to  impute  the  same 
To  gods,  whose  natures  ought  to  be  most  perfect,  pure,  and 

bright. 
Most  virtuous,  holy,  chaste,  and  wise,  most  full  of  grace  and 

light : 
But  as  there  is  no  christian  man  that  can  surmise  in  mind 
That  these  or  other  such  are  gods,  which  are  no  gods  by  kind  : 
So  would  to  God  there  were  not  now  of  christian  men  profest. 
That  worshipp'd  in  their  deeds  these  gods  whose  names  they  do 

detest. 
Whose  laws  we  keep  his  thralls  we  be,  and  he  our  God  indeed : 
So  long  is  Christ  our  God  as  we  in  christian  life  proceed  : 
But  if  we  yield  to  fleshly  lust,  to  lucre,  or  to  wrath. 
Or  if  that  envy,  gluttony,  or  pride  the  mastery  hath. 
Or  any  other  kind  of  sin  the  thing  the  which  we  serve. 
To  be  accounted  for  our  God  most  justly  doth  deseiTe. 
Then  must  we  think  the  learned  men  that  did  these  names  fre- 
quent. 
Some  further  things  and  purposes  by  these  devises  meant. 
By  Jove  and  Juno  understand  all  states  and  princely  part : 
By  Ops  and  Saturn,  ancient  folk  that  are  of  elder  sort : 
By  Phoebus,  young  and  lusty  brutes  of  hand  and  courage  ^tout : 
By  Mars,  the  valiant  men  of  war,  that  love  to  tight  it  out : 
By  Pallas,  and  the  famous  troop  of  all  the  Muses  nine,  . 
Such  folk  as  in  the  sciences  and  virtuous  arts  do  shine. 
By  Mercury,  the  subtle  sort  that  use  to  filch  and  lie. 
With  thieves  and  merchants,  who  to  gain  their  travel  do  app^. 


S99 

By  Bacchus,  all  tlie  meaner  trades  and  handy  crafts  are  meant: 
By  Venus,  such  as  of  the  flesh  to  filthy  lust  are  bent : 
By  Neptune,  such  as  keep  the  seas :  by  Phebe,  maidens  chaste. 
And  pilgrims,  such  as  wandringly  their  time  in  travel  waste  : 
By  Pluto,  such  as  delve  in  mines,  and  ghosts  of  persons  dead : 
By  Vulcan,  smiths,  and  such  as  work  in  iron,  tin,  or  lead : 
By  Hecate,  witches,  conjurors,  and  necromancers  read ; 
With  all  such  vain  and  devilish  ai'ts  as  superstition  breed  : 
By  Satyrs,  S)  Ivans,  Nymphs,  and  Fauns,  with  other  such  be- 
side. 
The  plain  and  simple  country  folk  that  every  where  abide  j 
I  know  these  names  to  other  things  oft  may  and  must  agree  j 
In  declaration  of  the  which  I  will  not  tedious  be. 
But  leave  them  to  the  reader's  will  to  take  in  sundry  wise. 
As  matter  rising  giveth  cause  constructions  to  devise. 
Now  when  thou  read'st  of  God  or  man,  in  stone,  in  beast,  or 

tree. 
It  is  a  mirror  for  thyself  thine  own  estate  to  see  j 
For  under  feigned  names  of  gods  it  was  the  Poet's  guise. 
The  vice  and  faults  of  all  estates  to  taunt  in  covert  wise  j 
And  hkewise  to  extol  with  praise  such  things  as  do  deserve  : 
Observing  always  comeliness  from  which  they  do  not  swerve. 
And  as  the  person  greater  is  of  birth,  renown,  or  fame. 
The  greater  ever  is  his  load,  or  fouler  is  his  shame  j 
For  if  the  states  that  on  the  earth  the  room  of  God  supply. 
Decline  from  virtue  unto  vice,  and  live  disorderly. 
To  eagles,  tigers,  bulls,  and  bears,  and  other  figures  strange, 
(Both  to  their  people  and  themselves  most  hurtful)  they  do 

change. 
And  when  the  people  give  themselves  to  filthy  life  and  sin. 
What  other  kind  of  shape  thereby  than  filthy  can  they  win  ? 
So  was  Licaon  made  a  wolf:  and  Jove  became  a  bull : 
The  one  for  using  cruelty,  the  tother  for  his  trull. 
So  was  Elpenor  and  his  mates  transformed  into  swine. 
For  following  of  their  filthy  lust  in  women  and  in  wine. 


400 

Not  that  they  lost  their  manly  shape  as  to  the  outward  shew  j 
But  for  that  in  tlieir  brutish  breasts  most  beastly  lusts  did  grow. 
For  why  this  lump  of  flesh  and  bones,  this  body  is  not  we : 
We  are  a  thing  which  earthly  eyes  denied  are  to  see. 
Our  soul  is  we  indued  by  God  with  reason  from  above : 
Our  body  is  but  as  our  house,  in  which  we  work  and  move  : 
T'one  part  is  common  to  us  all,  which  God  of  heaven  himself: 
The  'tother  common  with  the  beasts,  a  vile  and  stinking  pelf. 
The  t'one  bedeck'd  with  heavenly  [gifts,  and  endless':    'tother 

gross. 
Frail,  filthy,  weak,  and  born  to  die,  as  made  of  earthly  dros^  ; 
Now  look  how  long  this  clod  of  clay  to  reason  doth  obey. 
So  long  for  men  by  just  desert  account  ourselves  we  may. 
But  if  we  suffer  fleshly  lusts  as  lawless  lords  to  reign. 
Then  are  we  beasts,  we  are  no  men,  we  have  our  name  in  vain. 
And  if  we  be  so  drown'd  in  vice,  that  feeling  once  be  gone. 
Then  may  it  well  of  us  be  said,  we  are  a  block  or  stone. 
This  surely  did  the  Poets  mean,  when  in  such  sundry  wise. 
The  pleasant  tales  of  turned  shapes  they  studied  to  devise  j 
Their  purpose  was  to  profit  men,  and  also  to  delight. 
And  so  to  handle  every  thing  as  best  might  like  the  sight : 
For  as  the  image  pourtray'd  out  in  simple  white  and  black, 
(Tho  well  proportion' d,  trae,  and  fair)  if  comely  colours  lack, 
Dehghteth  not  the  eye  so  much,  nor  yet  contents  the  mind 
So  much  as  that  which  shadow'd  is  with  colours  in  his  kind : 
Even  so  a  plain  and  naked  tale  or  story  simply  told, 
( Altho'  the  matter  be  indeed  of  value  more  than  gold) 
Makes  not  the  hearer  so  attent  to  print  it  in  his  heart. 
As  when  the  thing  is  well  declar'd,  with  pleasant  terms  and  art. 
All  which  the  Poets  knew  right  well:    and  for  the  greater 

grace. 
As  Persian  kings  did  never  go  abroad  with  open  face. 
But  with  some  lawn  of  silken  scarf,  for  reverence  of  their  stale  : 
Even  so  these  following  in  their  works  the  self  same  trade  and 

rate. 


401 


Did  under  covert  names  and  terms  tlielr  dcxrtrlnes  so  imply. 

As  that  it  is  right  dark  and  hard  their  meaning  to  espy] 

But  being  found,  it  is  more  sweet,  and  makes  the  mind  more . 

glad, 
Than  if  a  man  of  tried  gold  a  treasure  gained  had. 
For  as  the  body  hath  his  joy  in  pleasant  smells  and  sights. 
Even  so  in  knowledge  and  in  arts  the  mind  as  much  delights. 
Whereof  abundant  hoards  and  heaps  in  Poets  packed  been. 
So  did  that  (saving  unto  few)  they  are  not  to  be  seen  ; 
And  therefore  whoso  doth  attempt  the  Poet's  works  to  read. 
Must  bring  with  him  a  stayed  head  and  judgment  to  proceed  ; 
For  as  there  be  most  wholesome  bests  and  precepts  to  be  found. 
So  are  there  rocks  and  shallow  shelves  to  run  the  ship  aground. 
Some  naughty  person  seeing  vice  shew  lovely  in  his  hue. 
Doth  take  occasion  by  and  by  like  vices  to  ensue. 
An  other  being  more  severe  than  wisdom  doth  require. 
Beholding  vice,  (to  outward  shew)  exalted  in  desire, 
Condemneth  by  and  by  the  book,  and  him  that  did  it  make. 
And  wills  it  to  be  burn'd  with  fire  for  lewd  example  sake. 
These  persons  overshoot  themselves,  and  other  folks  deceive. 
Not  able  of  the  author's  mind  the  meaning  to  conceive. 
The  author's  purpose  is  to  paint  and  set  before  our  eyes 
The  lively  image  of  the  thoughts  that  in  our  stomachs  rise. 
Each  vice  and  virtue  seems  to  speak  and  argue  to  our  face. 
With  such  persuasions  as  they  have  their  doings  to  embrace  : 
And  if  a  wicked  person  seem  his  vices  to  exalt. 
Esteem  not  him  that  wrote  the  work  in  such  defaults  to  halt  j 
But  rather  with  an  upright  eye  consider  well  thy  thought : 
See  if  cori-upted  nature  have  the  like  within  thee  wrought : 
Mark  what  affection  doth  persuade  in  eveiy  kind  of  matter, 
Aidge  If  that  even  in  heinous  crimes  thy  fancy  do  not  flatter  ', 
And  were  it  not  for  dread  of  law,  of  dread  of  God  abo\e. 
Most  men  (I  fear)  would  do  the    things,  that  fond  affections 
move. 
\&L.  II.  3  f 


462 

Then  take  these  works  as  fragrant  flowers,  most  full  of  pleasant 

juice. 
The  which  the  bee  conveying  home  may  put  to  wholesome 

use  J 
And  which  the  spider  sucking  on,  to  poison  may  convert, 
Through  venom  spread  in  all  her  limbs,  and  native  in  her  heart. 
For  to  the  piare  and  godly  mind  are  all  things  pure  and  clean. 
And  unto  such  as  are  corrupt  the  best  corrupted  been  : 
Like  as  the  finest  meats  and  drinks  that  can  be  made  by  art. 
In  sickly  folks  to  nourishment  of  sickness  to  convert : 
And  therefore  not  regarding  those  whose  diet  is  so  fine. 
That  nothing  can  digest  with  them  unless  it  be  divine  ; 
Nor  such  as  to  their  proper  harm  do  wrest  and  wring  awry 
The  things  that  to  a  good  intent  are  written  pleasantly  : 
Thro*  Ovid's  work  of  turned  shapes  T  have  with  painful  pace 
Past  on,  until  I  had  attain'd  the  end  of  all  my  race  : 
And  now  I  have  him  made  so  well  acquainted  with  our  tongue. 
As  that  he  may  in  English  verse  as  in  his  own  be  sung. 
Wherein  altho'  for  pleasant  stile  I  cannot  make  account 
To  match  mine  author,  who  in  that  all  other  doth  surmount : 
Yet  (gentle  Reader)  I  do  trust  my  travel  in  this  case 
May  purchase  favour  in  thy  sight  my  doings  to  embrace. 
Considering  what  a  sea  of  goods  and  jewels  thou  shalt  find, 
Not  more  delightful  to  the  ear,  than  fruitfiil  to  the  mind  ; 
For  this  do  learned  persons  deem  of  Ovid's  present  work  : 
That  in  no  one  of  all  his  book  the  which  he  wrate,  do  lurk 
Mo  dark  and  secret  mysteries,  mo  counsels  wise  and  sage. 
Mo  good  examples,  mo  reproofs  of  vice  in  youth  and  age. 
Mo  fine  inventicfris  to  delight,  mo  matters  clearly  knit. 
No  nor  more  strange  variety  to  shew  a  learned  wit. 
The  high,  the  low,  the  rich,  the  poor :  the  master  and  the 

slave : 
The  maid,  the  wife :  the  man,  the  child :  the  simple  and  the 

brave : 


403 


The  young,   the  old  :  the  good,  the  bad  :  the  warrior  strong 

and  stout : 
The  wise,  the  fool :  the  country  elown  :  the  learned  and  the 

lout : 
And  every  other  living  wight  shall  in  this  mirror  see 
His  whole  estate ;  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds  expressly  shew'd 

to  be. 
Whereof  if  more  particixlar  examples  thou  do  crave. 
In  reading  the  Epistle  through  thou  shalt  thy  longing  have. 
jVIoreover  thou  mayst  find  herein  descriptions  of  the  times, 
Witli  constellations  of  the  stars  and  planets  in  their  climes  : 
The  sites  of  countries,  cities,  hills,  seas,  forests,  plains,  and 

floods : 
The  natures  both  of  fowls,  beasts,  worms,  herbs,  metals,  stones, 

and  woods. 
And  finally  what  ever  thing  is  strange  and  delectable. 
The  same  conveyed  shall  you  find  most  featly  in  some  fable. 
And  e'en  as  in  a  chain,  each  link  within  another  winds. 
And  both  with  that  that  went  before,  and  that  that  follows 

binds  J 
So  every  tale  within  this  book  doth  seem  to  take  his  ground 
Of  that  that  was  rehearst  before,  and  enters  in  tlie  bound 
Of  that  that  follows  after  it :  and  every  one  gives  light 
To  other  :  so  that  whoso  means  to  understand  them  right. 
Must  have  a  care  as  well  to  know  the  thing  that  went  before. 
As  that  the  which  he  presently  desires  to  see  so  sore. 
Now  to  th'  intent  that  none  have  cause  hereafter  to  complain 
Of  me,  as  setter  out  of  things  that  are  but  light  and  vain  : 
If  any  stomach  be  so  weak  as  that  it  cannot  brook 
The  lively  setting  forth  of  things  described  in  this  book, 
I  give  him  counsel  to  abstain  until  he  be  more  strong, 
i^d  for  to  use  Ulysses'  seat  against  the  Mermaid's  song. 
Or  if  he  needs  will  hear  and  see,  and  wilfully  agree 
(Thro'  cause  misconstrued)  unto  vice  allured  for  to  be  : 
Then  let  him  also  mark  the  pain  that  doth  thereof  ensue. 
And  hold  himself  content  with  that  tliat  to  his  fault  is  due. 


404 


Thejirst  Book  of  Ovid's.  Metamorphosis,  translated 
into  English  Meter. 

Of  shapes  transform'd  to  bodies  strange,  I  purpose  for  to  treat : 
Ye  gods,  vouchsafe  (for  you  are  they  that  wrought  this  won- 
drous feat) 
To  further  this  mine  enterprise.     And  from  the  world  begun. 
Grant  that  my  verse  may  to  my  time  his  course  directly  run. 
Before  the  sea  and  land  were  made,  and  heaven  that  all  doth 

hide. 
In  all  the  world  one  only  face  of  nature  did  abide. 
Which  Chaos  hight,  a  huge  rude  heap,  and  nothing  else  but 

even 
A  heavy  lump  and  clotted  clod  of  seeds  together  driven ; 
Of  things  at  strife  among  themselves  for  want  of  order  due. 
No  sun  as  yet  with  Ughtsome  beams  the  shapeless  world  did 

view  j 
No  moon  in  growing  did  repair  her  horns  with  borrowed  light. 
Nor  yet  the  earth  amidst  the  air  did  hang  by  wondrous  slight. 
Just  poysed  by  her  proper  weight.     Nor  winding  in  and  out 
Did  Amphitrite  with  her  arms  embrace  the  earth  about. 
For  where  was  earth,  was  sea  and  air :  so  was  the  earth  un- 
stable. 
The  air  all  dark,  the  sea  likewise  to  bear  a  ship  unable. 
No  kind  of  thing  had  proper  shape,  but  each  confounded  other. 
For  in  one  selfsame  body  strove  the  hot  and  cold  together ; 
The  moist  with  dry,  the  soft  with  hard,  the  light  with  thmgs 

of  weight : 
This  strife  did  God  and  nature  break,  and  set  in  order  straight. 
The  earth  from  heaven,  the  sea  from  earth  he  parted  orderly. 
And  from  the  thick  and  foggy  air  he  took  the  lightsome  sky  : 
Which  when  he  once  unfolded  had,  and  severed  from  the  blind 
And  clodded  heap,  he,  setting  each  from  other,  did  them  bind 
In  endless  friendship  to  agree.     The  fire  most  pure  and  bright. 
The  substance  of  the  heaven  itself,  because  it  was  so  light. 


405 


Did  mount  aloft  and  set  itself  in  highest  place  of  all, 

Tlie  second  room  of  right  to  air,  for  lightness  did  befall. 

The  earth  more  gross  drew  down  with  it  each  weighty  kind  of 

matter. 
And  set  itself  in  lowest  place.     Again,  the  waving  water 
Did  lastly  challenge  for  his  place  the  utmost  coast  and  bound 
Of  all  the  compass  of  the  earth,  to  close  the  stedfast  ground. 
Now  when  he  in  this  foresaid  wise  (what  God  soeer  he  was) 
Had  broke,  and  into  members  put  this  rude  confused  mass : 
Then  first,  because  in  every  part  the  earth  should  equal  be. 
He  made  it  like  a  mighty  ball,  in  compass  as  we  see. 
And  here  and  tliere  he  cast  in  seas,  to  which  he  gave  a  law. 
To  swell  with  every  blast  of  wind,  and  every  stormy  flaw. 
'And  with  their  waves  continually  to  beat  upon  the  shore 
Of  all  the  earth  within  tlieir  bounds  inclos'd  by  them  afore. 
Moreover,  springs  and  mighty  meeres  and  lakes  he  did  aug- 
ment j 
And  flowing  streams  of  crooked  brooks  in  winding  banks  he 

pent ; 
Of  which  the  earth  doth  drink  up  some,  and  some  with  restless 

race 
Do  seek  the  sea,  where  finding  scope  of  larger  room  and  space. 
Instead  of  banks,  the}'  beat  on  shores.     He  did  command  the 

plain 
And  champaign  grounds  to  stretch  out  wide :   and  vallies  to 

remain 
'  Ay  underneath :  and  eke  the  woods  to  hide  them  decently. 
With  tender  leaves,  and  stony  hills  to  lift  themselves  on  high. 
And  as  two  zones  do  cut  the  heaven  upon  the  righter  side. 
And  other  twaine  upon  the  left  hkewise  the  same  divide ; 
The  middle  to  outrageous  heat  exceeding  all  the  rest : 
E'en  so  likewise  thro'  great  foresight  to  God  it  seemed  best. 
The  earth  included  in  the  same  should  so  divided  be, 
•  As  with  the  number  qf  the  heaven,  her  zones  might  full  agree. 


40(5 


Of  which  the  middle  zone  in  heat,  the  utmost  twaine  in  cold. 
Exceed  so  far,  that  there  to  dwell  no  creature  dare  be  bold. 
Between  these  two  so  great  extremes,  two  other  zones  are  fix'd. 
Where  temper'ture  of  heat  and  cold  indifferently  is  mix'd. 
Now  over  these  doth  hang  the  air,  which  as  it  is  more  flighty 
Than  earth  or  water :  so  again,  than  fire  it  is  more  weighty. 
There  hath  he  placed  mists  and  clouds,  and  (for  to  fear  men's 

minds,) 
The  thunder  and  the  lightning  eke ;  with  cold  and  blust'ring 

winds. 
But  yet  the  maker  of  the  world  permitteth  not  alway 
The  winds  to  use  the  air  at  will ;  for  at  this  present  day, 
Tho'  each  from  other  placed  be  in  sundry  coasts  aside : 
The  violence  of  their  monstrous  blasts  things  scarcely  can  abide. 
They  so  turmoil  as  tho'  they  would  the  world  in  pieces  rend. 
So  cruel  is  those  brothers'  wrath  as  oft  as  they  contend. 
And  therefore  to  the  morning  gray,  the  realm  of  Nabatliie, 
To  Persis  and  to  other  lands  and  countries  that  do  lie 
Far  underneath  the  morning  star,  did  Eurus  take  his  flight. 
Likewise  the  setting  of  the  sun,  and  shutting  in  of  night 
Belong  to  Zephyr.     And  the  blasts  of  blustering  Boreas  reign 
In  Scythia,  and  in  other  lands  set  under  Charles'  vi^ain. 
And  unto  Auster  doth  belong  the  coast  of  all  the  South, 
Who  beareth  showers  and  rotten  mists  continual  in  his  mouth. 
Above  all  these  he  set  aloft  the  clear  and  lightsome  sky. 
Without  all  di-egs  of  earthly  filth,  or  grossness  utterly. 
The  bounds  of  things  were  scarcely  yet  by  him  thus  pointed  out. 
But  there  appeared  in  the  heaven  stars  glist'ring  all  about. 
Which  in  the  same  confused  heap  had  hidden  been  before. 
And  to  th"  intent  with  lively  things  each  region  for  to  store  : 
The  heavenly  soil  to  gods  and  stars  and  planets  first  he  gave ; 
The  waters  next  both  fiesh  and  salt  he  let  the  fishes  have  ; 
The  subtle  air  to  flick'ring  fowls  and  birds  he  hath  assign'd  j 
The  earth  to  beasts  both  wild  and  tame  of  sundry  sort  and  kind. 


407 

Howbeit  yet  of  all  this  while  the  creature  wanting  was, 
Far  more  divine,  of  nobler  mind,  which  would  the  resdue  pass 
In  depth  of  knowledge,  reason,  wit,  and  high  capacity. 
And  which  of  all  the  resdue  should  the  Lord  and  ruler  be. 
Then  either  he  that  made  the  world  and  things  in  order  set. 
Of  heavenly  seed  ingender'd  man  :  or  else  the  earth,  as  yet 
Young,  lusty,  fresh,  and  in  her  flowers,  and  parted  from  the 

sky 
But  late  before,  the  seed  thereof  as  yet  held  inwardly ; 
The  which  Prometheus  temp'ring  straight  with  water  of  the 

spring. 
Did  make  in  likeness  to  the  gods  that  govern  every  thing. 
And  where  all  other  beasts  behold  the  ground  with  groveling 

eye. 
He  gave  to  man  a  stately  look,  replete  with  majesty; 
And.  will'd  him  to  behold  the  heaven  with  countenance  cast  on 

high. 
To  inark  and  understand  what  things  were  in  the  starry  sky. 
And  thus  the  earth  which  late  before  had  neither  shape  nor 

hue. 
Did  take  the  noble  shape  of  man,  and  was  transformed  new. 
Then  sprang  up  first  the  golden  age,  which  of  itself  main- 

tain'd 
The  truth  and  right  of  every  thing  unforc'd  and  unconstrain'd. 
There  was  no  fear  of  punishment,  there  was  no  threat'ning  law 
In  brazen  tables  nailed  up,  to  keep  the  folk  in  awe  ; 
There  was  no  man  would  crouch  or  creep  to  judge  with  cap  in 

hand  : 
They  lived  safe  without  a  judge  in  every  realm  and  land. 
The  lofty  pine  tree  was  not  hewn  fi-om  mountains  where  it 

stood. 
In  seeking,  strange  and  foreign  lands  to  rove  upon  the  flood. 
Men  knew  none  other  countries  yet,  than  where  themselves  did 

,  keep ; 
There  was  no  town  enclosed  yet  with  walls  and  ditches  deep. 


40B 

No  horn  nor  trumpet  was  in  use,  no  sword  nor  helmet  worn  j    ' 
The  world  was  such  that  soldiers'  help  might  easily  be  forborne. 
The  fruitful  earth  as  yet  was  free,  untouch'd  of  spade  or  plough, 
And  yet  it  yielded  of  itself  of  every  thing  enough. 
And  men  themselves  contented  well  with  plain  and  simple  food,  ' 
That  on  the  earth  by  nature's  gift  without  their  travail  stood. 
Did  live  by  respis  hips  and  haws,  by  kernels,  plums,  and  cher- 
ries. 
By  sloes  and  apples,  nuts  and  pears,  and  loathsome  bramble 

berries. 
And  by  the  acorns  diopt  on  ground  from  Jove's  broad  tree  in 

field. 
The  spring  time  lasted  all  the  year,  and  Zephyr  with  his  meeld 
And  gentle  blasts  did  cherish  things  that  grew  of  own  accord. 
The  ground  untill'd,  all  kind  of  fruits  did  plenteously  afford. 
No  muck  nor  tillage  was  bestow' d  on  lean  and  barren  land. 
To  make  the  corn  of  better  head,  and  ranker  for  to  stand. 
Then  streams  ran  milk,  then  streams  ran  wine,  and  yellow 

honey  flow'd 
From  each  green  tree  whereon  the  rays  of  fiery  Phoebus  glow'd. 
But  when  that  into  Limbo  once  Saturnus  being  thrust. 
The  rule  and  charge  of  all  the  world  was  under  Jove  unjust, 
And  that  the  silver  age  came  in  more  somewhat  base  than  gold. 
More  precious  yet  than  freckled  brass,  immediately  the  old 
And  ancient  spring-time  Jove  abridg'd,  and  made  thereof  anon 
Four  seasons,  winter,  summer,  spring,  and  harvest  off  and  on  ; 
Then  first  of  all  began  the  air  with  fervent  heat  to  swelt  j 
Then  icicles  hung  roping  down ;  then,  for  the  cold  was  felt. 
Men  'gan  to  shroud  themselves  in  house :  their  houses  were  the 

thicks. 
And  bushy  queaches,  hollow  caves,  or  hurdles  made  of  sticks. 
Then  first  of  all  were  furrows  drawn,  and  com  was  cast  in 

ground. 
The  simple  ox.  with  sorry  sighs  to  heavy  yoke  was  bound. 


409 

Next  after  this  succeeded  straight  the  third  and  brazen  agfe. 
More  hard  of  nature,  somewhat  bent  to  cruel  wars  and  rage. 
But  yet  not  wholly  past  all  grace.     Of  iron  is  the  last. 
In  no  part  good  and  tractable  as  former  ages' pdst. 
For  when  that  of  this  wicked  age  once  open'd  was  the  vein, 
Therein  all  mischief  rushed  forth,  then  fiiith  and  truth  were  fain. 
And  honest  shame  to  hide  their  heads  :  for  whom  stept  stoutly 

in. 
Craft,  treason,  violence,  en\y,  pride,  and  wicked  lust  to  win. 
The  shipman  hoist  his  sails  to  wind,  whose  names  he  did  not 

know; 
And  ships  that  erst  in  tops  of  hills  and  mountains  high  did 

glow. 
Did  leap  and  dance  on  uncouth  waves :  and  men  began  to 

bound 
With  dowles  and  ditches  drawn  in  length,  the  free  and  fertile 

ground. 
Which  was  as  common  as  the  air  and  light  of  sun  before. 
Not  only  corn  and  other  fruits  for  sustenance  and  for  store. 
Were  now  exalted  of  the  earth  ;  but  eft  they  'gan  to  dig. 
And  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  unsatiably  to  rig 
For  riches  couch'd  and  hidden  deep  in  places  near  to  hell. 
The  spurs  and  stirrers  unto  vice,  and  foes  to  doing  well. 
Then  hurtful  iron  came  abroad,  then  came  forth  yellow  gold. 
More  hurtful  than  the  iron  far  ;   then  came  forth  battle  bold. 
That  fights  with  both,  and  shakes  his  sword  in  cruel  bloody  hand. 
Men  live  by  ravine  and  by  stealth,  the  wand'ring  guest  doth  stand 
In  danger  of  his  host,  the  host  in  danger  of  his  guest. 
And  fatliers  of  their  sons  in  law  :  yea,  seldom  time  doth  rest 
Between  born  brothers  such  accord  and  love  as  ought  to  be  j 
The  good-man  seeks  the  good- wife's  death,  and  his  again  seeks 

she  : 
With  grisly  poison  step-dames  fell  their  husbands'  sons  assail ; 
The  son  inquires  aforehand  when  his  father's  life  shall  fail ) 
VOL.  u.  3  G 


410 

All  godliness  lies  underfoot.  ''  And  Lady  Astrey,  last 
Ol  heavenly  virtues,  from  this  earth  in  slaughter  drowned  past. 
And  to  th'  intent  the  earth  alone  thus  should  not  be  opprest. 
And  heaven  above  in  slothful  ease  and  careless  quiet  rest. 
Men  say  that  giants  went  about  the  realm  of  heaven  to  win. 
To  please  themselves  to  reign  as  gods  and  lawless  lords  therein. 
And  hill  on  hill  they  heaped  up  aloft  unto  the  sky. 
Till  God  Almighty  from  the  heaven  did  let  his  thunder  fly  j 
The  dint  whereof  the  airy  tops  on  high  Olympus  brake. 
And  pressed  Pelion  violently  from  under  Ossa  strake. 
When  whelmed  in  their  wicked  work  those  cursed  caitifs  lay. 
The  earth,  their  mother,  took  their  blood,  yet  warm,  and  (as 

they  say) 
Did  give  it  life.     And  for  because  some  imps  should  still  re- 
main 
Of  that  same  stock,  she  gave  it  shape  and  limbs  of  men  again. 
This  offspring  eke  against  the  gods  did  bear  a  native  spright. 
In  slaughter  and  in  doing  wrong  was  all  their  whole  delight : 
Their  deeds  declared  them  of  blood  engendered  for  to  be. 
The  which  as  soon  as  Saturn's  son  from  heaven  aloft  did  see. 
He  fetch'd  a  sigh,  and  there  withal  revolving  in  his  thought 
The  shameful  act  which  at  a  feast  Lycaon  late  had  wrought. 
As  yet  unknown  or  blown  abroad :  he  'gan  thereat  to  storm 
And  stomach  like  an  angry  Jove  :  and  therefore  to  reform 
Such  heinous  acts,  he  summon' d  straight  his  court  of  parlia- 
ment. 
To  which  resorted  all  the  gods  that  had  their  summons  sent. 
High  in  the  welkin  is  a  way  apparent  to  the  sight 
In  starry  nights,  which  of  his  passing  whiteness  milky  hight : 
It  is  the  street  that  to  the  court  and  princely  palace  leads 
Of  mighty  Jove,  whose  thunder  claps  each  living  creature 

dreads. 
On  both  the  sides  of  this  same  way  do  stand  in  stately  port 
Tlie  sumptuous  Houses  of  the  Peers.  '  For  all  the  common  sort 


411 

Owell  scattering  here  and  there  abroad  :  the  face  of  all  the  sky 
The  houses  of  the  chief  estates  and  princes  do  supply. 
And  sure  and  if  I  may  be  bold  to  speak  my  fancy  free, 
I  take  this  place  of  all  the  heaven  the  palace  for  to  be." 
&:c.  &c.  &c. 

The  end  of  the  XV.  Book  of  Ovid's  Metamorphosis. 

Now  have  I  brought  a  work  to  end,  which  neither  Jove's 
fierce  wrath. 

Nor  sword,  nor  fire,  nor  fretting  age  with  all  the  force  it 
hath 
Are  able  to  abolish  quite.     Let  come  that  fatal  hour. 
Which  saving  of  his  brittle  flesh,  hath  over  me  no  power. 
And  at  his  pleasure  make  an  end  of  mine  uncertain  time  : 
Yet  shaU  the  better  part  of  me  assured  be  to  climb 
Aloft  above  the  starry  sky.     And  all  the  world  shall  never 
Be  able  for  to  quench  my  name.     For  look  how  far  soever 
The  Roman  empire  by  the  right  of  conquest  shall  extend. 
So  far  shall  all  folk  read  this  work.     And  time  without  all  end 
(If  Poets  as  by  prophecy  about  the  truth  may  aim) 
My  life  shall  everlastingly  be  lengthen'd  still  by  fame. 

Finis  Libri  decimi  quinti. 
Laus  et  honor  soli  Deo. 

At  London, 

Imprinted  by  Robert  Walde-grave. 

li»87. 


412 

Sonnets  dedicatory   to   etninent  Persons,      By  Joshua 

Sylvester. 

I. 

To  the  right  honourable  the  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England, 
Thomas  Egerton,  is'c. 

The  Law. 

Most  humbly  shewesto  thy  great  worthiness 

(Grave  Moderator  of  our  Britain  lawes) 

The  Muses'  abject  (subject  of  distress) 

How  long  wrong-vext,  in  a  not-needless-oanse. 

Not  at  the  King's  Bench,  but  the  Penny-less, 

By  one,  I  Want,  (the  son  of  Simpleness  3) 

Unable  more  to  greaze  the  scraping  pa\\'s 

Of  his  Attorney  Shift,  or  oil  the  jaws 

Of  his  (dear)  Counsell,  Serjeant  Pensiveness  ; 

He  is  compell'd  injbrwd  pauperis, 

To  plead  himself,  and  shew  his  (little)  law 

In  the  free  court  of  thy  mild  courtesies. 

Please  it  thee,  therefore,  an  Injunction  grant. 

To  stay  the  Suit  between  himself  and  Want. 

For  thee  and  thine,  for  ay, 
So  he  and  his  shall  pray 

J.  S. 


413 


II. 


To  the  right  honourahle  the  Earl  of  Salislury,  Lord  High 
Treasurer  of  England. 

The  Captains. 

Armes  yield  to  Art,  tlie  Trumpet  to  tlie  Tongue : 

Stout  Ajax'  prize  the  wise  Ulysses  wan  : 

It  will  not  seem  then  that  we  have  mis-sung. 

To  sing  of  Captaines  to  a  Couns;iil-man  ; 

Sith  without  Counsaile,  Courage  is  but  Rage ; 

Rude  in  resolving,  rash  in  acting  it ; 

In  which  respect  those  of  the  antique  age 

Feign  Pallas,  Goddess  both  of  war  and  wit : 

Therefore  to  Thee,  whose  wit  so  much  hath  sted 

(In  war  and  peace)  our  Princes  and  our  State  : 

To  Thee,  whose  vertue  hath  now  triumphed 

Of  causeless  Envie,  and  misgrounded  Hate  : 

To  Thee  (Witt's  Worth ie)  had  it  not  been  wrong. 

Not  to  have  sounded  my  War- Worthie's  song  ? 

J.  S. 


HI. 

To  the  right  honourable  the  Earle  of  Dorset  (late)  Lord  High 
Treasurer  of  England. 

The  Schisme. 

\         Not  without  error  and  apparent  wrong 

To  Thee,  the  Muses  and  myself  (the  most) 
Could  I  omit,  amid  this  Noble  Hoast 
Of  learned  friends  to  learning,  and  our  song 
To  muster  Thee  3  Thee,  that  hast  lov'd  so  long 


The  sacred  Sisters,  and  (sad  sweetly  most) 
Thyselfe  hast  sung  (under  a  feigned  ghost*) 
The  tragick  falls  of  our  ambitious  throng. 
Therefore,  in  honour  of  thy  younger  art. 
And  of  the  Muses,  honour'd  by  the  same. 
And  to  express  my  thankfull  thoughts  (in  part) 
This  Tract  I  sacre  unto  SackviVs  name  j 
No  less  renown'd  for  numbers  of  tliine  owne. 
Then  for  thy  love,  to  other's  labours  shown. 

IV. 

To  the  right  honourable  the  Earle  of  Pemlroke. 

The  Decay. 

Far  be  the  title  of  this  tragick  page 

From  Thee  (rare  module  of  heroik  minds) 

Whose  noble  bountie  all  the  Muses  binds 

To  honour  thee ;  but  mine  doth  most  engage  : 

And  yet,  to  thee,  and  to  thy  patronage 

(For  present  lack  of  other  gratefuU  signes) 

Needs  must  I  offer  these  decayed  lines, 

(Lyned  with  horrors  of  Isaacian  rage) 

Wherein  to  keep  decorum  with  my  Theam, 

Atid  with  my  fortunes  (ruin'd  every  way) 

My  care-clog'd  Muse  (still  carried  down  the  stream) 

In  singing  others,  sighes  her  own  decay. 

In  stile,  in  state,  in  hap,  in  hope,  in  all ; 

For  vines,  unpropped,  on  the  ground  do  craul. 

*  Alluding  to  his  Legend  in  The  Mirror  for  "Magistrata. 


415 


To  the  righi  honouralle  the  Earle  of  Essex,  Earle  Manhall 
of  England,  i^c. 

Eden. 

Great  Strong-bowe's  heir,  no  self-conceit  doth  cause 

Mine  humble  wings  aspire  to  you,  unknowne  : 

But  knowing  this,  that  your  renown  alone 

(As  th'  adamant,  and  as  the  amber  drawes  : 

That,  hardest  steel :  tliis,  easle  yielding  strawes) 

Altei's  the  stubborn,  and  attracts  the  prone  : 

I  have  presum'd  (O  Honor's  Paragon  !) 

To  grave  your  name  (which  all  Iberia  awes) 

Here  on  the  fore- front  of  this  little  pile  j 

T'  invite  the  vertuous  to  a  sacred  feast. 

And  chase  away  the  vicious  and  tlie  vile. 

Or  stop  their  lothsome  envious  tongues,  at  least. 

If  I  have  err'd,  let  my  submission  'sense  : 

And  daign  to  grace  my  yet  ungraced  Muse. 


VI. 

To  the  right  honouralle  the  Earle  of  Essex,  iffc. 

'  The  Ark. 

From  th'  Ark  of  Hope,  still  tossed  in  distresse 
On  th'  angry  deluge  of  disastrous  plight. 
My  silly  dove  here  takes  her  second  flight. 
To  view  (great  Lord)  thy  world  of  wortliiness : 
Vouchsafe  (rare  plant  of  perfect  Nobleness) 
Some  branch  of  safety,  whereon  she  may  light ; 
Some  olive  leaf,  that  may  presage  me  right  3 


416 

A  safe  escape  from  this  wet  wilderness. 

So,  when  the  flood  of  my  deep  cares  shall  fall. 

And  I  be  landed  on  sweet  comfort's  hill  j 

First,  my  pure  thoughts  to  heaven  present  I  shall  : 

Then  on  thy  favours  meditating  still. 

My  zealoas  Muse  shall  dayly  strive  to  frsme 

Some  fairer  trophies  to  thy  glorious  name, 


VII. 

To  the  right  honourable  Charles  Lord  Mount-joy,  Earle  oj 

Devonshire. 

The  Imposture. 

Tho'  in  thy  Brook  (great  Charles)  there  swim  a  swan. 

Whose  happy,  sweet,  immortal  tunes  can  raise 

The  vertuous  greatness  of  thy  noble  praise 

To  higher  notes  than  my  faint  numbers  can  ; 

Yet  while  thy  Lucan  doth  in  silence  scan 

Unto  himselfe  new  meditated  laies. 

To  finish  up  his  sad  Pharsalian  fraies. 

Lend  ear  to  Bartas  (now  our  countiy-man) 

For  though  his  English  be  not  yet  so  good, 

(As  French- men  harJly  doe  our  tongue  attain) 

He  hopeth  yet  to  be  well  understood  ; 

The  rather,  if  you  (worthy  Lord)  shall  daign 

His  bashftilness  a  little  to  advance. 

With  the  milde  favours  of  your  countenance. 


417 

VIII. 

To  the  same  right  hquouraHe  the  Earle  of  J)evonshirq,  kc. 

The  Handy-Crafts. 

The  raorne-free  passage,  tkatmy  Muse  h^th  found 

Under  safe  conduct  of  thy  patronage. 

Thro'  carping  censures  of  this  curious  age 

(Where  high  conceited  happy  wits  abound) 

Makes  her  presume  (O  Mount-joy,  most  renown'd!) 

To  bear  again  in  her  re-pilgrimage. 

The  noble  pastport  of  thy  tutelage. 

To  salve  her  still  from  sullen  Envie's  wound. 

Let  thy  (true  eagle)  sun  beholding  eyes 

Glance  on  our  glow-worme's  Scarce  discerned  spark  : 

And  while  Witt's  tow'ring  falcons  touch  th^  skies^ 

Observe  awhile  our  tender-imped  krkt 

Such  sparks  may  flame,  and  such  hght  hrk^  pa^y  flj^ 

A  higher  pitqh,  then  drp§$-full  vanity. 


IX. 

To  the  same  right  honouralle  Eiirle  qf  DevoHshire,  &e. 

The  Colonies, 

Renowned  Scipio,  though  thine  Ennius 
Still  merit  best  the  best  of  thy  regard  : 
Though  (worthily)  his  trumpet  be  preferr'd 
To  sound  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won  for  us  j 
Yet  sith  one  pen,  how-ever  plenteous 
(Were  it  the  Mantuan  or  Meonian  Bard) 
Sufficeth  not  to  give  Fame's  full  reward 
To  thy  great  deeds,  admir'd  and  glorious  ; 


418 


Though  Hee,  thy  Homer  be ;  Thou,  his  Achilles  j 
Both  by.  each  other  happy  :  Thou  (herein) 
T'  have  such  a  trump  as  his  immortal  quill  is ; 
tjie  such  a  Theam  as  thy  high  yertue  bin : 
It  shall  (great  Worthy)  no  dis-honour  be. 
That  (English)  Bartas  hath  sung  (thrice)  to  thee. 


X. 

To  the  honourable,  learned,  and  religious  Gentleman,  Sir 
Peter  Young  of  Seton,  Knight j  &c.. 

The  Columns. 

Young,  ancient  servant  of  our  soveraign  Lord, 
Grave  master  of  thy  master's  minor  years ; 
Whose  prudence  and  whose  pietie  appears 
In  his  perfection,  which  doth  thine  record  : 
Whose  loyall  truth,  his  royal  trusts  approve 
By  oft  embassage  to  the  greatest  peers  : 
Whose  duty  and  devotion  he  endeers 
With  present  favours  of  his  princely  love  : 
In  honour  of  these  honours  many-fold. 
And  for  memorial  of  thy  kinde  regard 
Of  these  poor  orphans  (pyn'd  in  hopeless  cold) 
Accept  these  thanks  for  thy  firm  love's  reward  } 
Wherein  (so  heavens  prosper  what  we  have  sung) 
Through  every  age  thou  shalt  live  ever  Young. 


419 
XI. 

To  the  right  vertuous  {favourer  of  vertue,  furtherer  of  learn- 
ing) Sir  Thomas  Smith  {of  London)  Knight,  {late)  Lord 
Amlassadour  for  his  Majestie,  to  the  Emperour  of  Russia. 

Jonas. 

To  thee,  long  tost  in  a  fell  storm  of  state ; 

Cast  out,  and  swallow'd  in  a  gulfe  of  death. 

On  false  suspect  of  thine  unspotted  faith. 

And  flying  from  tby  (heav'n  given)  charge  of  late  : 

For  much  resemblance  of  thy  troublous  fate 

Much  like  in  case  to  that  hee  sufFereth, 

Though  (in  effect)  thy  cause  far  difFereth, 

I  send  my  Jonas  to  congratulate 

Thy  (happy)  rescue,  and  thy  holy  triall : 

Whereby  (as  fire  doth  purifie  the  gold) 

Thy  loyahy  is  more  notorious  loyall. 

And  worthy  th'  honours  which  thou  now  dost  hold. 

Thus  vertue's  palms,  oppressed,  mount  the  more  : 

And,  spices  bniiz'd,  smell  sweeter  than  before. 

J.  S. 

XII. 

To  the  most  honourable,    learned,   and  religious  Gentleman, 
Mr.  Anthonie  Bacone. 

The  Furies. 

Bound  by  thy  bounty,  and  mine  owne  desire 
To  tender  still  new  tribute  of  my  zeal 
To  thee,  whose  favour  did  the  first  repeal 
My  proto-Bartas  from  self-doomed  fire : 
Having  new  tuned  to  du  Bartas'  lyre. 


4Q0 

These  tragick  murmurs  of  his  furies  fell, 

Which  (witli  the  horrors  of  an  earthly  hell) 

^h6  si'ft-cUfSt  life  of  wretched  mortals  tire : 

^o  whom,  but  Tliee,  sh6uid  I  present  the  sarrte  ? 

Sith,  by  the  breath  of  thine  encouragement 

My  sacred  furie  thou  didst  first  inflame 

To  prosecute  this  sacred  argument. 

Such  as  it  is,  acc^t  it,  as  a  signe 

Of  thankfull  love  from  him,  wliose  all  is  thine. 

J.  S. 


XilL 

To  the  same  most  homuralh  Gentleman. 

BABYLOTlr. 

Thy  frJendiy  t^nsiwe  of  tny  essay 
(Dm  Sartiis'  Fories,  and  his  Babylon) 
My  faint  endeavours  hath  sodieared  oh, 
That  both  his  weeks  are  also  ours  to-day. 
Thy  gracious  hand,  reprieving  from  decay 
My  fameless  name  doom'd  to  oblivion. 
Hath  so  stirr'd  up  my  soule's  devotion. 
That  in  my  songs  thy  name  shall  live  for  ay. 
Thy  milde  acceptance  of  my  simple  myte 
(rattern  and  Patron  of  all  vertuous  drift's) 
Doth  here  again  my  gratefiill  Muse  invite 
To  re-salute  thee  with  mine  humble  gifts ; 
Indeed,  no  gifts,  but  debts  to  thy  desert ; 
To  whom  1  owe  my  iiand,  my  bead,  my  heart, 

J.  &. 


421 


XIV. 

To  the  right  honouraMe,  the  Lord  Elesmore,  Lord  High  Chan- 

<:eUour  of  England. 

Grave  God-wise  Nestor   never  did  a  ttatne 

(Save  a  just  master)  better  speak  a  man 

(As  court  and  councell,  with  mee,  witnesse  can) 

Then  doth  your  owne,  in  this  your  anagram. 

Should  I  a  volume  of  your  vertues  frame. 

Broad  as  my  brest,  and  thicker  than  my  span  ; 

Could  I  say  more,  more  true,  tnore  duely  than 

The  character  concluded  in  this  same  ? 

For  pious  Prudence  cannot  but  be  just : 

And  Justice  cannot  but  be  temperate  : 

And  Temperance  from  Courage  issue  must. 

So  that  your  name  doth  your  whole  life  relate. 

So  Nestor-like  for  gracefliU,  godly  sage. 

That  nothing  wants,  but  (what  wee  wish)  his  age. 

J.  S. 


XV. 

To  the  right  honburable  Sir  Edward  Coke,  Knight,  Lord  Chief 
Justice  of  England,  &c. 

Hardy  and  Happy,  may  you  long  succeed. 

In  all  the  courses  of  your  christian  zeale. 

To  scourge  abuse  ;  and  purge  the  publike  weale 

Of  vicious  humours,  with  auspicious  speed. 

Hardy  and  Happy  never  more  did  need. 

To  meet  with  malice,  and  with  might  to  deale^ 

And  sift  the  drift  the  serpent  would  conceale. 


422 

How  hnppy  Heav'n  you  for  these  times  decreed ! 
Hardy  and  Happy  may  you  still  proceed, 
Untill  you  finde,  confound,  and  suffocate } 
The  viperous  vermin  that  destroy  the  state. 
Hardy  and  Happy  be  your  minde  and  meede 
With  God  and  men  :  applauded  and  approv'd 
Of  Prince  and  people  j  of  all  Good,  beloy'd. 

J.  S. 


XVI. 

To  the  right  honouralk  Ear le  of  Dorset  * 

As  th'  awefull  child,  that  long  hath  truanted. 
Dares  not  return  unto  the  schoole,  alone ; 
For  shame  and  feare  to  be  there  discipled 
With  many  stripes  for  many  faults  in  one  : 
So  fares  (my  Lord)  my  long  omission 
Of  th'  humble  thanks  I  ought  have  tendered. 
For  kinde  endeavours  you  bestow'd  upoa 
My  right,  my  wrong  to  have  recovered. 
And  (as  in  fine)  hee  brings  his  mother  forth 
To  beg  forgivenesse,  or  his  fault  to  'scuse ; 
So  bring  I  here  my  dear  Du  Bartas"  worth. 
To  mediate  for  my  too  faulty  Muse ; 
Whom  daign  to  pardon  :  and  in  gentle  part 
Accept  this  last  of  his^  not  least  in  art. 

J.  S. 


Prefixed  to  the  Battail  of  Yvry,  tranblated  from  Du  Barlas. 


•423 

"  Occasional  Verses  of  Edward  Lord  Herbert,  Baron  of 
Cherbury  and  Castle  Island :  Deceased  in  August, 
1648. 

^'  London,  printed  by  T.  R.  for  Thomas  Dring,  at  the 
George  in  Fleet-street,  near  Clifford's  Inn,  1665." 

8vo.  pp.  104. 

iN-the  enlarged  addition  of  Lord  Orford's  Noble 
Authors,  Mr.  Park  has  characterised  these  poems  as 
consisting  "  chiefly  of  metaphj^sical  love- verses,  inge- 
nious, but  unnatural;  platonic  in  sentiment,  but  fre- 
quently gross  in  expression ;  and  marked  by  an  eccen- 
tricity which  pervaded  the  life  and  character  of  Lord 
Herbert."  As  the  volume  is  very  scarce,  I  shall  proceed 
to  present  a  few  of  its  most  attractive  portions. 

To  his  friend  Ben  Johnson,  of  his  Horace  made  English. 

"  'Twas  not  enough,  Ben  Johnson,  to  be  thought 
Of  English  poets  best ;  but  to  have  brought 
In  greater  state,  to  their  acquaintance,  one 
So  equal  to  himself  and  thee,  that  none 
Might  be  thy  second,  while  thy  glory  is 
To  be  the  Horace  of  our  times  and  his. 


4^4 


Epitaph  on  Sir  Edward  Saqucvile's  [Sackville's]   Child,  who 

dyed  in  his  birth. 

Reader,  here  lies  a  child  that  never  cry'd^ 

And  therefore  never  dy'd  s 

'Twas  neither  old  nor  yong. 
Born  to  this  and  the  other  world  in  one  : 

Let  us  then  cease  to  moan. 
Nothing  that  ever  dy'd  hath  liv'd  so  long. 


Epitaph  of  a  slinking  Poet. 

Here  stinks  a  Poet,  I  confess,       ■   - 
Yet,  wanting  breath,  stinks  so  niuch  less. 


//  m^rry  rime  sent  to  the  Lady  Wroth,  upon  the  birth  of  my 
L.  of  Pembroke's  child,  born  in  the  Spring. 

Madam,  though  I  am  one  of  those 
That  every  spring  use  to  compose  j 
That  is — add  feet  unto  round  prose  : 
Yet  you  a  farther  art  disclose. 
And  can,  as  every  body  knows. 
Add  to  those  feet  fine  dainty  toes : 
Satyrs  add  nails  j  but  they  are  shrews. 
My  Muse,  therefore,  no  further  goes. 
But  for  her  feet  craves  shoes  and  hose. 
Let  a  fair  season  add  a  rose : 
While  thus  attired  wee'l  oppose 
The  tragick  buskins  of  our  foes  : 
And  herewith.  Madam,  I  will  close. 
And  'tis  no  matter  how  it  shews, 
AU  I  care  is — if  the  child  grows, 


425 


Epitaph  on  Sir  Philip  Sydney  lying  in  St.  Paul's  unthoiit  a 
Monument.     To  be  fastened  upon  the  Church-door. 

Reader, 

Within  this  church  Sir  Philip  Sidney  Hes  ! 
Nor  is  it  fit  that  I  should  more  acquaint  j 
Lest  superstition  rise. 
And  men  adore, 
Souldiers,  their  martyr ;  lovers,  their  saint. 

In  statuam  ligneam  Overlurii, 

Carnis  Overburi,  non  aere  aut  marmore,  vultum  ; 
Sed  ligno  Hiberno,  die,  age,  nonne  placet  ? 

In  diem  natalitiam,  vi%.  3  Mar. 

Vere  novo  lux  usque  redit,  qua  nascor,  at  una 
Dum  tempus  redit,  et  fit  numerosa  dies, 

Ver  olim  vires  renovans,  roburque  recordens 
iEtas  fit  tandem,  tristis  hyemsque  mihi. 


SONNET 

Made  upon  the  Groves  near  Marloiv  Castle. 

You  well-compacted  groves,  whose  light  and  shade, 
Mixt  equally,  produce  nor  heat  nor  cold. 
Either  to  burn  the  young  or  fi-eeze  the  old  j 

But  to  one  even  temper  being  made 

Upon  a  grave  embroidering  through  each  glade. 
An  airy  silver  and  a  sunny  gold 
So  cloath  the  poorest,  that  they  do  behold 

Themselves  in  riches  which  can  never  fade  : 
While  the  wind  whistles,  and  the  birds  do  sing. 

While  your  twigs  clip,  and  while  the  leaves  do  friss, 

VOL.  II.  3  I 


425 

While  the  fruit  ripens  which  those  trunks  do  brings. 
Senseless  to  all  but  love,  do  you  not  spring 

Pleasure  of  such  a  kind,  as  truly  is 

A  self-renewing  vegetable  bUss  ? 


.^. 


To  the  C.  of  D.     [Qu.  Countess  of  Dorset :} 

Since  in  your  face,  as  in  a  beauteous  sphere. 
Delight  and  state  so  sweetly  mix'd  appear. 
That  love's  not  light,  nor  gravity  severe, 

AU  your  attractive  graces  seem  to  draw, 

A  modest  rigor  keepeth  so  in  aw. 

That  in  their  turns  each  of  them  gives  the  law. 

Therefore  though  chast  and  vertuous  desire 
Through  that  your  native  mildness  may  aspire 
Untill  a  just  regard  it  doth  acquire ; 
Yet  if  Love,  thence,  a  forward  hope  project. 
You  can,  by  virtue  of  a  sweet  neglect. 
Convert  it  streight  to  reverend  respect. 

Thus  as  in  your  rare  temper  we  may  find 
An  excellence  so  perfect  in  each  kind. 
That  a  fair  body  hath  a  fairer  mind  j 
So  all  the  beams  you  diversly  do  dart. 
As  well  on  th'  understanding  as  the  heart. 
Of  love  and  honour  equal  cause  impart. 


The  following  extracts  are  taken  from  an  "  Elegif 
for  Doctor  Dunn,"  i.e.  Donne. 

Praises,  like  garments,  then,  if  loose  and  wide, 
Ai-e  subject  to  fall  off  j  if  gay  and  py'd. 


427 

Make  men  rldicxilous  :  the  just  and  grav* 
Are  those  alone  which  men  may  wear  and  have. 
Praises  should  then  like  definitions  be. 
Round,  neat,  convertible,  such  as  agree 
To  persons  so,  that,  were  their  names  conceal' d. 
Must  make  them  known  as  well  as  if  reveal'd  : 
Such  as  contain  the  kind  and  difference. 
And  all  the  properties  arising  thence. 
All  praises  else,  as  more  or  less  than  due. 
Will  prove  or  strongly  false  or  weakly  true. 

Having  deliver' d  now  what  praises  are. 
It  rests  that  I  should  to  the  world  declare 
Thy  praises,  Dunn !  whom  I  so  lov'd  alive. 
That,  with  my  witty  Carew,  I  should  strive 
To  celebrate  the  dead,  did  I  not  need 
A  language  by  itself,  which  should  exceed 
All  those  which  are  in  use  :  for  whUe  I  take 
Those  common  words,  which  men  may  even  rake 
From  dunghill- wits,  I  find  them  so  defil'd, 
Slubber'd  and  false,  as  if  they  had  exil'd 
Truth  and  propriety,  such  as  do  tell 
So  little  other  things,  they  hardly  spell 
Their  proper  meaning,  and  therefore  unfit 
To  blazon  forth  thy  merits  or  thy  wit." 

A  satire  "  Of  Travellers  from  Paris"  opens  with  an 
apostrophe  to  Hare  Ben,  and  speaks  of  Italian  come- 
.<lie&,  wherein  women  play  the  parts  of  boys, 

f 


428 

i^^!tt  flit  Mc 

"  The  Loynll  Sacrifice: presented  in  the  hives  and  Deaths 
of  those  two  Eminent  heroick  Patternes,for  Valour^ 
JDiseipline,  and  Fidelity,  the  generally  beloved 
and  bemoaned,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  and  Sir  George 
Lisle,  Knights.  Being  both  shot  to  death  at  Col' 
Chester,  Jive  houres  after  the  surrender. 

Sen. 

Noscere  hoc  prinnim  decet 

Quidfacere  victor  debet,  quid 
victus  pati. 

Printed  in  the  year  1648.'* 
Sm.  12°  pp.  100,  besides  Table,  8cc. 

"  To  the  Reader. 

Some  Elegies  (candid  Reader)  with  other  indisposed  pieces, 
have  been  lately  published,  touching  this  subject,  whereas,  here 
is  presented  to  thy  view  the  whole  body  of  this  tragick  story,* 
limned  to  life  :  The  loyal  Sacrifice  of  two  Gentlemen  of  emi- 

•  An  ampler  discourse  upon  the  argument  may,  perchance,  come  shortly 
to  light :  meane  time,  receive  this  abstract  of  the  whole,  being  with  that  per- 
spicuity and  propriety  contracted,  as  nothing  may  be  to  inform  your  know- 
ledge, with  more  clearness  presented  :  rendring  a  brief  but  exact  account  of 
all  their  actions,  motions  and  ingagemcnts :  omitting  only  (out  of  the  author's 
zeal  to  a  choice  reserve  of  city  saints  the  difficulty  of  their  passage  over  the 
river,  in  their  remove  from  Kent  to  Ess  x ;  occasioned  by  that  peremptory 
'deniall  of  their  marching  through  the  city.  Which  courtesy  the  army  took 
80  gratefully,  as  no  doubt  but  within  few  weeks  they  mean  to  requite  it  iu 
their  entertainment  by  the  city.  Soldiers,  when  they  have  no  foes  to  keep 
their  hands  in  use,  must  fight  with  their  friend?. 


429 

tient  rank  and  quality,  faithful  servants  to  a  distressed  Master : 
such  as  never  appeared  nor  approved  themselves  more,  then 
when  his  necessities  importuned  them  most ;  nor  at  any  time 
more  active,  then  when  hopes  of  rewards  presented  then  least. 
You  shall  see  tliem  in  their  Educations,  Actions,  and  Deaths, 
where,  in  thejirst,  you  may  tind  them  full  of  promising  hopes  j 
In  the  second,  variety  of  gallant  attempts  :  and  in  the  last,  their 
whole  work  crowned  with  a  glorious  evening.     Which  task 
was  principally  undertaken  for  our  national  vindication ;    tliat 
such  foreign  countries  as  in  these  our  sad  seditious  times,  where 
division  is  the  only  musicaU  note  that  sounds  harmoniously  in 
the  eares  of  our  Zimries  :  have  thrown  aspersions  on  our  nation 
of  being  so  universally  disloyal ;  may  by  the  portrait  or  draught 
of  these,  ingenuously  confess,  that  England'  brings  fortli  Jtyries 
of  heroick  loyal  spirits,  at  well  as  of  inferior  birds  of  prey. 

For  there  is  not  that  state  nor  age  that  can  produce  two 
persons  for  action  more  daring ;  nor  in  the  carriage  of  their 
designes  more  discerning ;  nor  in  both  more  loyally  concluding. 
It  were  then  to  be  wished,  that  those  who  were  authors  or 
actors  in  their  fall,  would  fall  into  a  due  consideration  f of  their 
own  deplorable  condition  j  that  their  reflex  upon  their  work 
may  work  in  them  a  remorce  for  their  injuriously  Inflicted 
M'^rath  J  to  which  as  desire  of  revenge  and  thirst  after  blood  gave 
heat ;  so  incessant  rivulets  of  penitentiall  teares  can  only  cool. 
Which  done,  charity  will  wish  that  the  infamy  of  that  fact  may 
be  in  the  same  capacity  of  dying ;  as  the  perpetuity  of  these 
Royalists'  fame  is  with  all  succeeding  posterities  of  living. 

Your  affectionate 

Philocrates. 


430 

in  honorein  doctissimi  Authoris. 

What,  Stationer !  do'st  think  that  I  can  paint 
The  intellect  ?    Or  beauty  of  a  saint  ? 
Or  add  more  lustre  to  the  Day's  bright  eye  ? 
Or  may  I  circumscribe  eternity  ? 
'Then  bid  me  mount,  and  penetrate  the  skies> 
And  not  commend,  but  see  the  sacrifice. 
For  tis  as  possible  to  view  their  glories. 
As  to  outstrip  the  author  of  their  stories  : 
And  who  so  strives  to  set  his  labours  forth. 
Contributes  not,  but  'bateth  of  his  worth. 
But  if  thou  dost  desire  the  book  should  sell. 
Fix  thereunto  his  name,  and  then  it  will. 

G.  W. 


To  his  muck  valued  Friend,  the  learned  Author. 

Those  who  as  guilty  dy'd,  do  here  arise 

(From  inn'cent  suffering)  a  true  sacrifice, 

[Victims  and  martyrs  both,  and  yet  we  cry 

'Gainst  superstition  and  idolatry.] 

Whose  sparkes  from  th'  altai'  fled  to  heaven,  and  there 

Fram'd  a  new  Gemini  in  the  regall  sphere. 

Are  yet  more  blest,  'cause  thou  their  valour  sings> 

And  sounds't  their  glories  on  heroick  strings. 

Making  their  flames  e'erlasting,  their  perfume 

Reach  to  eternity ;  ne'er  to  consume 

With  time  or  tempest.    Thy  essentiall  pen 

To  a  new  life  restores  the  dead  again. 

That  miracles  were  not  to  th'  primitive  age 

Confin'd,  'tis  plain ;  tlaou  shew'st  new  ia;  each  page. 


431 


What  Nature  could  not  lend,  and  Fate  denies. 
Thou  dost  bestow  ;  [their  perpetuities.] 
And  wh^t  our  choleric  chymists  did  calcine 
To  ashes,  in  their  native  lustres  shine 
By  th'  heat  thou  here  apply'st ;  it  does  restore 
All  that  was  nobly  good  in  them  before. 
And  this  so  full,  as  if  thou'dst  walk'd  about 
With  cither's  genius,  to  coUect  them  out. 
Briefly  :  their  loyalty  could  never  live 
Shrin'd  in  more  glory  than  thy  quill  does  give. 
Which  who  so  views,  may  smile  with  pitying  scorn 
To  find  all  ancient  sufF'rers  rather  torn 
A  second  time  in  legends,  since  they  there 
Are  lamely  drawn  :  whilst  thou  (a  master  here) 
Giv'st  beauty  and  proportion  its  fiill  due. 
And  crowns  those  saints  which  hence  blest  martyrs  flew. 

B.  A. 

To  his  much  honoured  Friend,  the  Author. 

Whose  quill  but  thine  so  lively  could  express 

The  valiant  acts  of  Lucas  and  of  Lisle  ? 

Whose  fame  surmounts  the  stars,  and,  as  I  guess, 

Etemiz'd  are  by  thy  life-giving  stile. 

Both  valiant  knights  !  what  pity  'tis  they  die. 

And  in  cold  blood  by  base  ignoble  foe  : 

Who  oft  made  death  to  start  and  turn  awry 

In  many  a  bloody  fight  and  duel  too 

Their  births  their  valiant  acts  their  loyalty. 

Their  deaths  fimpos'd  by  villains,  cowards  base. 

Who  from  them  once  receiv'd  by  courtesy 

A  life  of  almes,  when  in  a  quaking  case) 

Are  to  the  life  express'd  in  this  thy  Book  : 

A  learned  piece,  strange  kind  of  chymistry. 


As  all  men  must  confess  who  thereiii  look  j  '    • 

For't  makes  the  dead  to  live  eternally. 

J.  H. 

The  Lot/all  Sacrifice,  ifc 

Noble  actions  having  relation  to  persons  of  eminent  quality, 
have  been  ever  memorable  to  posterity.  Amongst  which,  none 
more  remarkable  than  such  as  have  borne  the  face  of  loyalty, 
and  expressed  their  true  native  lustre  in  defence  of  the  just 
privileges  of  their  country,  ^nd  conservation  of  a  *  monarchical 
soveraignty, 

Many,  indeed,  and  those  singular  heroick  spirits,  (whose 
names  are  to  this  day  recorded  in  the  annals  of  fame)  do  our 
ancient  historians  present  unto  us ;  who  have  received  no  other 
guerdon  than  ingratitude,  from  those  parts  where  they  have 
best  deserved.  Carthage  may  satisfy  you  with  an  Annibaly 
Rome  with  an  African ;  Athens  with  a  Phocion.  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  the  memory  of  their  surviving  actions  begot 
such  a  glorious  emulation  in  their  successors,  as  that  unthank- 
fulness  their  countries  shew'd  unto  them  :  or  aspersions  which 
unmeriting  spirits  darted  on  them,  even  redounded  more  to 
their  honour,  than  if  they  had  never  suffered  under  the  censure 
of  a  groundless  popular  opinion,  or  been  cru?h'd  by  the  votes 
of  such  state  commanding  imperialists,  who  maligned  their 
rising,  I  shall  not  labour  to  make  any  large  porch  to  my  il//n- 
dian  building ;  lest  some  critick  tax  me,  as  sometimes  that 
Cynick  did,  that  the  city  might  run  out  at  the  gate. 

*  Viget.  de  mil.  discipl.  1.  2.  c.  4.  Guic.  in  Hist;  1.  1.  c.  3.  Polit.  dc 
icgim.  Princ.  1.  3.  c.  5.  Gesner.  de  jure  regal.  Cent.  4.  c.  7.  Riv.  de  Ord. 
Princip.  sect.  2.  Arnob.  de  Magist.  Civil.  1.  6.  Lampsach,  de  st^t.  Mo- 
narch, et  Imper.  sect.  3.  parag.  2.    Owin.  in  anti.  Parae. 


433 

We  are  here  to  present  unto  your  view  and  uninterested 
judgement,  equally  poized  to  their  merits,  persons  of  qualitj-, 
and  patterns  of  loyalty,  who  have  acted  their  parts  bravely  upon 
the  theatre  of  honour  :  whose  names,  though  the  memories  of 
some  men  be  apt  to  freeze  in  these  distempered  times,  shall, 
like  fresh  and  fragrant  odours,  breathe  sweetness  in  the  nostrils 
of  those  who  hold  fidelity  to  be  the  best  cognizance  for  the  coat 
of  a  subject.  You  cannot  chuse  but  collect  where  I  am  like  to 
lay  my  scene,  before  I  unfold  my  story.  Colchester  must  be 
the  place ;  than  which,  none  more  memorable  for  continuance 
of  a  siege  above  expectance ;  nor  more  gallant  in  opposing  of 
a  powerfuU  foe,  with  a  constant  and  cheerful  resistance. 

During  which  siege,  it  is  incredible  in  what  a  prudential 
way  and  form  of  discipline,  those  who  were  designed  com- 
manders and  managers  of  weighty  action,  bore  themselves,  not 
only  in  animating  those  who  were  for  them,  but  ingratiating 
those  (and  that  in  a  generous  and  gracefull  posture)  of  whose 
affections  they  stood  doubtfuU.     But  to  omit  the  relation  of 
these  particulars  which  deserve  approvement  and   invitation 
firom  those  who  stand  ingaged  in  actions  of  like  quality :  we 
will  make  it  our  work  to  acquaint  you  more  punctually  with 
the  descent,  breeding,  and  condition  of  these  eminent  Gentle-. 
men,  who  closed  the  sundry  passages  of  their  loyall  lives. with 
a  glorious  evening,  by  sacrificing  their  blood  for  the  honour  of 
their  sovereign,  and  easing  their  oppressed  country  cf  an  insup- 
portable tyrannick  bui'den. 

First  then,  for  the  family  of  Sir  Charles  Lucas;  none  that 
knows  it  can  bestow  any  other  style  upon  it  then  of  lineal 
worth  and  antiquity  :  a  stem  from  whence  spmng  many  emi- 
nent Scions,  useful  instruments  to  their  state  and  country. 
Amongst  which,  this  *  Noble  Gentleman  confers  such  an  ad- 

*  Not  to  omit  that  nobly  accomplished,  and  deservingly  honoured,  the 
1,0.  Lucas,  his  brother,  a  Gentleman  singularly  gifted  in  all  sutable  elements 
of  knowledge :   together  with  Sir  Gervas  Lucas,  a  valiant  audi  loval  cova- 

VOL.  11.  3  K 


434. 

dltament  upon  it,  as  the  loyalty  and  memory  of  his  person  shall 
to  succeeding  times  highly  improve  it.     For  his  education,  it 
was  generous,  having  his  youth  sufficiently  seasoned  in  princi- 
ples of  knowledge,  humane  and  divine  learning,  his  manhood 
for  discipline  in  the  field.     He  w^as  ever  of  an  active  disposition, 
accompanyed  with  a  resolute  spirit,  and  sutable  discretion  to 
manage  it.*     Strict  In  his  commands,  without  a  supercilious 
severity,  though  some  herein  have  taxed  him  too  censoriously. 
Free  in  his  rewards  to  persons  of  desert  and  quality.    Since  the 
first  beginning  of  these  distractions,  all  his  expresses,  with  what 
company  soever  he  consorted,  evermore  tended  to  the  advance- 
ment of  loyalty,  how  odious  and  unjustifiable  a  thing  it  was  to 
lift  up  an  hand  against  the  power  of  soverignty,  under  what 
plausive  pretence  or  colour  soever,  that  adulterate  face  of  trea- 
son were  disguised  :  being  usually  known  to  deliver  himself  in 
these  words,   "  That  he  preferred  the  style  of  loyalty,  before 
any  dignity  that  earth  could  confer  upon  him."     In  his  society, 
he  was  affable  and  pleasant }  in  his  charge,  serious  and  vigilant : 
remiss  in  nothing  that  might  any  way  improve  or  expedite  his 
dispatch  in  affairs  of  government.      Those  his  sundry  fields, 
martiall  exploits,  and  brave  adventures,  wherein  he  was  ever 
personally  engaged,  and  wherein  he  usually  appeared  (as  was 
generally  observed)  in  the  head  of  the  army,  were  needless  here 
to  recount.f    As  his  valour  was  well  known,  so  was  his  native 
candour  and  clemency  no  less  approv'd  by  all  such  as  in  the 
close  of  his  conquest  submitted  themselves  to  his  mercy.     So 
as,  in  this  particular,  we  may  truly  conclude,  that  during  all 
his  time  of  service,  he  was  ever  ready  to  afford  what  himself 

mander:  (by  which  notion  of  loyalty,  true  valonr  is  justly  dignified,  and  from 
perfidious  rashness  distinguished)  sometimes  Governour  of  Belvoir  Castle. 

*  Albeit  I  am  not  ignorant  how  rigid  and  severe  commanders  be  com- 
monly less  beloved  by  their  souldiers,  than  those  who  are  of  more  indulgent 
tempers. 

t  Reserving  thcra  for  a  more  proper  place  in  our  discourse  hereafter. 


435 

could  not  receive,  free  quarter :  no^  nor  so  much  as  one  daye's 
reprieve  for  his  better  preparation  against  his  last  voyage. 

This  we  purposely  here  have  touched,  to  vindicate  his  clear 
and  noble  temper,  from  the  injurious  censure  of  those  who  in 
the  freedom  of  their  report  tax  him  for  being  too  violent  and 
implacable  in  this  kind  :  whereas  that  man  breathes  not  who 
can  justly  accuse  him  in  the  whole  current  of  his  actions  or 
commands,  that  he  ever  lay  his  impetuous  hand  upon  a  sub- 
missive captive  in  cold  blood  j  or  ever  suffered  any  blood  to  be 
spilt,  which  he  might  with  honour,  or  without  prejudice  to  his 
commands,  spare.  But  these  critick  spirits,  who  are  so  apt  to 
censure  and  traduce  the  clearest  actions  of  honour,  may  be  pro- 
perly compared  to  the  camelion  :  that  can  assume  any  colour 
but  white. 

But  the  foe  must  have  something  to  speak  in  his  own  de- 
fence ;  yet  when  he  has  produced  all  the  reasons  he  can  possibly 
alledge,  to  wind  up  the  spider  woven  webb  of  his  apology,  he 
must  appear  to  the  whole  world,  and  succeeding  posterities  after 
these  distracted  times,  an  actor  of  a  cmel  and  bloody  tragedy. 
In  one  word,  never  did  a  more  virile  or  undaunted  spirit  har- 
bour more  noble  compassion  ;  holding  nothing  more  inglorious 
than  to  dominere  o're  the  misery  of  a  subdued  foe.  So  as  to 
bestow  on  him  any  ampler  character,  or  present  him  in  a  fuller 
portraiture,  were  to  give  beams  to  the  sun  :  his  integrity  being 
impaled  with  such  honour,  as  it  far  surmounts  the  reach  of  cen- 
sure.* 

Extract,  p.  82. 

So  far  as  may  concern  their  personal  worth,  they  shall  little 
need  to  be  either  further  displayed  or  distinguished :  for  Sir 
Charles,  he  was  known  to  be  an  accomplished  souldier ;  an 

•  See  the  account  of  the  Lucas  family,  in  The  Life  of  Margaret  Duchess 
«f  Keucastlc.   Reprinted  at  Lee  Priory.     Editor. 


436 

high  prizer  of  his  honour ;  a  perfect  master  both  of  the  ancient 
and  modern  militia  j  accomited  as  eminent  in  the  command  of 
horse  (a  service  wherein  he  had  been  ever  imployed,  and  sin- 
gularly improved)  as  the  most  experienced  commander  in  Eu- 
rope, 

Being  in  a  word,  such  a  man  of  men,  and  pattern  of  active 
loyalty,  asjhe  was  all,  that  SirGfio.  Lisle,  in  a  gallant  emulation, 
aimed  to  be  j  whom,  as  he  dearly  tendered,  so  he  seriously 
imitated,  and  now  in  the  end,  nearly  seconded ;  being  reputed 
a  most  knowing  and  obliging  commander  for  the  infantiy  :  and 
of  such  discipline  and  courage,  that  he  led  them,  as  in  a  line 
upon  any  services,  through  the  greatest  danger  and  difficulty. 
This  was  the  ready  way  to  make  fame  the  foundation  of  a  fa- 
mily ;  seeing  nothing  can  be  properly  said  to  be  ours,  but  what 
takes  hfe  from  the  merit  or  repute  of  those  actions  of  ours ;  for 
whatsoever  is  derived  to  us  from  ouri,  is  others,  and  not  ours. 
Give  me  leave  then,  in  behalf  of  this  noble  pair,  to  summ  up 
all  with  this  positive  conclusion  :  "  He  shoots  his  shafts  at  the 
moon,  who  out  of  a  malignant  humour,  makes  it  his  labour  to 
darken  the  splendour  of  goodness  and  honour." 

It  is  said  when  his  majesty  heard  the  news  of  their 
deaths,  that  out  of  a  pious  compassion,  and  princely  affection 
which  he  bore  to  their  persons,  he  burst  forth  into  tears )  which 
that  Hebrew  Intelligencer  mterprets  softness  or  effeminacy  :  as 
if  it  beseem'd  no  virile  spirit  to  compassionate  the  loss  of  a  friend. 
Whereas  if  that  seditious  Rabbi  had  ever  repaired  to  those  tents 
of  Israel,  whereto  he  sometimes  incouraged  the  people  against 
their  sovereign,  he  might  have  seen  a  David  (that  conqueror  of 
Goliah)  shed  tears  for  an  Absolom  and  a  Jonathan.  Our  best 
master  for  a  Lazarus,  and  the  approaching  ruins  of  a  Hierusa- 
lem.  Nay,  if  ever  his  small  portion  of  learning  would  have 
suffer'd  him  to  have  been  versed  in  profane  histories,  he  might 
have  found  Marcellus'  eyes  dropping  tears  for  Syracusa.  That 
sweet- temper* d  Tytus  for  the  miseries  of  Judea.  Variety  of 
examples  in  all  stories,  what  singular  arguments  of  princely 
compassion,  eminent'st  personages  even  in  their  greatest  victo- 


437 

lies  have  expressed  towards  those  princes^  or  people  whom  they 
had  conquered. 

But  such  as  are  not  capable  of  sense  in  their  pate^  nor  pen, 
may  be  held  excused,  if  they  fall  short  in  their  apprehension  of 
humane  suffering,  nay,  of  common  sense ;  they  whose  incom- 
passionate  hearts  are  so  congealed,  as  their  eyes  know  not  how 
to  resolve  into  tears,  when  they  see  real  professors  of  valour 
exposed  to  immerited  censures,  especially  when  a  good  cause 
was  the  object  of  their  resolution,  partake  too  much  of  savage 
to  retain  the  stile  of  men.  Seeing,  as  the  Comick  well  observed, 
"  nothing  that  is  humane  should  be  estranged  from  humanity." 

"■  To  the  living  Memories  of  those  two  heroick  Knights,  Sir 
Charles  Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lislt.  Whose  approved 
Valour  renown  d  them  living,  and  impal'd  them  dying  with 
honour. 

AN  ELEGY. 
Brave  loyal  pair,  whose  active  worth  was  such. 
No  pen  nor  pencil  can  perform  too  much 
To  crown  your  mem'ries  :  this  it  was  to  gaine 
Fame  by  your  prowess,  though  you  mist  your  aim 
At  long-beleagred-famish'd  Colchester  j 
Expecting  aid  that  ne're  approached  there. 
Your  noble  thoughts  did  ever  set  their  rest 
On  princely  ends,  no  private  interest. 
Your  care  was  how  to  cure,  and  to  restore 
This  phrentick  state  to  th'  wits  it  had  before. 
Your  task  was  how  your  Caesar  might  be  shewn. 
Not  in  a  grate,  but  on  his  royal  llu-one. 
You  could  not  hugg  the  time  as  many  do. 
Whose  cringing  garbe  may  work  their  overthrow. 
You  scorn'd  perfidious  juntos,  who  do  make 
Use  of  the  State  to  whim*  away  the  stake. 

•  Qu,    Editor. 


438 

Your  conscientious  wayes  abjur'd  such  men 
As  wish  an  end  to  treaties,  God  knows  when  : 
And  such  sly  spinning  rooks,  we  have  no  doubt. 
Who  seek  nought  less  than  what  they  go  about. 
Your  hearts  were  sweetly  temper'd  with  pure  zeal 
To  your  endeared  Prince  and  Common  weale ; 
This  made  death  your  advantage ;  and  struck  fears 
I'  th'  bosomes  of  your  executioners 
With  such  compassion,  they  could  scarce  forbear 
From  rinsing  their  death  bullets  with  a  tear. 
Hear  thou,  insulting  Senate,  whose  desire 
Is  with  fresh  fuel  to  increase  a  fire 
In  this  imbroiled  state  !    Hear  what  a  brand 
Thy  quenchless  rage  has  brought  upon  this  land. 
When  Loyalty  must  suffer,  and  become 
A  law-convicted  person  by  thy  doom  ! 
When  awfuU  fury  musf  suppress  tlie  good ; 
Wrath  censure  worth,  and  guilt  shed  guiltless  blood ! 
When  just  allegiance  must  at  bar  appear. 
And  stand  condemn' d  because  a  Cavaliere  ! 
Who  is  he  then  values  his  vading  breath 
At  such  a  rate  as  not  to  court  pale  death. 
Rather  then  groan  in  this  tyrannick  age. 
Where  Innocence's  a  sacrifice  to  rage  3 
Where  Mercy  becomes  Cruelty :  and  Shame 
Hath  lost  both  native  colour  and  her  name  ? 
O  gallant,  loyal  Souls,  thrice  blest  be  you. 
Who  have  pay'd  Nature  and  your  Cesar's  due ! 
From  our  state  stalkers  ye  secured  are. 
And  witli  a  land  of  peace  cxchang'd  your  war. 
The  Lord  of  Hoasts  will  on  his  hoast  bestow 
This  peacefull  plot,  while  rebels  marcli  below. 
For  if  rebellion  safely  get  a  shore, 
It  is  a  passage  never  known  before." 


439 


"  J»e  ylJmonition  to  M  the  trew  Lordh.  W.     M.  G  jB." 

"  It  may  seme  to  your  Lordschippes,  that  I  mellyng  with 
heigh  materis  of  gouerning  of  coramo*'  welthis,  do  pas  myne 
estait,  beyng  of  sa  meane  qualitie,  and  forgettis  my  dewtie, 
geuyng  counsall  to  the  wysest  of  this  Realme.  Not  the  les 
iQyag  the  miseiie  sa  greit  apperyng,  and  the  calamitie  sa  neir 
approchyng,  I  thoght  it  les  fault,  to  incur  the  crime  of  sur- 
raountyng  my  priuate  estate,  then  the  blame  of  neglecting  tlie 
publik  danger,  Thairfor  I  chesid  rather  to  vnderly  the  opinion 
of  presumptioun  in  speiking,  the~  of  treason  in  sile~ce,  and  spe- 
cially of  sic  thingis,  as  euin  seme  presently  to  redound  to  the 
perpetuall  schame  of  your  Lordschippis,  distructioun  of  this 
Royall  estate,  and  ruyne  of  the  hole  co^moun  welth  of  Scotland. 
On  this  consideratioun  I  haue  takin  in  hand  at  this  tyme  to 
aduertise  your  honours  of  sic  thingis  as  I  thoght  to  appertene 
baith  to  your  Lordshippis  in  speciall,  &:  in  generall  to  the  hole 
communitie  of  this  Realme,  in  punitioun  of  tratouris,  pacifica- 
tioun  of  troublis  ama~gis  your  selfis,  and  continuatioun  of  peace 
witli  our  nighbouris.  Of  the  quhilk  I  haue  takin  the  trauell  to 
write:  and  do  remit  the  iudgement  to  yourdiscretioun,  hopyng 
at  leist,  that  althogh  my  wit  and  forsight  shall  not  satisfie  you, 
yit  my  gud  will  shall  not  displeis  yow,  of  quhilk  aduertisement 
the  summe  is  this. 

%  First  to  consider  how  godly  the  actioun  is  quhilk  you 
haue  in  hand,  to  wit,  the  defence  of  your  King,  an  Innocent 
pupill,  the  stablisching  of  Religioun,  punitioun  of  theifis  and 
traitouris,  and  mantenance  of  peace  &  quietnes  amongis  yout 
selfis  and  with  forrane  natiounis. 


440 

Item  remember  how  yow  haue  vindicat  tliis  Realme,  from 
the  thraldome  of  stra~geiis,  out  of  domestik  tyrannic,  and  out 
of  a  publik  dishonour  in  the  sight  of  all  forrane  natiounis,  we 
beyng  altogidder  estemid  a  pepill  murtherars  of  Kingis  and  im- 
pacient  ot  Lawis  and  ingrait,  in  respect  of  the  murther  of  the 
late  King  He"ry,  within  the  wallis  of  the  principal  towne,  the 
greatest  of  the  Nobilitie  beyng  present  with  the  Quene  for  the 
tyme  :  and  by  your  power  one  part  of  the  chief  Tratouris  tried 
from  amo'gls  the  trew  subiectis,  quhair  by  stra~geries  wer  co"- 
strainid  afterwart  as  mekle  to  praise  your  iustice,  as  of  befoire 
they  wra~gfully  condempnid  your  iniustice. 

Item  reme~ber  how  far  in  doing  the  same  you  haue  obliged 
your  selfis  befoir  the  hole  warld,  to  continew  in  the  same  vertew 
of  lustice,  and  quhat  blame  ye  shall  incur,  if  ye  be  inconsta't: 
For  all  men  can  belief  na  vtherwise,  if  the  time  following  be 
not  conforme  to  the  tyme  past,  that  nouther  honour  nor  com- 
moun  welth  stirred  you  vp  then,  but  rather  sum  particulair 
tending  to  your  private  commoditie. 

Also  remember  how  many  gentill  and  honest  meanis  yow 
haue  socht,  in  tymes  past,  to  caus  the  King  be  acknawledgid, 
and  the  contrarie  put  at  rest,  and  how  vnprofitabill  hath  ben 
your  honestie  in  treityng,  your  vailyeant  enrage  in  werr,  your 
mercyfulnes  in  victorie,  your  clemencie  in  punisching,  and  fa- 
cilitie  iu  reconsiliatioun. 

Quhilk  thingis  witnessis  sufficiently,  that  ye  estemit  na  man 
enemie  that  wald  live  in  peace,  vnder  the  Kingis  authority, 
that  ye  wer  neuer  desirous  of  blude,  geir,  nor  honour  of  sic  as 
wald  not,  rather  in  making  of  troubill  and  seditioun,  declair 
tham  selfis  enemies  to  God  and  the  Kingis  Maiestie,  than  line 
in  concord  and  amitie  with  thair  nightbouris  vnder  the  correc- 
tioun  of  Justice, 

And  sen  ye  can  nouther  bow  their  obstinate  hight  with  pa- 
cie"'ce,  nor  mease  their  stubburne  hartis  with  gentilnes,  nor  sa- 
tisfie  their  inordinate  desyris,  vtherwyse  then  with  the  Kingis 
blude  and  youris,  the  distructioun  of  Religioun,  banisching  of 


441 

Justice,  &  fire  permissioun  of  crueltie  and  misordour,  your  \vls- 
domes  may  easely  considder  quhat  kind  of  medicine,  is  not  only 
mete,  but  alswa  necessair,  foi-  mending  of  sic  a  Maladie. 

And  to  the  effect  that  ye  may  the  better  co~sidder  this  ne- 
cessitie  of  Medicine,  remember  quhat  kynd  of  pepill  thay  ar, 
that  professis  thame  selfis  in  deid,  and  dissemblis  in  worde  to  be 
enemeis  to  God,  to  Justice,  and  to  yow,  becaus  ye  maintene  the 
Kinges  actioun. 

Sum  of  them  ar  conseillaris  of  the  King  his  fatheris  slauchter, 
sum  conueyaris  of  him  to  the  schambles,  that  slew  his  Grand- 
schir,  banisched  his  father,  and  not  satisfyid  to  haue  slayne  him 
self,  murtherit  the  Kingis  Regent,  and  now  seikes  his  awin 
blude,  that  they  may  fulfill  their  crueltie  and  auarice  being 
Kingis,  quhilk  they  begonne  to  exercise  the  tyme  of  thair  go- 
uerning.  / 

Vthers  ar,  that  being  alliat  nor  neir  of  kyn  to  the  Hamil* 
tounis,  thinkis  to  be  participant  of  all  their  prosperitie  and  sue- 
ces. 

Vthers  being  gyltie  of  King  Herryis  death,  in  the  first  par- 
liament halden  in  the  Kingis  regne  that  now  is,  could  well 
accord,  that  the  Queue  should  haue  bene  put  to  death  also. 

And  seing  thay  could  not  obtene  that  point,  the  next  schiti 
of  thair  impietie  was  to  put  downe  the  King,  that  he  should 
not  rest  to  reuenge  his  Fatheris  death,  quhilk  thay  thocht  could 
not  be  mair  easilie  done,  then  by  bringing  home  the  Quene 
with  sic  a  husband,  that  other  for  auld  haitred,  or  for  new 
couatice,  wald  desire  the  first  degre  of  succession  to  be  of  his 
awin  blude. 

Sum  vthers  ar  practised  in  casting  of  courtis,  and  reuoluing 
of  estatis,  by  raising  of  ciuile  werr,  and  ar  becum  richer  than 
euer  they  hopid,  and  becaus  they  haue  found  the  practise  sa 
gude  in  tyme  past,  now  they  seik  all  wayis  to  continew  it^  & 
hauing  ones  gustid  how  gude  fisching  it  is  in  drumly  waters^ 
tliey  can  by  no  maner  leaue  the  craft. 

VOL.  II.  3  L 


44£ 

Vtliers  of  that  faction  ar,  sum  papistis,  sum  feined  ~  protest-' 
antis,  that  hes  na  God  bot  geir,  &:  desiris  agane  the  Papistrie, 
not  for  luif  they  beir  to  it  (for  they  ar  scorners  of  all  Rehgiou~) 
but  hoping  to  haue  promotioun  of  idle  belleis  to  benefices,  and 
(amentis  the  present  estait,  quhair  (as  they  say)  Ministeris  gettis 
all,  and  leifis  nathing  to  gude  fellowis,  &  to  this  intent  thay  wald 
set  vp  the  Quenis  authoritie,  say  thay. 

Sum  thair  be  also  that  vnder  colour  of  seiking  the  Quenis 
authoritie,  thinkis  to  eschaip  the  punlschement  of  auld  faultis, 
and  haue  licence  in  tyme  to  curii  to  oppres  their  nichbouris,  that 
be  febiller  than  they. 

Now  haue  I  to  schew  you  by  coniecture,  quhat  frute  is  to 
be  hopid  of  an  assembly  of  sic  men,  as  for  the  maist  pairt  ar  of 
insatiabill  gredines,  intoUerabill  arrogance,  without  faith  in  pro- 
meis,  measure  in  couatice,  pietie  to  the  inferiour,  obedience  to 
the  superiour,  in  peace  desirous  of  troubill,  in  werr  thirstie  of 
blude,  nuryshers  of  theft,  raisers  of  Rebellioun,  counsallours  of 
Traitouris,  inuenters  of  tressoun,  with  hand  reddle  to  murther, 
raynd  to  deceiue,  hart  voyde  of  treuth  &  full  of  fellonie,  toung 
trampid  in  dissait,  &  worde  tending  to  fals  practise  without 
veriLie,  by  quhilk  properteis,  and  many  vthors  thairunto  ioynid, 
as  is  knawin  to  all  men,  ye  that  vnderstandis  their  beginning, 
progres  and  hole  lyfc,  may  easilic  remember,  to  (]uhome  thys 
generall  speiking  appertenis  in  speciall,  and  it  is  not  vnknawin 
to  sic  as  knawis  the  personis,  how  they  are  mellid  with  godles 
persons  papistes,  harlot  protestantis,  commoun  brybouris,  holy 
m  worde.  Hypocrites  in  hart,  proudecontempnersor  JNIachiauill 
mockers  of  all  Religioun  and  vertew,  bludie  boucberis  and  opin 
oprcssouris,  fortifieris  oftheiffis,  and  mintenerisof  traitouiis. 

It  is  also  necessarie  to  your  Lordschippis  to  vndei-stand  thair 
pretence,  that  if  it  be  a  thing  quhilk  may  stand  with  the  tran- 
quillitie  of  the  commoun  welth,  your  Lordschippcs  may  in  sum 
pairt,  rather  condescend  to  their  inordinate  lust,  the"  put  the  hole 
estate  in  loepardie  of  battell. 


443 

First,  it  is  not  honour,  riches,  nor  authoritic  that  they  desire, 
for  tliey  haue  had,  and  als  haue  presentlie,  &  may  haue  in  tyme 
to  cum  sic  pairt  of  all  thay  thingis,  as  a  priuait  man  may  haae 
in  this  Realme,  not  being  chargeable  to  the  cou' trie,  or  not  sus- 
pectit  to  ane  king,  as  vnassurit  of  his  awin  estait. 

It  is  not  the  delyuerance  of  the  Quene  that  thay  seik,  as 
thair  doingis  contrair  to  thair  worde  testifeis  raanifestlie,  for  if 
~thay  wald  haue  hir  deliuerit,  thay  wald  haue  procurit  by  all 
menis  possibill,  the  Quene  of  Inglandis  fauour  &  support,  in 
qnhais  power  the  hole  recouerance  stode  only,  &  not  offended 
hir  sa  heichly  as  thay  haue  done,  and  daylie  dois  in  participa- 
tionn  of  the  conspirit  tressoun,  to  put  hir  maiestie  not  only  out 
of  hir  stait,  bot  out  of  this  lyfe  present,  not  in  receiting  and 
mantening  of  hir  Rebellis  co~trair  to  promeis  and  solempne  con- 
tract of  pacificatioun  betuix  this  two  Realmes,  nouther  yet  haue 
hou  dit  furth,  proude  and  vncircumspect  young  men,  to  hery, 
burne,  and  slay,  and  take  personeris  in  her  Realme,  and  vse  all 
misordour  &:  crueltie,  not  onlie  vsed  in  weir,  but  detestabill  to 
all  barbar  and  vile  Tartaris,  in  slaying  of  presoneris  and  contrair 
to  all  humanitie  and  iustice,  keip  na  promeis  to  miserabill  catiues 
receiued  once  to  thair  mercy,  and  all  this  was  done  by  com- 
mandiment  of  sic  as  sayis  thay  seik  the  Quenes  deliuerance, 
and  reprochit  to  thame  by  the  doaris  of  the  mischeifis,  saying 
that  thay  enterit  tham  in  danger,  and  supported  thame  not  in 
mister,  so  mekle  as  to  cum  to  Lawder  and  luik  from  thame, 
in  quhilk  deserting  of  thair  Collegis,  they  schew  crueltie  ioyned 
with  falsheid,  and  maist  heich  tressoun  aganist  the  Quene, 
pretending  in  worde  hir  delyuerance,  and  stopping  in  warke  hir 
recouerance,  the  quhilk  as  euery  man  may  cleirlie  se  thay  socht, 
as  he  that  socht  his  wyfe  drowned  in  the  Riuer  aganis  the 
streime. 

It  is  not  the  Quenis  authoritie  that  they  wald  set  vp  in  hir 
absence,  for  if  that  war  thair  intentioun,  quhome  can  they  place 
in  it  mair  friendly  to  .hir  then  hir  onlie  sone,  or  quhat  Gouer- 


444 

nour  may  they  put  to  him  les  suspect,  tha"  sic  men  as  haue  na 
prete"'ce  of  succession  to  the  Crowne,  or  any  hoip  of  proiFeit  to 
cum  to  tham  after  his  deith,  or  thay  that  euer  haue  bene  trew 
seruandis  to  Kingis  before  him,  should  thay  not  be  preferrit  to 
his  paternall  enemeis,  yea,  and  slayeris  of  his  Father,  and  soUI- 
citaris  of  strangeris  to  seik  his  Innocent  blude. 

Quhat  the~  shall  we  think  that  these  me"  seikis  vnder  pre- 
tence of  the  Quenis  authoritie,  seing  thay  can  not  bring  hame 
the  Queue  to  set  vp  hir,  nor  will  not  suffer  the  King  lawfully 
inaugurat  and  confirmed  by  decreit  of  Parliament,  to  bruik  it, 
with  sa  many  of  his  Tutoris  chosin  by  his  mother,  as  ar  not  to 
be  suspectit  to  will  him  harme,  I  traist  it  is  not  vneasie  to  per- 
ceiue  by  thair  hole  progres  now  presently  and  in  tyme  by  past, 
that  thay  desire  na  other  thing  but  the  deith  of  the  King  and 
Queue  of  Scotland,  to  set  vp  the  Hamiltounis  in  authoritie,  to 
the  quhik  they  haue  aspyrit  by  craftie  meanis  these  fyftie  yeires 
ago.  And  seing  thair  purpois  succedit  not  by  craftie  and  secreit 
meanis,  now  thay  follow  the  same  traide  conioynyng  to  falsheid, 
opin  wLckitnes. 

%  And  that  ye  may  see  quhat  meanis  they  haue  vsid,  thir 
fyftie  yeiris  by  past,  to  set  vp  by  craft  this  authoritie,  quhilk 
now  thay  seik  by  violence,  force  and  tresoun,  I  wiU  call  to  your 
memorie  sum  of  tliair  practisis,  quhilk  many  of  you  may  re» 
member  as  weill  as  I. 

First  after  the  deith  of  King  lames  the  Fourt,  lohn  Duke 
of  Albany  chosin  by  the  Nobilitie  to  gouerne  in  the  Kingis  les 
age.  The  Hamiltounis  thinking  that  he  had  bene  als  wickid  as 
thay,  and  should  to  his  awin  aduanceme~t  put  downe  the  King 
being  of  tender  age  for  the  time  and  by  the  deceis  of  his  bro- 
ther left  alone,  and  that  thay  wald  easilie  get  thair  hand  beyond 
the  Duke,  being  an  stranger  and  without  successioun  of  his 
body,  held  tham  quyet  for  a  season,  thinking  Uiat  vther  mens 
actioun  should  be  thair  promotion,  but  seing  that  the  Duke  aa 
3  prince  baith  wyse  and  vertuous,  to  bring  him  selfe  out  of  sic 


445 


suspitioun,  put  four  Lordis  estemid  of  the  niaist  trew  and  ver- 
teous  in  Scotla'd  in  that  tyme  to  attend  on  the  Kingis  grace,  to 
wit,  the  Erie  Merchell,  the  Lordis  Erskyn,  Ruthuen,  and  Bor- 
thick.  The  Hamiltounis  being  out  of  hope  of  the  Kingis  putting 
doune  by  the  Duke  of  Albany,  &  out  of  credeit  to  do  him  any 
harme  by  tham  salfis,  maid  one  conspyracie  with  certane  Lordis, 
to  put  the  sayd  Duke  out  of  authoritie,  and  take  it  on  tham 
selfis,  that  all  thinges  put  in  thair  power  they  might  vse  the 
King  and  the  Realme  at  their  awin  plesure.  To  that  effect 
tliay  tuik  the  Castell  of  Glasgow,  and  there  maid  an  assembly 
of  thair  factioun,  the  quhilk  dissoluit  by  the  haistie  cummyng 
of  the  Duke  of  Albany  with  an  armie,  for  feir  of  the  quhilk  the 
Erie  of  An-ane  chief  of  that  cumpany,  fled  to  his  wifis  brother, 
the  Lord  Hume  being  then  out  of  court. 

The  second  conspiracie  was  after  the  Dukis  last  departyng 
(the  foresayd  Lordis  separate  from  attending  on  the  King) 
deuysit  be  Schir  lames  Hammiltoun  bastard  sone  to  the  sayd 
Erie  of  Arrane,  quha  conspyrit  the  Kinges  deith  then  being  in 
his  hous  in  the  Abbay  of  Halyruidhous,  quhilk  conspyracie 
efter  mony  yeiris  reueillit,  the  said  Schir  lames  sufFerit  deith 
for  it.  This  conspyracie  not  beyng  execute,  Scheir  lames  per- 
seuerid  in  his  euill  intentioun,  &  by  secreit  meanis  in  Court 
soght  alwais  that  the  King  should  not  niary,  that  for  lack  of 
his  succession,  the  Hamiltounis  might  cum  to  thair  intentis. 
For  the  King  was  yon~g,  lusty,  and  redy  to  auenture  his  persoun 
to  all  hasardis,  baith  by  sea  and  land,  in  doune  putting  of  theifis, 
and  vpsetting  of  Justice.  The  Hamiltounis  luiked  on  quhen 
seiknes,  tlirow  excesse  of*  trauell,  or  sum  vther  rakles  auenture 
should  cut  him  of  without  children,  and  destitute  of  this  hope, 
first  he  stoppid  the  Kingis  metyng  with  his  Vncle  the  King  of 
Ingland,  quha  at  that  tyme  hauing  but  one  doughter,  was  wili-^ 
ing  to  haif  maryid  with  the  Kyng  of  Scotland,  and  maid  him 
King  of  the  hole  He  after  him,  &  to  haue  enterid  him  at  that 
present  tyme  in  possessio"  qf  the  Duchy  of  Yorke,  but  the 


446 


sayd  Scbir  lames  euer  hauing  eye  to  his  awin  scope,  hiiiueiid 
this  purpois  by  sura  of  the  Kingis  familiaris,  that  he  had  prac- 
tised with  by  giftis,  and  specially  by  the  Bischop  of  Sanctandros 
lames  Betoun,  vncle  to  the  Erie  of  Arranis  mother,  and  greit 
vncle  to  Schir  lames  wyfe,  and  raised  sic  suspitioun  betuixt  the 
twa  Kingis,  that  broght  baith  the  realmes  in  greit  besynes. 

This  purpois  as  sayd  is  put  abak,  the  King  selng  that  his 
Ambassadouris  furtherit  not  at  his  plesure,  deliuerid  him  self 
in  persoun  to  ga  be  sey  in  France,  and  Schir  lames  Hamiltoun 
perseuering  in  his  former  inte~tion  went  with  him  to  hinder  his 
raariage,  by  all  menis  that  he  might,  and  to  that  effect,  the 
King  sleiping  in  the  Schip,  without  any  necessltie  of  wynde  and 
wedder,  Schir  lames  causid  the  marineris  to  turne  saill  of  the 
West  coist  of  Ingland  bakwart  and  land  in  Galloway,  quhair 
the  Kyng  was  verray  miscontent  with  Schir  lames  and  Maister 
Dauid  Panter,  principall  causeris  of  his  returnyng,  as  diuers  that 
was  in  the  Schip  yit  liuyng  can  report.  And  fra  that  time 
furtb,  the  King  hauing  tryid  out  his  pretence,  and  persaiuing 
his  vnfaithfuU  dealyng  euer  disfauourid  him,  and  to  his  greit 
displesure  fauourid  opinlie  the  Erie  of  Lennox  &  his  friendis  in 
his  absence,  the  quliilk  Erie  prete~did  a  right  and  tytill  to  the 
hole  Erldome  of  Arrane,  the  present  Erie  for  that  time  being 
knawln  to  be  bastard,  as  also  it  was  in  mens  recent  memorie 
how  Schir  lames  Hamiltoun  had  cruellie  slayne  the  Erie  of 
Lennox  at  Linlythgow,  euin  to  the  greit  displesure  of  the  Erie 
of  Arrane  father  to  Schir  lames,  and  vncle  to  the  Erie  of  Len- 
nox, cumming  by  the  Kingis  commandment  to  Linlythgow. 
Sa  the  King  as  said  is,  vnderstandyng  the  priuate  practick  of 
Schir  lames,  in  keiping  him  vnmaryid,  haistit  hym  the  raair 
eirnestlie  to  mary,  to  the  effect,  that  his  successioun  might  put 
the  Hamiltounis  out  of  hope  of  tliair  intent,  and  him  out  of 
danger  by  the  Hamiltounis.  And  albeit  that  Schir  lames  to 
make  himselfe  clene  of  that  suspitioun,  soght  many  diueris  wayis 
to  the  distructioun  of  the  Erie  of  Arrane  his  brother,  yit  he 


"    447 

Coi\kl  ncuer  ccTqueis  the  Kings  fauour,  vntUl  finallle  he  was  ex- 
ecutid  for  tresoun,  and  tooke  ane  miserabill  end  conforme  to 
bis  vngodly  lyfe. 

The  King  at  last  deceissit,  and  leuing  a  doughter  of  sex 
dayis  auld,  the  Hamiltounis  thoght  all  to  be  tbairis.  For  then 
the  Erie  of  Ari^ane  a  young  man  of  small  wit  and  greit  incon- 
stancie,  was  set  vp  by  sum  of  the  nobilitie,  &:  sum  familiar  ser- 
uandis  of  the  kingis  lately  deceissit,  for  thay  thoght  him  malr 
toUerabill  then  the  Cardinall  Beton,  quha  by  ane  fals  instmment 
had  takin  the  supreme  authorltie  to  him  self. 

The  Erie  of  Arrane  namid  Gouornour,  by  a  priuait  factioun, 
and  fauourid  by  sa  many  as  professit  the  trew  Religioun  of 
Christ,  becaus  he  was  beleift  then  to  be  of  the  same,  howbeit 
he  was  ge~till  of  nature,  yit  bis  friendis  for  the  maist  pairt,  wer 
gredie  baith  of  geir  &  bluid,  and  geuin  to  iniustice  quhair  gayiie 
followid.  Thair  was  in  his  time  nothing  ellis,  but  werr,  oppres- 
sioun,  Sc  brybing  of  his  callid  brother  the  Bischop  of  Sanctan- 
drois,  sa  that  all  the  Estatis  wer  werie  of  hym,  and  dischargid 
hym  of  hys  office,  and  charged  with  it  an  woman  strangear. 

In  the  begynnyng  of  hys  gouernement  the  Queue  and  hir 
Mother  wer  keipit  by  him,  rather  lyke  presoneris  then  Prin- 
cessis,  but  ylt  that  incommoditie  was  cans  of  preseruyng  of  the 
Quenis  lyfe,  he  beleifing  to  mary  hir  on  his  sone.  But  after 
the  Erie  of  Lennox  had  delyuerid  tham  out  of  his  handis,  and 
the  Nobilitie  had  refusid  to  mary  hir  on  his  sone,  howbeit  he 
left  his  ferme  friendis,  &  come  to  the  Quene,  abiurid  his  Re- 
ligioun in  the  gray  freiris  of  Striuiling,  yit  he  could  neuer  cum 
agane  to  his  pretendid  clymming  to  the  Crowne,  quhilk  he  had 
lang  soght,  partly  by  fauour  of  sic  of  the  Nobilitie  as  wer  alliat 
with  him,  and  partly  by  distmctioun  of  the  ancient  housis  that 
might  haue  put  impediment  to  his  vnreasonablU  ambitio".  For 
hauing  banished  the  Erie  of  Lennox,  he  thoght  the  Erie  of  An- 
gous  to  be  the  principall  that  might  resist  him,  and  hauing  en- 
terld  in  waird  Schlr  George  Dowglas,  to  be  yit  mair  assurid,  ho 


448 

send  for  the  said  Erie  of  Angcus  in  friendly  maner,  &  put  him 
in  presoun  without  any  iust  occasioun,  and  wold  haue  beheidid 
tham  baith,  if  the  arryuing  of  the  Inglis  army  had  not  stayit  his 
purpois,  by  tlie  quhilk  and  fear  of  the  murmour  of  the  pepill, 
he  was  constranit  to  delyuer  tha~.  And  seing  he  durst  not  at 
sic  a  tyme  put  tham  downe  by  tyrannic,  l>e  ofFerit  tham  to  the 
sword  of  the  enemy  to  be  slaine  by  tham.  And  to  the  effect, 
that  thay  and  thair  freindes,  hauing  put  abak  the  Inglis  horse- 
men, and  receiuyng  an  vther  charge,  might  be  the  mair  easely 
slayne,  thay  standing  in  battell  and  fighting  for  him,  he  in  the 
battle  behind  fled  to  tyne  tham,  and  sa  these  Nobill  men  sa  far 
as  lay  in  him  was  slayne,  and  preseruid  by  tlie  prouidence  of 
God. 

The  young  Queue  quhilk  being  in  hir  motheris  kelping,  he 
might  not  put  doune,  nor  raary  at  his  plesure,  he  consentid  to 
offer  hir  to  the  stormes  of  the  sea,  and  danger  of  enemeis,  and 
sauld  hir  as  a  slaue  in  France,  for  the  Duchy  of  Chastellarault, 
the  quhilk  he  bruikis  in  Nameonlie,  as  the  Crowne  of  Scotland 
in  fantasie,  &  receauit  sic  price  for  hir  as  trcsoun,  periurie,  and 
the  sellyng  of  fre  persounls  should  be  recompensit  with.  But 
yit  the  couatise  of  the  Crowne  that  he  had  sold  cessid  not  heir, 
for  befoir  hir  returning  hame  out  of  France,  as  the  troubillis 
quhilk  began  anent  the  repressing  of  the  Frenchemen  and  ty- 
rannic agains  the  Religioun,  how  many  meanis  soght  the  Ha- 
miltounis  to  haue  depryuit  hir  of  all  right,  and  translatit  the 
Crowne  to  tham  selfis,  is  knawin  baith  to  Scotland  and  Ingland. 

^  Also  after  the  Quenis  arryuing  in  Scotland,  sche  seiking 
a  querrell  against  the  sayd  Duike  and  sum  vther  Lordis,  vnder 
pretence  that  thay  had  conspyrit  against  her,  for  the  Religionis 
caus,  theDuikis  freindes  left  him  all,  becaus  that  the  rest  of  the 
Lordis  wald  not  consent  to  destroy  the  Queue,  or  derogat  hir 
authoritie  by  any  maner  of  way.  A  lytill  befoir  the  quhilk  tyme, 
the  occasioun  of  the  Dukis  conspyracie,  with  the  Erie  Bothwell 
to  slay  the  Eric  of  Murray  in  Falkland,  was  na  vther,  but  be- 


449 

caus  the  sayd  Erie  of  Murray  liuyng,  tliay  could  nouther  do  the 
said  Queue  harme  in  hir  persoun,  nor  diminische  her  authoritie, 
nor  constrane  her  to  mary  at  thair  plesure,  &  to  her  vtter  dis- 
plesure. 

After  that  the  Quene  had  maryit  with  him,  quhom  they  este- 
mid  their  auld  enemie,  and  was  with  child,  the  gude  Bischop  of 
Sanctondrois  first  callid  Cunningham,  estemit  Cowane,  and  at 
last  Abbot  Hamiltoun,  not  onlie  conspyrit  with  the  Erie  Both- 
well,  but  come  with  the  Quene  to  Glasgow,  &  conuoyit  the 
King  to  the  place  of  his  murther,  the  Bischop  being  lodged,  as 
he  seildom  of  befolr,  quhalr  he  might  persaif  the  plesure  of  that 
crucltie  with  all  his  sensis,  and  helpe  the  murtheraris,  if  mister 
had  bene,  and  send  four  of  his  famihar  seruandis  to  the  execu- 
tion of  the  murther,  watching  all  the  night,  and  thinking  lang 
to  haue  the  ioy  of  the  cumming  of  the  Crowne  a  degre  neirer 
to  the  hous  of  Hamiltoun,  and  sa  greit  hope  mellit  with  ambi- 
tioun  inflamit  his  hart  for  the  Kingis  deceis,  that  within  schort 
tyme  he  belieuid  firmlie  his  callid  brother  to  be  King,  &  he 
(the  sayd  Bischop)  to  be  to  him  as  Curatour  duryng  the  hole 
tyme  of  his  non  wit,  quhilk  had  bene  a  langer  teirme  than 
Whitsonday  or  Martymes,  for  he  thoght  vndoubtidlie,  that  the 
Erie  Bothwell  should  distroy  the  you~g  Prince,  and  not  suffer 
him  prosper  to  reuenge  his  fatheris  death,  and  precede  the  Erlis 
children  in  successioun  of  the  crowne,   and  the  young  Prince 
onis  cut  of,  the  Bischop  maid  his  rekning,  that  the  Quene  & 
the  Erie  Bothwel  hated  alredy  for  the  slaughter  of  the  King 
hir  husband,  and  mair  for  the  innocent,   wer  easie  to  be  de- 
stroyit  with  consent  of  all  estatis,  and  the  cryme  easie  to  the 
Bischop  to  be  proued,  quha  knew  all  the  secretis  of  the  hole 
disseigne  :   or  if  they  wald  slay  the  Erie  Bothwell  and  spair  the 
Quene,  thay  wer  in  hope  sche  should  mary  lohn  Hamiltoun 
the  Dukis  sone,  quhome  with  merie  luikis  and  gentill  counte- 
nance (as  sche  could  weill  do)  sche  had  enterid  in  the  pastyme 
of  the  Glaikis,  and  causit  the  rest  of  the  Hamiltounis  to  fon4 
VPL.  II.  :3  m 


450 


for  fainnes.  But  alter  tliat  the  Eiie  Bothwell  liad  refusit  bat- 
tell  at  Carbarty  hill,  and  tjie  Quene  befoir  the  cumming  of  the 
Hamiltounis,  corns  to  the  Lordis^,  the  Hamiltounis  at  that  tyme 
disapoint  fosterid  thair  vane  hope  with  a  merie  dreame,  that 
the  Quetie  should  be  punischit  after  her  demerits,  and  wer  a 
tyme  in  dowbill  ioy,  that  one  that  beyng  rid  of  the  Quene  sche 
should  not  beir  ma  children  to  debar  tham  from  the  Crowne, 
and  the  vther,  that  thay  might  haue  ane  easie  way  to  calumniat 
the  Regent  for  distroying  of  the  Quene.  But  seyng  hir  kept, 
thay  blamit  opinlie  the  Regent,  quha  kept  hir  in  stoir  in  dispite 
of  tham  (as  thay'sayd)  to  be  a  stud  to  cast  ma  foillis,  to  hinder 
tharn  of  the  succession  of  the  Crowne,  yit  for  all  that,  there 
wold  nane  of  tham  cum  to  Parliame~t  to  further  thair  desyre 
with  ane  anerlie  vote,  but  lay  bake  to  keip  tham  selfis  at  li- 
bertie,  to  reproif  all  that  should  be  done  in  that  conuention, 
and  to  fenze  fauour  towardis  the  Quene  quhome  thay  hated, 
saas  if  by  consent  of  the  Lordis  or  vtherwise  sche  wer  delyuerir, 
thay  might  helpe  hir  to  put  downe  the  Lordis,  that  wold  not 
put  hir  downe  in  fauour  of  tham. 

This  thair  intentioun  was  opinlie  schawit,  quhen  the  Quene 
beyng  kept  in  Lochleuin,  by  commaundement  of  the  hole  Par- 
liament, was  delyuerit  by  conspyracie  of  sum  priuate  men, 
especiallie  of  the  Hamiltounis,  for  thay  assemblit  all  thair  forces 
to  put  downe  the  young  Kyng  and  Lordis  obedient  to  hym, 
Quhilk  euill  will  thay  schew  towardis  the  Lordis  at  the  Lang- 
syde,  bringyng  with  tham  great  stoir  of  cordis,  to  murther  and 
hang  tham,  if  thay  had  bene  takin  prisoneris  and  the  victorie 
fallin  to  the  Hamiltounis,  and  the  same  euill  will  towardis  the 
King  in  keipyng  the  watter  of  Forthe,  that  he  should  not 
eschaip  thair  cruell  handis,  beyng  assurit  if  he  come  in  the 
Quene  of  Inglandis  power,  that  sche  of  hir  accustomate  cle- 
mencie  and  kyndnes  of  blude,  wald  not  abandoun  him  to  thair 
ynmercyfuU  crueltie  e';perimentit  alredy  in  his  father.  And 
eyng  that  the  prouidence  of  God  had  closit  die  dore  to  all  thair 


451 

wickitness  at  that  tyme>  they  haue  neuer  celssit  since  to  seike 
eaemeis  to  his  Grace  in  all  strange  Natiounis,  and  perceiuyng 
that  thay  had  faire  wordis  of  all  vtheris,  except  of  the  Quenis 
Maiestie  of  Ingland,  quha  vnderstode  thair  fals  and  tressonabill 
dealing,  thay  turnit  thair  hatred  agaynst  her,  and  enterid  in 
conspyracie  with  sum  tratouris  of  Ingland,  that  wer  als  euill 
mindit  towardis  the  Quenis  Maiestie  thair  souerane,  as  the 
Hamiltounis  wer  to  the  Kingis  hienes  of  Scotland.  This  is 
nouther  dremid  in  wardrop,  nor  hard  throw  a  boir,  but  a 
ti'ew  narratiue,  of  quhilk  the  memorie  is  ludged  in  menis  hartis, 
baitia  Scottis  and  strangeris  and  the  veritie  knawin.  By  the 
quhilk  ye  may  vnderstand  the  Hamiltounis  pretence  this  fiftie 
yeires  and  mair. 

After  sa  many  wayls  soght  by  tham  to  distroy  the  right 
successioun,  and  place  tham  in  the  Kinglie  rowme,  seyng  all 
tliair  practisis  could  not  auaill,  and  thair  forces  wer  not  suffi- 
cient, they  soght  to  augment  thair  factioun,  adioynyng  to  tham 
all,  tliat  wer  participant  of  tlie  Kingis  slaughter,  and  had  aspyrit 
to  slay  the  Queue  of  Ingland.  And  to  the  effect  they  might 
cum  to  thair  wickit  purpois,  thay  in  a  maner  displayit  a  baner, 
to  assemble  togider  all  kynd  of  wickid  men,  as  Papistes,  renegat 
Protestantis,  theifis,  tratouris,  murtlieraris,  and  opin  oppres- 
souris.  As  for  thair  adherentis  in  Scotland  I  neid  not  to  ex- 
preme  tliair  namis,  nor  the  qualities  of  the  conspyratouris  of 
Ingland,  for  thay  ar  weill  enough  knowin  to  your  Lordshippis. 
Yit  one  I  can  not  ouerpas,  beyng  the  cheif  conspyratour  choisin 
by  thame  to  be  King  of  Scotland  and  Ingland,  I  mene  the 
Duike  of  Norfoulke,  in  quhilk  act  ye  may  see  how  the  thrist 
of  your  blude  blindit  thame  agaynst  thair  awin  vtilitie.  First 
thay  chose  the  principall  enemie  of  the  Religioun  of  Christ  ia 
this  ile,  accompanyit  witli  vther  fylthie  Idolateris,  to  change  the 
stait  of  the  Kirk  in  baith  Realmes  by  cuttyng  of  the  twa  Princes, 
seyng  that  thair  authoritie  standing,  the  conspiratouris  could  not 
cum  to  thair  inle~t.   Next  they  respcctit  in  that  proude  tyranne. 


432 

the  vertewis  that  were  commoun  to  him  and  thame,  as  arro- 
gancie,  crueltie^  dissimulatioun  and  tresonn,  for  euin  as  thay 
had  this  lang  tyme  in  Scotland,  soght  the  deith  ofthair  righteous 
Prince,  sa  he  in  Ingland  foUowyng  the  traide  of  his  antecessouris, 
diueris  tymes  attemptyng  tresoun,  wald  haue  put  downe  the 
Queue  of  Ingland.  Heir  also  appeiris  the  Hamiltounis  crueltie 
agaynstthe  Nobilitie  ofthair  awin  Natioun,  in  selkyng  thair 
professit  and  perpetuall  enemie  of  Scotland,  (as  his  bage  beiris 
witnes)  quha  should  haue  spilt  tlie  rest  of  the  noble  blud  of 
Scotland  in  peace,  that  his  antecessouris  could  not  spill  in  werr, 
by  quhilk  electioun,  beyng  assurit  that  na  Scottis  hart  can  loue 
thame,  sa  can  thay  loue  nane  of  you,  agaynst  quhome  thay 
haue  vsit  sa  many  tresonabill  actis.  Thay  do  schaw  also  how 
crueltie  and  auarice  haue  blindit  thara  thay  ca~  not  se,  in  bring- 
yng  a  tyrane  to  haue  power  ouer  thame,  seyng  thay  pretending 
neirest  clame  to  the  Crowne,  should  be  neirest  the  danger. 
And  yit  for  all  this,  could  these  men  be  weill  contentit,  if  by 
any  meanis  they  could  atteue  to  thair  intent,  by  spoyle  &  rub- 
berie^  as  thay  did  quhen  as  they  wer  placid  in  supreme  autho- 
ritie,  or  by  makyng  of  you  slaues  as  thay  did  in  selling  of  thair 
Queue,  begyn  that  practise  quhairin  howbeit  the  inhumanitie 
■was  great,  yit  was  it  not  in  supreme  degre  of  cruelteis,  but  it  is 
na  moderat  tollerable  nor  accustomat  thyng  that  thay  scike  :  It 
is  the  blud  first  of  our  innoce~t  King,  euin  sic  as  hath  bene 
preseruit  by  wyld  beastis,  nixt  the  blude  of  all  his  trew  ser- 
uandis  and  trew  subiectis  indifferentlie.  For  quhat  defence  can 
be  in  Nobilitie,  or  quhat  suirtie  against  tham  that  haue  mur- 
therit  a  Kyng,  and  seikis  strangeris  to  murther  ane  vther  Kyng, 
quhome  sal  thay  spair  for  vertew  and  innocencie,  that  latelie 
execQtit,  and  yit  defendis  the  murther  of  the  Regent,  or  quha 
will  be  ouersene  for  law,  degre,  or  base  estait,  in  respect  of 
thay  that  conductit  out  of  Tiuidaill  to  slay  Maister  lohn  Wod, 
for  na  vther  cans,  but  for  beyng  a  gude  seruand  to  the  Crowne 
and  to  the  Regent  his  Maister,  and  had  espyit  out  sum  of  thair 
praclisis. 


4o?3 

^  If  this  thrist  of  blud  of  these  Lochlechis,  might  be  impute 
to  haistie  hounger  or  any  sudane  raotioun,  quhilk  causis  men 
sum  times  to  forget  their  dewtie,  there  might  yit  be  sum  hope 
that  sic  a  passioun  ouerpast,  thay  wald  with  tyme  remember 
thame  selfis,  and  after  power  amend  faultis  past,  or  at  leist  ab- 
stene  in  tyme  to  cum.  But  thair  is  na  sic  humanitie  in  thair 
nature,  nor  na  sic  pietie  in  thair  hartis,  for  not  content  with  a 
Kingis  blude,  thay  gaip  for  his  Sonnis  murther,  nor  satisfiyit  to 
haue  slayne  the  Regent,  they  keipit  the  murtherar  in  the  Duikis 
hous  in  Arrane.  Maist  hke  thinkyng,  as  if  thay  honourit  not 
the  doar,  thay  should  not  be  knawin  as  counsallouris  of  the. 
deid,  and  wald  tyne  the  glorie  of  that  nobill  act.  And  besydes 
all  this  thay  ar  not  onelie  contentit  to  mantene  Scottis  tratouris, 
but  alswa  receifis  Inglis  tratouris,  and  settis  vp  a  sanctuarie  of 
tresoun,  a  refuge  of  Idolatrie,  a  receptacle  of  theifis  and  mur- 
theraris. 

And  howbeit  the  bullerant  blud  of  a  King  and  a  Regent 
about  thair  hartis,  quhairof  the  lust  in  thair  appetite  geuis  tham 
lltil  rest,  daylie  and  hourlie  makyng  new  prouacation.  yit  the 
small  space  of  rest,  quhilk  they  haue  beside  the  executioun  of 
their  crueltie,  they  spend  in  deuysing  of  generall  vnquyetnes, 
throw  the  hole  countrie,  for  not  content  of  it,  that  thay  tham 
selfis  may  steale,  brybe,  and  reif,  thay  set  out  ratches  on  euery 
side,  to  gnaw  tl)e  pepillis  bonis,  after  that  thay  haue  consumit 
the  flesche,  and  houndis  out,  one  of  tham,  the  Cla~gregour,  ane 
vther  the  Grantie  and  Clauchattan,  ane  vther  Balcleuch  and 
Fairnyherst,  ane  vther  the  lohnstounis  and  Armstrangis,  and 
sic  as  wald  be  hald  in  the  halyest  ama~gis  tham,  schew  playnlie 
the  affectioun  thay  had  to  banish  peace  and  steir  vp  troublis, 
quhen  thay  bendit  all  tlaair  fyue  wittes,  to  stop  the  Regent  to 
go  first  North,  and  syne  South,  to  puneis  thift  and  oppression, 
and  quhen  they  saw,  that  thair  counsall  was  not  anthorisic,  in 
geuyng  impunitie  to  all  misdordour,  tliay  spend  it  in  puttyng 
downe  of  hym  that  wald  haue  put  all  in  gudc  ordour. 


4'i4 

'  Thair  is  a  kynd  of  these  theifis  euin  odious  to  raair  gehtill 
theifis,  quhilk  callyng  tham  selfis  great  Gentilmen  spoyllis  tra- 
uellaris,  cadgearis,  and  chapmen  by  the  way,  and  ransounis 
pure  men  about  Edlburgh  for  xx.  schillyng  the  heid>  quhilk 
vice  can  not  precede  of  vengeance  of  enemeis,  but  rather  of 
loue  and  plesure  in  wickitnes.  This  kynde  of  men  dois  not 
onHe  dishonour  to  NobiUtie  in  steillyng,  and  to  theifis  in  pur- 
spyking,  but  also  to  the  hole  Natioun  of  Scotland,  geuing  opi- 
nioon  to  strangeris,  that  sum  of  the  Scottis  be  of  sa  law  courage, 
that  men  amangis  them  aspiring,  to  the  hiest  estait  of  a  King- 
dome,  haue  crouchit  thame  selfis  in  the  mayst  lawe  order  of 
knaifis. 

%  Now  my  Lordis  ye  may  consider,  how  thay  that  slayis 
sa  cruellie  Kingis  and  thair  Lieutennentis,  will  be  mercyfull  to 
you,  and  quhen  thay  sail  haue  put  you  downe,  that  craifis  re- 
uenge  of  the  Kingis  blude,  ye  may  vnderstand  how  few  dar 
craif  Justice  of  your  slaughter.  Ye  may  se  how  cruell  thay  will 
be  in  oppressio"  of  the  poore,  hauyng  cut  of  you,  quhiUc  beyng 
of  mayst  Nobill  and  potent  housis  of  this  Realme,  sufferis  throw 
your  sleuthfulnes  euery  pairt  of  this  countrie,  to  be  maid  worse 
then  Liddisdaill,  or  Annanderdaill,  and  onlie  suflferis  the  purspy- 
karis  of  Cliddisdaill,  to  exercise  thift  and  reif  as  a  craft,  but 
nurisis  and  authorisis  amangis  you,  the  chief  counsellaris  of  all 
misordour,  as  ane  Edder  in  your  bosum.  Of  all  this  ye  may- 
lay  the  wyte  on  na  vther  but  vpon  your  selfis,  that  haue  suffi- 
cient power  to  repres  thair  insolencie  and  proudnes,  hauyng  in 
your  hand  the  same  wand  that  ye  haue  chaistisit  tham  with  of 
befoir,  for  ye  haue  your  protectour  the  same  God  iJiis  yeir,  that 
was  the  yeiris  bypast,  vnchangeabill  in  his  eternaU  counsellis, 
constant  in  promeis,  potent  in  punising,  and  liberall  in  reward- 
yng,  ye  haue  your  trew  freindis  and  seruandis  that  wer  with  you 
of  befoir,  ye  ar  delyuerit  of  dissimulat  brethren,  that  had  thair 
bodyis  with  you,  and  thair  hartis  with  your  enemeis,  that  sub- 
ricribit  with  you,  and  tuik  reraissioun  of  your  aduersaris,  that 


455 

fituide  witli  you  in  battel!,  luikyng  for  occaiioun  to  betray  you 
had  not  Gk)d  bene  your  protectour.     Ye  haue  a  great  number 
of  new  friendis  alienat  from  tliam,  for  thair  manifest  iniquitie  in 
deid,  wickidnes  in  worde,  and  tresoun  in  hart,  ye  haue  of  the 
same  enemeis  that  ye  had  then  sa  many,  as  hes  thair  hartis 
herdinnit,  and  thair  myndis  bent  agaynst  God  and  lawfull  in- 
graitis>  ye  haue  the  same  action,  that  ye  had  then,  accumulat 
with  recent  murther  and  tresoun,  to  prouoke  the  ire  of  the 
eternall  agaynst  tham.    How  far  God  hath  blinded  tham,  blind 
men  may  se,  that  hauyng  sa  euill  ane  actioun,  and  sa  many 
enemeis  at  hame,  yit  be  houndyng  out  of  small  tratouris  of  thair 
wickid  conspyracie,    men  execrable  to  thair  awin  parentis, 
quhome  amangis  vtheris  thay  haue  diueris  tymes  spoylit,  be 
houndyng  out  I  say  of  sic  persounis,  to  burne,  murther,  reif» 
and  steill.     Thay  prouoke  the  Quenis  Maiestie  of  Ingland,  to 
seik  vengeance  of  thair  oppressioun  agaynst  her  Realme  ^nd 
subiectis,  quhilk  vengeance  Justice  and  honour  craifis  of  hir  sa 
instantlie,  that  sche  can  not  ceis  but  persew  tham,  thair  resset-. 
taris  and  mantenaris,  vntill  sche  gif  sic  exempill  to  vtheris,  that 
althoght  thay  will  not  respect  vertew,  yit  for  fear  of  punitioun 
thay  sail  be  content  to  lyue  in  peace  with  nightbouris,  quhairiu 
her  heighnes  hath  alredy  renewit  the  memorie  of  hir  experi- 
mentit  liberalitie,  and  tender  loue  to  this  Natioun,  seikyng  on 
hir  proper  charges  and  trauell  of  her  subiects,  the  punitioun  of 
sic,  as  we  on  our  charges  should  haue  punished,  I  mene  not 
onlie  of  our  Tratouris,  but  also  ressettaris  of  hir  Maiesteis  Tra- 
touris, and  in  doing  of  this  seikis  pacificatioun  amangis  tham 
that  violatid  peace  with  hir  without  prouocation,  seueryng  the 
punischement  of  sic  as  ar  giltfe  in  offending,  from  the  subiectis 
that  hes  not  violatid  tlie  peace.     And  as  sche  kepis  peace  and 
Justice  amangis  hir  awin  subiectis  in  Ingland,  sa  vnrequyrit  sche 
ofterid  support  to  the  same  end  in  Scotland,  and  not  onlie  geuis 
remedie  to  our  present  calamiteis,  but  cuttis  the  roote  of  troublis 
to  cum^  and  preuenis  the  wickid  counsall  of  sic,  as  prouokis 


456 

Inglismen^  and  solistis  Frenchmen  to  cuuj  in  this  Keahiic,  to 
the  end,  that  these  twa  Natiounis  enterit  in  barres,  tlie  ana 
agains  the  vther,  thay  pnay  saciat  thair  cruell  hartis  of  blude, 
thair  obstinat  will  of  vengeance,  thair  bottomles  couatise  of 
spoyle  and  thift. 

Thairfoir  seyng  God  haue  sa  bhndit  your  enemeis  wittis,  my 
Lordis  be  in  gude  hope  that  he  sail  also  cnst  the  spreit  of  fear 
apd  disperatioun  in  thair  indurat  hartis,   and  prosper  your  gude 
actioun,   to   the  quhilk  he  confortis  you  with  his  redy  heipe, 
exhortis  you  by  his  worde,  and  constrainis  you  by  the  dewtie 
of  your  estait,  and  necessitie  of  preseruyng  of  your  lyfis  and 
honouris.      For  promeis  beyng  negleclit,   faith  violatid,   sub- 
scriptioun  set  at  noght,  thair  is  na  meane  way  left  but  outlier 
to  do  or  suffer,  and  seyng  that  baith  ar  miserabill  amangis  sic, 
as  should  be  friendis,  yit  better  it  is  to  slay  lustlie  the"  to  be 
slayne  wrangfuUie.     For  the  executioun  of  Justice  in  punising 
the  wickid  is  approuid  by  God  and  man,  and  sleuthfulnes  in 
defence  of  Justice  can  not  be  excused  of  tresoun.    And  besydes 
that  God  schawis  him  sa  mercyfuU  and  liberall  to  you,  in  send- 
ing you  friendis  by  procuiring  of  your  enemeis,  also  the  per- 
sounnis  maist  recommenit  of  God  craifis  the  same,   for  saikles 
blude,  oppressioun  of  the  pure,  and  of  the  fitheiles,  cryis  con- 
tinually to  the  heuin  for  auengeance,   quhilk  God  committis  to 
your  handis  as  his  Lieutennentis  and  speciall  officiaris  in  that 
pairt,  and  euin  as  he  rewairdis  faith  and  diligence  in  obedience 
of  his  eternall  will,  sa  he  will  not  neglect  to  punische  sleuth- 
fulnes in  iust  executioun  of  his  commandemenlis. 

%  Thairfoir  my  Lordis,  as  ye  wald  that  God  should  remem-  ' 
ber  on  you  and  your  posteritie,  quhen  thay  sail  call  on  him  in 
thair  necessitie,  remember  on  your  King  our  Souerane,  and  on 
my  Lordis  Regentis  pupillis,  committit  to  you  in  tutorie  by  the 
reason  of  your  ofBce  and  estait,  anent  persounis  that  are  not  in 
age  nor  power  to  heIpe  tham  selfis  and  ar  recommendit  spe- 
ciallie  to  all  Christiannis  by  God  in  his. holy  Scripture,  and  de?. 


457 


fend  SIC  innocent  creaturisj  as  may  nouther  do  nor  speike  for 
tliam  selfis,  from  the  crueltie  of  vnmercyfuU  wolfis ;    neglect 
not  the  occasioun,  nor  refuse  not  the  help  sent  to  you  by  God, 
but  recognose  thankefuUie  his  fauour  towardis  you  that  causis 
your  enemeis  to  procure  you  helpe,  neglect  not  the  offer  of 
friendis.     In  cais  gif  ye  lat  slip  this  occasioun,  ye  sail  craif  it  in 
vane  in  your  necessitie.     Thinke  it  na  les  prouidence  of  your 
iieuinlic  father,  then  if  he  had  send  you  ane  Legioun  of  Angellis 
in  your  defence,   and  remember  that  he  schew  him  selfe 
neuer  mair  freindfull  and  succurable,  to  na  pepillthan 
he  hath  done  to  you,  and  traist  weill  if  ye  will 
perseueir,  in  obedience  and  recognocence 
of  his  grace  he  will  multiplie  his  be- 
nefits to  you  and  your  posteritie, 
and  sail  neuer  lelf  you,  vntil 
ye  forget  him  firs^. 

%  FINIS," 

The   Editor  has  thus  reprinted   the  whole  of  this 
curious  pamphlet. 


VOL.  II. 


S  N 


458 
HERO  AND  LEANDER.* 


The  Argument  of  the  Sixth  Sestyad. 

"  Leucote  flies  to  all  the  winds. 
And  from  the  Fates  their  outrage  blinds. 
That  Hero  and  her  Loves  may  meet. 
Leander,  with  Love's  complete  fleet 
Mannd  in  himself,  puts  forth  to  seas. 
When  straight  the  ruthless  Destinies, 
With  Art^  stir  the  winds  to  war 
Upon  the  Hellespont :  their  jar 
Drowns  poor  Leander.     Hero's  eyes. 
Wet  witnesses  of  his  surprise. 
Her  torch  blown  out :  grief  casts  her  down 
Upon  her  love,  and  both  doth  drown. 
In  whose  just  ruth  the  God  qf  Seas 
Transformed  them  to  tli  Acanthides. 

No  longer  could  the  Day  nor  Destinies 
Delay  the  Night,  who  now  did  frowning  rise 
Into  her  throne ;  and  at  her  humorous  breasts. 
Visions  and  Dreams  lay  sucking  :  all  men's  rests 
Fell  like  the  mists  of  death  upon  their  eyes. 
Day's  too  long  darts  so  kill'd  their  facilities. 
The  winds  yet,  like  the  flowers,  to  cease  began  ; 
For  bright  Leucote,  Venus'  whitest  swan. 
That  held  sweet  Hero  dear,  spread  her  fair  wings, 
Like  to  a  field  of  snow,  and  message  brings 
From  Venus  to  the  Fates,  t'  entreat  them  lay 
Their  charge  upon  the  winds  their  rage  to  stay, 

*  See  p.  347,  for  Sestjad  V. 


459 

That  the  stern  battle  of  the  seas  might  ceaSe, 
And  guard  Leander  to  his  love  in  peace. 
The  Fates  consent,  (aye  me,  dissembling  Fates) 
They  shew'd  their  favors  to  conceal  their  hates. 
And  draw  Leander  on,  least  seas  too  high 
Should  stay  his  too  obsequious  destiny  : 
Who  like  a  fleering  slavish  parasite. 
In  warping  profit  or  a  traitorous  sleight. 
Hoops  round  his  rotten  body  with  devotes. 
And  pricks  his  descant  face  full  of  false  notes  j 
Praising  with  open  throat,  and  oaths  as  foul 
As  his  false  heart,  the  beauty  of  an  owl ; 
Kissing  his  skipping  hand  with  charmed  skips. 
That  cannot  leave,  but  leaps  upon  his  lips 
Like  a  cock- sparrow,  or  a  shameless  quean 
Sharp  at  a  red  lipp'd  youth,  and  nought  doth  mean 
Of  all  his  antick  shews,  but  doth  repair 
More  tender  fawns,  and  takes  a  scatter'd  hair 
From  his  tame  subject's  shoulder ;  whips  and  calls 
For  every  thing  he  lacks ;  creeps  'gainst  the  walls 
With  backward  humbless,  to  give  needless  way  : 
Thus  his  false  fate  did  with  Leander  play. 

First  to  black  Eurus  flies  the  white  Ltucote, 
Born  'mongst  the  Negores  in  the  Levant  sea ; 
On  whose  curled  head  the  glowing  sun  dodi  rise. 
And  shews  the  sovereign  will  of  destinies. 
To  have  him  cease  his  blasts,  and  down  be  lies. 
Next,  to  the  fenny  Notus  course  he  holds. 
And  found  him  leaning  with  his  arms  in  folds 
Upon  a  rock,  his  white  hair  full  of  showers. 
And  him  she  chargeth  by  the  fatal  powers. 
To  hold  in  his  wet  cheeks  his  cloudy  voice  : 
To  Zephyr  then  that  doth  in  flowers  rejoice : 
To  snake-foot  Boreas  next  she  did  remove. 
And  found  him  tossing  of  his  ravish'd  love. 


460 

To  heat  his  frosty  bosom  hid  in  snow. 

Who  with  Leucote's  sight  did  cease  to  blow. 

Thus  all  were  still  to  Hero's  heart's  desire. 

Who  with  all  speed  did  consecrate  a  fire 

Of  flaming  gums,  and  comfortable  spice, 

To  light  her  torch,  which  in  such  curious  price 

She  held,  being  object  to  Leander's  sight. 

That  nought  but  fires  perfum'd  must  give  it  light. 

She  lov-'d  it  so,  she  griev'd  to  see  it  burn. 

Since  it  would  waste  and  soon  to  ashes  turn  : 

Yet  if  it  burn'd  not,  'twere  not  worth  her  eyes. 

What  made  it  nothing,  gave  it  all  the  prize. 

Sweet  torch,  true  glass  of  our  society ; 

What  man  does  good,  but  he  consumes  thereby  ? 

But  thou  wert  lov'd  for  good,  held  high,  given  show  : 

Poor  virtue  loth'd  for  good,  obscur'd,  held  low. 

Do  good  be  ,  be  deedless  good,  disgrac'd : 

Unless  we  feed  on  men,  we  let  them  fast. 

Yet  Hero  with  these  thoughts  her  torch  did  spend. 

When  bees  make  wax.  Nature  doth  not  intend 

It  shall  be  made  a  torch  ;  but  we  that  know 

The  proper  virtue  of  it,  make  it  so. 

And  when  'tis  made,  we  light  it :  nor  did  Nature 

Propose  on  life  to  maids,  but  each  such  creature 

Makes  by  her  soul  the  best  of  her  true  state. 

Which  without  love  is  i-ude,  disconsolate. 

And  wants  love's  fire  to  make  it  mild  and  bright. 

Till  when,  maids  are  but  torches  wanting  light. 

Thus  'gainst  our  grief,  not  cause  of  grief  we  fight. 

The  right  of  nought  is  glean'd,  but  the  delight. 

Up  went  she,  but  to  tell  how  she  descended. 

Would  God  she  were  not  dead,  or  my  verse  ended. 

She  was  the  rule  of  wishes,  sum  and  end. 

For  all  the  parts  that  did  on  love  depend  : 


461 

Yet  cast  the  Torch  his  brightness  further  forth  j 
But  what  shines  nearest  best,  holds  truest  worth. 
Leander  did  not  through  such  tempests  swim 
To  kiss  the  Torch,  altho'  it  lighted  him  : 
But  all  his  powers  in  her  desires  awaked. 
Her  love  and  virtues  cloth'd  him  richly  naked. 
Men  kiss  but  fire  that  only  shews  pursue. 
Her  Torch  and  Hero,  figure,  shew,  and  virtue. 

Now  at  opposed  Ab'dus  nought  was  heard 
But  bleating  flocks,  and  many  a  bellowing  herd. 
Slain  for  the  nuptials  j  cracks  of  falling  woods  j 
Blows  of  broad  axes  5  pourings  out  of  floods. 
The  guilty  Hellespont  was  mix'd  and  stain'd 
With  bloody  torrent,  that  the  shambles  rain'd 
Not  arguments  of  feast,  but  shews  that  bled. 
Foretelling  that  red  night  that  followed. 
More  blood  was  spilt,  more  honors  were  address'd. 
Than  could  have  graced  any  happy  feast. 
Rich  banquets,  triumphs,  every  pomp  employs 
His  sumptuous  hand :  no  miser's  nuptial  joys. 
Air  felt  continual  thunder  with  the  noise 
Made  in  the  general  marriage  violence  : 
And  no  man  knew  the  cause  of  this  expence. 
But  the  two  hapless  lords,  Leander's  Sire, 
And  poor  Leander,  poorest  where  the  fire 
Of  credulous  love  made  him  most  rich  surmis'd. 
As  short  was  he  of  that  himself  he  priz'd. 
As  is  an  empty  gallant  full  of  form. 
That  thinks  each  look  an  act,  each  drop  a  storm. 
That  falls  from  his  brave  breathings  ;  most  brought  up 
In  our  metropolis,  and  hath  his  cup 
Brought  after  him  to  feasts  3  and  much  palm  bears. 
For  his  rare  judgment  in  th'  attire  he  wears. 
Hath  seen  the  hot  low  countries,  not  their  heat. 
Observes  their  rampires  and  their  buildings  yet. 


462 

And  for  your  sweet  discourse  with  mouths  is  heard. 

Giving  instructions  with  his  very  beard. 

Hath  gone  with  an  ambassador,  and  been 

A  great  man's  mate  in  travelling,  even  to  Rhene, 

And  then  puts  all  his  worth  in  such  a  face. 

As  he  saw  brave  men  make,  and  strives  for  grace 

To  get  his  news  forth ;  as  when  you  desciy 

A  ship,  with  all  her  sail  contends  to  fly 

Out  of  the  narrow  Thames  with  winds  unapt. 

Now  crosseth  here,  then  there,  then  this  way  wrapt. 

And  then  hath  one  point  reach'd  ;  then  alters  all. 

And  to  a  crooked  reach  doth  fall 

Of  half  a  burdbolt's  shoot  j  keeping  more  coyle 

Than  if  she  danc'd  upon  the  Ocean's  toil : 

So  serious  is  his  trifling  company. 

In  all  his  swelling  ship  of  vacantly. 

And  so  short  of  himself  in  his  high  tliought. 

Was  our  Leander  in  his  fortunes  brought. 

And  in  his  fort  of  love  that  he  thought  won. 

But  otherwise,  he  scorns  comparison. 

O  sweet  Leander !    Thy  large  worth  I  hide 
In  a  short  grave ;  ill  favour'd  storms  must  chide 
Thy  sacred  favour ;  I,  in  floods  of  ink 
Must  drown  thy  graces,  which  white  papers  drink. 
E'en  as  th}''  beauties  did  the  foul  black  seas. 
I  must  describe  the  hell  of  thy  disease. 
That  heaven  did  merit :  yet  I  needs  must  see 
Our  painted  fools  and  cockhorse  peasantry 
Still  still  usurp,  with  long  lives,  loves,  and  lust. 
The  seats  of  virtue,  cutting  short  as  dust 
Hev  dear  bought  issue ;  ill,  to  worse  converts. 
And  ti'amples  in  the  blood  of  all  deserts. 

Night  close  and  silent  now  goes  fast  before 
The  captains  and  soldiers  to  the  shore. 


46-3  . 

On  whom  attended  the  appointed  fleet 

At  Sestus  bay,  that  should  Leander  meet. 

Who  fained  he  m  an  another  ship  would  pass  : 

Which  must  not  be,  for  no  one  mean  there  was 

To  get  his  love  home,  but  the  course  he  took. 

Forth  did  his  beauty  for  his  beauty  look. 

And  saw  her  thro'  her  Torch,  as  you  behold 

Sometimes  within  the  sun  a  face  of  gold, 

Form'd  in  strong  thoughts,  by  that  tradition's  force. 

That  says  a  God  sits  there  and  guides  his  course. 

His  sister  was  with  him,  to  whom  he  shew'd 

His  guide  by  sea  :  and  said.  Oft  have  you  view'd 

In  one  heaven  many  stars,  but  never  yet 

In  one  star  many  heavens  till  now  were  met. 

See,  lovely  sister,  see,  now  Hero  shines. 

No  heaven  but  her  appears  :  eacli  star  repines. 

And  all  are  clad  in  clouds,  as  if  they  mourn' d. 

To  be  by  influence  of  earth  out-burn'd. 

Yet  doth  she  shine,  and  teacheth  virtue's  train. 

Still  to  be  constant  in  hell's  blackest  reign  : 

Tho'  even  the  gods  themselves  do  so  entreat  them, 

As  they  did  hate,  and  earth,  as  she  would  eat  them. 

Off  went  his  silken  robe,  and  in  he  leap'd. 
Whom  the  kind  waves  so  licorously  cleap'd, 
Thick'ning  for  haste,  one  in  another  so. 
To  kiss  his  skin,  that  he  might  almost  go 
To  Hero's  tower,  had  that  kind  minute  lasted. 
But  now  the  crael  Fates  with  Ate  hasted 
To  all  the  winds,  and  made  them  battle  fight 
Upon  the  Hellespont,  for  either' s  right 
Pretended  to  the  windy  monarchy. 
And  forth  they  brake,  the  seas  mixt  with  the  sky, 
And  tost  distress'd  Leander,  being  in  hell. 
As  high  as  heaven  :  bliss  not  in  height  doth  dwell. 


464 

The  destinies  sate  dancing  on  the  waves. 

To  see  the  glorious  winds  with  mutual  bravfes 

Consume  each  other.     O  true  glass,  to  see 

How  ruinous  ambitious  statists  be 

To  their  own  glories !    Poor  Leander  cried 

For  help  to  sea-born  Venus ;  she  denied 

To  Boreas,  that  for  his  Atthaeas'  sake. 

He  would  some  pity  on  his  hero  take. 

And  for  his  own  love's  sake,  on  his  desires  : 

But  Glory  never  blows  cold  Pity's  fires. 

Then  call'd  he  Neptune,  who  thro'  all  the  noise. 

Knew  witli  aflfright  his  rack'd  Leander's  voice. 

And  up  he  rose  j  for  haste  his  forehead  hit 

'Gainst  heaven's  hard  ciystal ;  his  proud  waves  he  smit 

With  his  fork'd  sceptre,  that  could  not  obey  ; 

Much  greater  powers  than  Neptune's  gave  them  sway. 

They  lov'd  Leander  so.  In  groans  they  brake 

When  they  came  near  him ;  and  such  space  did  take 

'Twixt  one  another,  loth  to  issue  on. 

That  in  their  shallow  furrows  earth  was  shewn. 

And  the  poor  lover  took  a  little  breath  : 

But  the  curs'd  Fates  sat  spinning  of  his  death 

On  every  wave,  and  with  the  servile  winds 

Tumbled  them  on  him.     And  now  Hero  finds 

By  that  she  felt  her  dear  Leander's  state. 

She  wept  and  pray'd  for  him  to  eveiy  fate ; 

And  every  wind  that  whipt  her  with  her  hair 

About  the  face,  she  kiss'd  and  spake  it  fair, 

Kneel'd  to  it,  gave  it  drink  out  of  her  eyes 

To  quench  his  thirst :  but  still  their  craelties 

E'en  her  poor  Torch  envy'd,  and  rudely  beat 

The  'bating  flame  from  that  dear  food  it  eat : 

Dear,  for  it  nourish'd  her  Leanders  life. 

Which,  with  her  robe  she  rescued  from  their  strife : 


465 

But  silk  too  soft  \^3B,  such  h»d  fceai-ts  te  bi-eaft  ; 
Amlshe,  dear  soul,  e'eft  as  her  silk,  faint,  \^eak. 
Could  not  preserve  it :  oat,  O  out  it  went. 
Leander  still  call'd  Neptune,  that  now  rfeht 
His  brackish  curls,  and  tore  his  wrinkled  face. 
Where  tears  in  billows  did  each  other  cba3i5> 
And  (burst  with  rutb)  he  hurl'd  his  maAl*  macc 
At  the  stem  Fates ;  it  wounded  Lacheeis 
That  drew  Leandef's  thread,  and  could  not  iSMS 
The  thread  itself,  as  it  h«r  band  did  knit. 
But  smote  it  full,  and  quite  did  sunder  it. 
The  more  kind  Neptune  rag'd,  the  more  he  rtc'd 
His  love's  lives  for't,  and  kill'd  a^he  embnre'id. 
Anger  doth  Still  his  own  mishap  increasfe  j 
If  any  comfort  live,  it  is  in  peace. 
O  thievish  Fates,  to  let  blood,  flesh,  and  «en<^ 
Build  two  fair  temples  for  their  excellence> 
To  rob  it  with  a  poison'd  influence. 
The'  souls*  gifts  starve,  the  bodies  are  held  dear 
In  ugliest  things  j   hence  sport  preserves  a  bear. 
But  here  nought  serves  our  turns :  O  heaven  and  earth. 
How  most  most  wretched  is  our  human  birth ! 
And  now  did  all  the  tyrannous  crew  depart. 
Knowing  there  was  a  storm  in  Hero's  heart. 
Greater  than  they  could  make,  and  scorn'd  their  smaort. 
She  bow'd  herself  so  low  out  of  her  tower. 
That  wonder  'twas  she  fell  not  ere  her  hour. 
With  searching  the  lamenting  waves  for  him  j 
Like  a  poor  snail,  her  gentle  supple  limb 
Hung  on  her  turret's  top,  so  most  downright. 
As  she  would  dive  beneath  the  darkness  quite. 
To  find  her  jewel :  Jewel,  her  Leander, 
A  name  of  all  earth  jewels  pleas'd  not  her 
Like  his  dear  name }  Leander,  still  my  choice. 
Come  nought  but  my  Leander :  O,  my  voice, 
VOL.  II.  3  o 


466 

Turn  to  Leaiider !    Henceforth  be  all  sounds. 
Accents,  and  phrases,  that  shew  all  griefs'  wounds^ 
Analiz'd  in  Leander.     O  black  change  ! 
Trumpets,  do  you  with  thunder  of  your  clange. 
Drive  out  this  changes'  horror — my  voice  faints : 
Where  all  joy  was,  now  shriek  out  all  complaints. 
Thus  cried  she  ;  for  her  mix'd  soul  could  tell 
Her  love  was  dead  :  and  when  the  morning  fell 
Prostrate  upon  the  weeping  earth  for  woe. 
Blushes  that  bled  out  of  her  cheeks  did  show, 
Leander  brought  by  Neptune,  bruis  d  and  torn. 
With  cities  ruins  he  to  rocks  had  worn  ; 
To  filthy  usuring  rocks,  that  would  have  blood, 
Tho'  they  could  get  of  him  no  other  good. 
She  saw  him,  and  the  sight  was  much  much  more 
Than  might  have  serv'd  to  kill  her  ;  should  her  store 
Of  giant  sorrows  speak  ?    Burst,  die,  bleed. 
And  leave  poor  plaints  to  us  that  shall  succeed. 
She  fell  on  her  love's  bosom,  hugg'd  it  fast. 
And  with  Leander's  name  she  breath'd  her  list. 

Neptune  for  pity  in  his  arms  did  take  thera. 
Flung  them  into  the  air,  and  did  awake  them. 
Like  two  sweet  birds,  surnam'd  th'  Acanthide», 
Which  we  call  Thistle-warps,  that  near  no  seas 
Dare  ever  come,  but  still  in  couples  fly. 
And  feed  on  thistle  tops,  to  testify 
The  hardness  of  their  first  life  in  their  last. 
The  first  in  thorns  of  love,  that  sorrows  past. 
And  so  most  beautiful  their  colours  shew. 
As  none  (so  little)  like  them  ;  her  sad  brow 
A  sable  velvet  feather  covers  quite. 
E'en  like  the  forehead  cloth  that  in  the  night. 
Or  when  they  sorrow,  ladies  us'd  to  wear : 
Their  wings,  blue,  red,  and  yellow,  mix'd  appearj 


467 

Colours,  that  as  we  construe  colours,  paint 
Their  states  to  life,  the  yellow  shews  their  saint ; 
The  dainty  Venus  left  them  blue,  their  truth  j 
The  red  and  black,  ensigns  of  death  and  ruth. 
And  this  true  honor  from  their  love  death  sprung, 
They  were  the  first  that  ever  Poet  sung. 

riNis." 


MARKHAM'S  DEVOREUX. 

[See  Censura  Literaria,  vol.  iii.  p.  306.] 

As  Markham's  Devoreux  is  of  much  rarity,  and 
as  GuiLPiN  seems  to  be  unknown  as  a  poetical  writer, 
except  by  the  extracts  bonowed  from  him  in  England's 
Parnassus,  I  subjoin  a  preliminary  Sonnet,  addressed 
"  to  his  deere  friend  Jervis  Markham." 

*'  No  longer  let  dismembred  Italie 
Think  scorne  of  our  (thought  dull,  far  colder)  clime  j 
We  are  not  so  frost-bitten  in  the  prime. 
But  blest  from  heaven  with  as  great  wealth  as  shee. 
With  all  her  citties  shall  one  (ovu-  cittie) 
Compare,  for  all  the  wealth  of  this  rich  time : 
Thames  shall  with  Po  vie  swanns,  swanns  musicke  chime. 
London  with  subtle  Venice  pollicie. 
Shee  shall  drop  beauties  with  faire  Genoa, 
Though  humorous  travailers  repine  thereat  j 
But  not  with  glorious  Florence  will  they  say. 
So  farre  fam'd  for  her  wits  triumvirat. 
To  that  proud  brag,  thou,  Jervis !  shalt  replie. 
Whose  Muse  in  this  song  gives  them  all  the  lye. 

E.  GUILFIN." 


In  tins  place  perhaps  might  suitably  be  iatrodnced 

"  Sir  Franfis  Drake,  his  honoitirtthlfi  Life's  Commenda- 
tion, a  Poem,  by  QhnrJ^  Wfi-g^rey.  Printed  by 
Jos,  Mmne^,  159^/' 

12°. 

I  TRANSCRIBE  his  dedicatory  Sonnet;    which  is 
elegantly  tei^er^  ^d  gK^<?e&l|y  diffident. 

*"'  To  the  beauteous  and  vertuous  Lady  Elizabeth,  late  Wife  unto 
the  highlie  renowned  Sir  Francis  Drake,  deceased. 

"  Bivorc'd  by  death,  but  wedded  still  by  love, 
(For  love  by  death  can  never  be  divore'd) 
Lqe !  England's  dragon,  thy  true  tmtle-dove. 
To  seel^  his  make  is  now  again  enforc'd. 

Like  as  the  sparrow,  from  the  castrel's  ire. 
Made  his  asylum  in  the  wise  m^n's  fistj 
So,  he  and  ^  (his  tongues-man)  doe  require 
Thy  sanctuarie,  envie  to  resist. 

So  may  heroique  Drake,  whose  worth  gave  wings 
Unto  my  Muse,  that  nere  before  could  flie  j 
And  taught  her  tune  those  harsh  discordant  strings 
A  npte  above  her  rural  minstrelsie. 

Live  in  himselfe,  and  I  in  hinn  may  live,, 

Thine  eyes  to^both  vitalitie  shall  git^e. 

Your  Ladiship's  vertues-  devoted' 

GhaRXE^  FirZ-OBTTS.i'Y." 


469 

And  Itgjre  might  be  appended — 

"  The  Poem  of  Poems,  or  Sion's  Muse.  Containing 
the  divine  Song  of  King  Solomon,  devided  into  eight 
Eclogues.  By  J.  M.  [probably  Jervis  Markham,] 
Pririted  by  James  Roberts  for  Matthew  Lounes, 
1596." 

I  PROCEED  to  transcribe  parts  of  the  author's  dedi<- 
cation,  and  hia  address  to  the  reader,  witli  his  friend's 
coniiaejadatory  verses  to  his  patroness,  as  all  are  &hort, 
and  all  are  intere^ng. 

"  To  the  sacred  Firgin,  divine  Mistress  Elixabeth  Si^of,  sai* 
Daughter  and  Heire  of  the  ever  admired  Sir  Philip  Sydney. 

Bound  to  your  eternall  sennce,  divinest  of  all  virgin 
creatures !  In  honour  of  your  renowned  grandfather,  to  whom 
my  name  was  ever  immortallie  obliged,  &c,  daine  then,  deare 
flower  of  deare  virginitie !  with  gracious  aspect  to  smile  upon 
mine  infant  Muses  devotion,  &c.  When  mine  unfeathered 
Muse  shall  be  impt  by  your  graces,  shee  may  straine  her  un- 
tuned numbers  to  sing  of  you  and  your  adored  father :  whom 
heaven  holds,  to  make  happie  her  habitation ;  earth  wants,  to 
give  wonder  to  her  age;  and  men  wishe,  to  make  mightie  their 
fortunes. 

H^pie  inongh^  if  I  please  inough. 

J.  M.'; 


^^-^-^^^-^^^ 


470 


"  To  the  Readers. 

Rapt  in  admiration.  Gentlemen,  with  the  excellency  of  our 
English  Poets,  whose  wandred  spirits  have  made  wonderful] 
the  workes  of  profane  love,  I  gave  myselfe  over  to  the  study  of 
inchanting  poesie :  in  which  I  so  much  the  more  delighted  my 
selfe,  by  how  much  the  farther  I  found  me  from  attaining  the 
celestiall  secrets  of  her  soule-pleasing  arte ;  and  in  that  amaze- 
ment, willinglie  became  an  eternall  premise  to  the  Muses.  At 
length,  finding  Nature  an  enemy  to  mine  arte,  denying  mee 
these  affections,  which  in  others  make  more  than  immortall 
the  most  earthly  imaginations,  I  betooke  mee  to  divinitie ;  in 
which,  labouring  my  sunne-burnte  conceits,  I  found  poesie, 
which  I  so  much  reverenced,  created  but  a  hand-maide  to  at- 
tend divinitie  j  and  that  as  poesie  gave  grace  to  vulgar  subjects, 
so  divinitie  gave  glorie  to  the  best  part  of  a  poet's  invention,  &c. 

"  To  his  deere  Mistris,  Mistris  Elizaleth  Sydiiey. 

"  All  the  world's  glorie,  and  the  earth's  delight ! 

Created  for  to  teach  philosophic. 

That  there's  a  greater  essence  of  more  might 

Than  grandam  Nature's  old- taught  deitie. 

Looke  on  those  lines,  deere  issues  of  a  king. 

The  Song  of  Songs,  that  lent  invention  eies  j 

Which  great  Jehovah's  querister  did  sing 

Unto  the  sphearie  organ  of  the  skies. 

Learne  not,  but  learne  by  this  celestiall  bride  ; 

To  entertaine  espoused  happines  j 

Yet  let  thy  virgin-taper  ever  bide 

Like  mid- day  sunne,  to  light  trae  holines. 

For  though  tlie  world  and  all  things  fade  away. 
Thy  vertues  and  this  song  shall  nere  decay. 

B,  W," 


f 


471 


3Siograpi)iana* 


12.  Dr.  John  Sharp,  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews,  harha- 
rously  murdered.  May  S,  1679. 

SCOTS  Writer  of  the  History  of  the  Suffering* 

of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  under  the  year  16G6, 

writes  thus : 

"  Vast  were  the  sums  exacted  at  this  time  ; 

and  the  Collector  of  the  Parliamentary  fines,  tho' 
formerly  a  person  of  a  broken  fortune,  came  to  buy  an  estate,  and 
to  build  a  sumptuous  house.  Our  managers  thought  to  have  divided 
these  spoils  among  themselves.  Each  party  when  in  power  look'd 
on  them  all  as  their  own  :  first  Midleton  and  his  dependents,  who 
imposed  them ;  and  then  Lauderdale  and  his  party,  who  uplifted 
them.  Nevertheless,  both  missed  their  aim,  and  Bishop  Sharp 
outwitted  them  both  ;  and  within  a  little  they  were  by  the  King's 
order  applied  to  the  payment  of  the  army,  which  we  shall  hear 
was  raised  at  his  instance. 

"  When  things  are  thus  ripening  very  fast  towards  confusion 
in  the  country,  the  Primate  posts  up  to  Court,  and  must  have  his 
hand  in  bringing  matters  to  an  open  rupture.  The  High  Com- 
mission was  now  dissolved ;  and  in  room  of  that,  some  other  me- 
thod must  be  fallen  upon  to  advance  his  odious  designs.  No  way 
was  now  left  but  that  of  violence,  which  was  not  disagreeable  to 
his  haughty  and  proud  temper.  Accordingly  he  proposeth  a  standi 
ing  army  in  Scotland  to  bear  down  Presbyterians.  The  King  is 
prevailed  on  to  fall  in  with  his  proposals,  and  gives  orders  to  lei'y 
an  array  for  guarding  the  Prelates,  executing  arbitrary  commands^ 


472 

and  suppressing  the  fanatics.  Thomas  Dalziell  of  Binns  is  made 
General ;  a  man  naturally  rude  and  fierce,  who  had  this  helghtert- 
ed  by  his  breeding  and  service  in  Moscovy,  where  he  had  seca 
little  but  the  utmost  tyranny  and  slavery,  &c. 

"  Meanwhile  the  Council  are  importuned  by  the  Bishops  to  do 
something  further  in  order  to  corrupt  the  youth.  Accordingly 
upon  the  8  th  of  June  I  find  this  act  in  their  books :  i.  e.  that  no 
scholars  be  admitted  to  Colleges  or  Universities,  at  least  none  he 
received  to  degrees,  without  first  taking  the  oath  of  allegiance. 

*'  No  instances  of  these,  or  the  like  oaths  being  imposed  ia 
Scotland,  but  when  Prelacy  was  in  the  Church. 

"  Unto  this  encroachment  upon  Universities  I  may  add 
another  upon  Royal  Burghs.  Upon  the  13th  of  Sept.  the  Coun- 
cil send  a  mission  to  the  town  of  Air,  signifying  it  is  their  pleawire 
that  Provost  Cunningham  be  continued  this  year  also,  as  he  was 
by  their  order  the  last ;  and  it  is  signified  to  the  town  that  obe- 
dience is  expected.  The  Letter  is  signed  Si.  Andrews,  who  alwayg 
almost  now  presides  in  the  Council. 

"  A  Letter  is  sent  down  from  the  King  to  the  Council,  dated 
Oct.  1,  no  question  procured  by  Bishop  Sharp,  if  not  drawn  up  bf 
him.  It  is  in  all  its  contents  almost  inserted  in  the  rigorous  pro* 
clamaiion  they  published  the  1 1th  of  the  same  month,  intitled— 
A  Proclamation  for  procuring  obedience  to  ecclesiaaticall  auth^ 
rify. 

"  After  the  defeat  of  the  Rebels  at  Pentland  Hills,  Bishflf 
Sharp  the  President  of  the  Council  pushed  violently  the  prosecu- 
tion and  execution  of  the  Prisoners.  And  indeed  his  blood-thirsty 
temper  at  this  time  made  him  very  odious.  I  am  well  informed 
that  after  some  of  them  were  condemned,  and  a  few  executed,  a 
Letter  came  down  from  the  King,  discharging  anymore  lives. 
This  Letter  came  to  the  Primate  as  President,  and  ought  by  him 
to  have  been  communicated  to  the  Council :  but  the  blood-thirsty 
man  keeped  it  up,  till  as  many  as  he  had  a  mind  should  die  were 
dispatched.  This  foul  act  of  his  he  was  very  justly  twitted  with 
by  the  persons  wlio  some  years  after  took  away  his  life ;  and  whctt 
he  cried  pitifully  for  mercy,  he  was  told,  that  as  he  never  shewed 
xritrcj  to  others,  so  be  was  to  expect  cone  from  them. 


475 

**  This  base  breach  of  trast  was  of  a  piece  with  another  step 
he  took  about  this  time,  when  the  country  people  were  rising  in 
the  Sbuth  and  West.  He  wrote  up  a  letter  to  Lauderdale  or 
Rothes,  to  be  communicated  to  the  King,  wherein  he  signified  that 
all  went  well  in  Scotland,  and  that  every  man  was  in  his  duty 
except  the  few  Fanatics,  who  were  in  arms,  whom  he  feared  not. 
At  the  same  time  he  wrote  another  letter  to  another  Nobleman 
at  Court,  wherein  he  asserted  all  was  wrong ;  scarce  any  were 
faithful  to  the  King ;  and  they  were  all  sold.  Both  of  the  letters 
of  the  same  date  were  read  to  the  King,  who  now  saw  his  dis- 
honesty and  double  face ;  which  he  would  never  believe  before, 
although  he  had  several  hints  given  him  of  it.  After  this  I  am 
told  the  King  never  gave  him  that  credit  he  had  with  him  before ; 
and  trusted  him  very  little. 

**  In  1671  the  Primate  had  the  impudence  to  say  one  day  in 
Council,  that  his  Majesty's  government  was  by  far  in  greater  ha- 
zard from  Presbyterians  than  Papists ;  and  that  it  was  his  opinion 
the  Council  ought  more  narrowly  to  look  to  Presbyterian  meet- 
ings, in  which  they  were  very  slack,  altho'  the  great  danger  lay 
there." 


In  the  case  of  Samuel  Keimer,  who  had  been  among  the 
French  Prophets,  published  London  1713,  p.  56. 

**  In  the  year  when  Sir  Richard  Beachcroft  was  Lord  Mayor, 
James  Cunningham,  Laird  of  Barnes,  grandson  to  the  Archbishop 
of  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland,  who  was  murdered  by  twenty  ruffians, 
a  Scots  prophet,  came  up  to  London,  and  was  ordered  to  go  to  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral,  being  told  by  the  Spirit  he  should  there  prophesy. 
Accordingly  he  went  the  6th  of  the  5th  month,  with  several  be- 
lievers ;  and  among  the  rest  I  went.  No  sooner  had  the  Priest 
ended  his  sermon,  and  gave  the  blessing,  as  it  is  called,  to  the 
people,  than  up  starts  Jam.  Cunningham,  who  was  in  a  pew 
behind,  himself  under  agitations,  and  with  a  very  loud  voice  dis- 
tinctly utters  the  following  warning,  which  was  taken  down  in, 
writing  by  some  believers,  who  placed  themselves  conveniently 
for  that  purpose. 
VOL.  II.  3  P 


474 

**  Thus  saith  the  Lord  to  the  inhabitants  of  this  city.  Repent , 
repent,  and  turn  from  the  evil  of  your  doings  "  iSfc. 

One  of  the  vergers  fetches  him  out — the  mob  carried  him  be- 
fore the  Lord  Mayor  at  Skinner's  Hall,  who  bound  him  over  to 
the  quarter  sessions,"  &c. 

This  Cunningham,  as  I  have  been  told,  was  In  his  mother's 
womb  in  the  coach  out  of  which  his  grandfather  was  pluck'd,  the 
same  time  he  was  murdered ;  and  was  a  man  well  read  ;  a  good 
scholar ;  had  been  a  traveller ;  of  a  sober  life  j  and  though  a  great 
prophet  among  us,  yet  took  up  arms  for  the  person  called  the  Pre- 
tender against  K.  George ;  was  at  the  battle  of  Preston,  and  carried 
to  Chester,  and  there  died  in  prison.* 


13.  Dr.  Hugh  Williams,  father  of  Sir  William  Williams, 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  ancestor  of 
Sir  Watkin  Williams  Wi/nne,  died  1670. 

■  This  Hugh  was  2d  son  of  William  Williams  of  Chwawen 
Back,  in  Anglesey,  Gent,  by  Margaret  the  daughter  of  John 
Owen  of  Llaenfaethly  his  wife,  and  was  born  at  Chwaen  in  the 
parish  of  Llantrisant.  He  was  one  of  Bishop  Dolben's  Chap- 
lains ^  but  was  Rector  of  Llantrisant  long  before,  being  installed 
to  it  by  Bishop  Bailey  the  8th  of  May,  l6l'6.  In  Bishop  Dolben's 
time  he  was  first  made  Canon  of  Bangor,  Jan.  4,  I()32.  He  had 
the  Prebend  of  Vaynol  in  St.  Asaph  Church,  Oct.  2,  l633  ;  and 
died  at  Nantenog,  in  the  parish  of  Llantrisant,  and  was  buried  in 
the  church  there.* 


14.  Dr.  Humphrey  Henchman,  Bishop  of  London,  died  in 

Oct,  1675. 

.  Bishop  Humphries  corrects  A.  Wood  as  to  his  birth  place.  He 
says  he  was  born  at  Burton  Latimer  in  Northamptonshire,  in  the 
house  of  Owen  Owens,  Rector  of  that  place;  his  mother  being 
sister  to  Mr.  Owen's  2d  wife,  and  daughter  to  Robert  Grifith  of 
Caernarvon,  Esq.* 

•  Kcmietfs  3ISS.  ■     • 


475 

EXTRACTS  FROM  GEORGE  WITHER's 

IMPROVEMENT  OF  IMPRISONMENT,  &c. 

1661. 

(See  p.  357,  supra  J 

The  religious  endurance  of  Wither,  while  a  prisoner 
in  Newgate,  is  thus  strongly  attested. 

It  seems  hard  usage  (therefore)  to  be  thrown 
Into  a  jail :  of  all  that  was  mine  own 
In  my  old  age  despoil' d ;  shut  up  alone ; 
Where,  sick  or  well,  attended  on  by  none, 
I  must  in  longest  night  the  hazards  take 
Of  what  may  happen,  sleeping  or  awake. 
Not  impudent  enough  to  beg  or  borrow. 
Nor  having  certainty  of  bread  to-morrow. 
If  charity  should  fail :  which  is  a  case 
Much  worse  than  oft  befalleth  in  this  place 
To  thieves  and  murtherers  ; — yet  this  is  not 
Here  mention' d,  as  repining  at  my  lot  j 
For  whereas  I  am  only  lodged  there. 
Where  murtherers  and  thieves  confined  are. 
The  Son  of  God,  who  for  my  ransome  dy'd. 
Was  'twixt  a  thief  and  murtherer  crucified. 
And  in  my  present  sufferings  I  am  eas'd. 
By  being  well  assur'd  that  God  is  pleas'd 
With  what  befals :  and  that  I  shall  at  last 
Be  fiU'd  with  sweetness  by  what  had  a  taste 


476 

Of  bitterness  at  first :  and  that,  to  them 
Who  me  and  my  endeavours  now  contemn. 
Things  may  hereafter  profitable  be. 
Which  are,  at  present,  mischievous  to  me. 

In  the  following  lines  he  refers  to  an  epigram  before 
his  Vox  Vulgi,  intended  for  the  inspection  of  the  Earl 
of  Clarendon,  then  Lord  Chancellor,  but  which  was 
seized  with  his  other  papers,  and  not  restored  to  him. 

That  Epigram  did  evidendy  shew 

My  Book  designed  for  the  private  view 

Of  Clarendon^  (suppos'd  so  wise  and  just. 

That  him  the  king  is  pleased  to  intmst 

E'en  with  his  conscience)  to  receive  his  doom 

Before  that  forth  in  publick  it  should  come. 

Because  that  I  was  hopeful  it  might  bring. 

By  means  of  him,  some  notions  to  the  king. 

Whereof  his  wisdom  would  have  made  some  use 

To  fiirther  what  shall  to  his  weal  conduce ; 

And  if  that  Epigram  concealed  be. 

It  both  dishonours  him,  and  injures  me. 

At  the  close  of  this  poem  he  delivers  his  political 
test  and  moral  creed,  as  it  respected  human  privileges 
and  divine  aythority. 


•Oblig'd  is  every  one 


To  do  what  in  his  place  is  to  be  done. 

That  God's  will  (so  far  forth  as  power  is  given) 

May  here  be  done  on  earth  as  'tis  in  heaven. 

A  safe  condition  they  are  always  in. 

Who  trust  not  in  their  merits,  hate  their  sin. 

And  their  endeavours  labour  to  improve 

In  faith  and  meekness,  patience,  hope,  and  love. 


477 

For  privileges  of  the  human  nature 
More  sacred  are,  than  those  of  any  creature 
Beneath  the  Godhead  :  and  to  all  mankind 
He  is  a  ti'aytor,  who  hath  ought  design'd 
Against  that  interest ;  and  therefore  I 
Vow,  in  defence  thereof,  to  live  and  die. 

I  know  the  world ;  she  also  knows  her  own  ; 
And  we  shall  both,  ere  long,  be  better  known  : 
Meanwhile,  this  my  imprisonment,  to  me 
Will  my  teipsum  nosce  prove  to  be. 
This  also,  and  what's  formerly  exprest 
Of  me,  and  of  this  age,  will  be  a  test. 
Now  I'le  retire  unto  myself,  and  sing- 
To  God  be  glory,  and  God  save  the  King ! 

After  two  metrical  meditations,  while  in  ^Newgate, 
there  follows  an  **  Antidote  against  Fear,  composed 
upon  the  Citizens  being  unexpectedly  in  arms,  Sept. 
28,  166 J,  at  night."     It  thus  begins— 

God  keep  all  safe  abroad !  I'm  in  my  bed. 
And  see  no  danger  yet,  or  cause  of  dread, 
Emanuel  my  Protector  is  become  j 
He  keeps  all  panick  fears  out  of  this  room ; 
And,  though  the  devil  and  my  foes  together 
Confederated,  they  can  bring  none  hither. 

He  proceeds  in  asserting  the  fortitude  produced  by 
integrit}'^,  much  in  the  strain  of  a  well  known  Ode  of 
Horace. 

He,  that's  a  pious  and  an  honest  liver. 
Needs  not  the  Moor's  bow,  nor  the  Parthian's  quiverj 
Nor  to  be  singly,  much  less  double  guarded : 
For  Innocence  is  by  itself  well  warded. 


478 

He  soon  after  heightens  his  antidote  against  the  fear 
of  man,  by  making  it  consist  in  the  Fear  of  God,  and 
the  Love  of  God. 

The  love  of  God  with  filial  fear  begins. 

And  with  a  detestation  of  all  sins. 

The  knowledge  of  our  natural  estate 

In  us  desires  to  cure  it  will  create. 

The  love  of  God  in  Christ,  then,  being  known, 

(And  what,  when  we  incurable  were  grown,   ' 

He  hath  done  for  us)  wiU  more  love  beget. 

If  we  no  false  suggestions  do  admit; 

That  love  will  also  daily  stronger  grow. 

If  we  God's  nature  truly  learn  to  know. 

And  if  we  love  Him,  we  shall  then  believe  Him, 

In  all  his  attributes  due  glory  give  him. 

We  then  shall  do,  and  not  disputing  stand 

Of  that  which  he  forbids,  or  doth  command : 

But  love  him  so,  as  having  understood 

That  all  his  works  and  his  commands  are  good ; 

So  love  Him,  that  we  love  his  whole  creation. 

Nought  hating,  but  what's  his  abomination. 

He  thus  concludes  this  morally  and  spiritually  ani- 
mated exhortation. 

Let  us,  in  this  our  visitation-day. 
Give  ear  unto  God's  voice  whilst  yet  we  may  -, 
Not  like  brute  beasts  pursuing  one  another. 
But,  linking  fast  in  charity  together. 
Be  reconcil'd  to  God,  with  loving  awe-^ 
For  that  sums  up  the  Gospel  and  the  Law. 
Do  this  — and  if  of  ought  you  fearful  be. 
Let  all  that  ypu  can  fear,  fall  upon  me. 


479 

I  pass  over  several  intermediate  pieces,  to  close  my 
present  paper  and  this  article  with  the  leading  stanzas 
from  "  a  penitential  Hymn,  composed  by  occasion  of 
a  dream,  about  midnight,  Oct.  19,  I66I."  Its  piety  is 
truly  christian. 

My  God !    Thou  didst  awake  me. 
This  night,  out  of  a  sad  and  fearful  Di-eam, 

That  sensible  did  make  me 
Of  sins,  which  heretofore  small  sins  did  seem. 

And  ere  I  perfect  heed  could  take 

Whether  I  slept  or  was  awake. 

He  that  is  watching  ev'ry  hour 

\Vhom  he  may  mischief  and  devour. 
Sought  how  he  might  thereby  advantage  make  : 
Rebuke  him — for  my  dear  Redeemer's  sake ! 

Permit  Thou  no  transgression. 
Whereof  I  heretofore  have  guilty  been. 

Nor  great  nor  small  omission. 
Which  I  forgotten  have,  or  overseen, 

(Either  through  want  of  penitence 

Or  of  confessing  my  offence) 

To  rise  against  me,  great  or  small ; 

For,  Lord  !    I  do  repent  them  all : 
And  likewise  (be  it  more  or  less) 
Renounce  all  trust  in  my  own  righteousness. 

Oh  God  !    most  kind,  most  holy  ! 
Remember  not  the  errours  of  my  life  : 

Call  not  to  mind  my  folly. 
To  add  a  new  affliction  to  my  grief. 

World,  flesh,  and  devil,  my  foes  are  ; 

And  much  more  than  my  strength  can  bear. 


480 

On  me  they  have  already  cast. 
Unless  that  Thou  compassion  hast. 
Oh  !  throw  my  sins  out  of  thy  sight  therefore. 
That  they  may  not  be  seen  or  heard  of  more. 

My  soul  doth  now  abhor  them  : — 
Thine  only  Son  hath,  with  his  precious  blood. 

Made  satisfaction  for  them. 
Thou  didst  accept  it : — I  believe  it  good. 

And  therefore  tho*  they  sometimes  make 
My  heart  to  tremble  and  to  ake, 
My  soul  is  confident — they  pard'ned  are. 
As  if  they  ne're  committed  were. 
Confirm  it  so — that,  sleeping  and  awake. 
Sweet  rest  in  thee  I  may  for  ever  take. 

Dear  God  of  my  salvation  ! 
Preserve  me,  by  thy  love  and  mighty  pow'r. 

From  perilous  temptation. 
In  weal  and  woe,  and  at  my  dying  hour. 
Me  let  Thy  guardian  angels  keep. 
When  I  do  wake,  and  while  I  sleep. 
From  shame  without,  and  fear  within. 
From  evil  thoughts  and  actual  sin  ; 
That  friends  and  foes,  and  every  one  may  see- 
No  man  in  vain  doth  put  their  trust  in  Thee  !* 


f 


•  The  Editor  begs  to  add  the  testimony  of  his  own  admiration  of  these 
affecting  passages.  He  indulges  a  faint  hope  that  the  Poefs  fame  may  still 
rise  again  to  the  mark  it  had  attained,  while  his  youthful  genius  was  yet  in 
blossom. — Let  the  reader  peruse  the  Fidelia,  of  which  a  new  edition  has  ap- 
peared in  12mo.  within  these  few  days. 


481 

"  To  the  Editor  of  Resiituta. 


SIR, 


Enthusiastically  admiring  the  strains 
of  our  elder  bards,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  not 
to  reap  peculiar  gratification  from  the  perusal  of  your 
very  interesting  work,  the  "  Restituta,"  in  which 
so  many  of  their  productions  are  rescued  from  the 
obscurity  in  which  they  have  so  long  and  undeservedly 
laid,  and  are  brought  to  light.  I  know  not,  Sir,  whe- 
ther you  ever  accept  of  contributions  to  this  elegant 
and  justly  esteemed  publication,  or  whether  you  re- 
serve entirely  to  yourself  the  task  (if  such  it  can  be 
called)  of  filling  its  pages;  but,  grateful  for  the  pleasure 
they  have  afforded  me,  and  desirous  of  evincing  my 
obligation,  I  have  ventured  to  transcribe  a  few  extracts 
from  a  little  poem  which  I  picked  up  by  chance  on  a 
stall  of  old  books  in  London,  thinking  it  might  have 
escaped  your  research. 

The  title  page  of  this  little  volume  runs  thus  :— 

"  The  M  Court  Convert,  M  or,  a"^  sincere  Sorrow  for 
Sin,  faithfully  %  traversed,  M  expressing  the  Dig' 
nity  of  aWt  true  Penitent.  M 

*'  Drawn  in  little  by  one,  whose  manifold  misfortunes 
abroad  have  rendered  him  necessitated  to  seek  for 
shelter  here,   by  dedicating   himself  and   this  said 
small  Poem.  ^  By  H.  A.  Gent.  ^ 
"  Printed  for  the  Author. 

iNo  date  or  printer's  name. — B.  L. 

VOL.  II.  3  Q 


482 

The  Author  appears  not  to  have  determined  whont 
he  should  dedicate  his  book  to,  previous  to  the  printing 
of  it,  for  at  the  head  of  the  epistle  dedicatory  is  printed 

"  To  the  honoured 

[then  underneath  is  zcritten,  in  black  letter,  probably 
by  the  Author  himself] 

♦*  ffitjmunti  IPriUcauy,  ©011. 
"  Sir, 

[then  follows  the  epistle,  j?r///^eJ,  the  whole  of  which  I 
shall  transcribe,  as  it  gives  some  account  of  the  author.] 

"  The  author's  condition  being  at  present  on  a  level, 
and  the  basis  of  his  former  fortune  overthrown,  to  get  clear  of 
the  dilemma,  and  prevent  his  future  interment  in  the  ruins, 
humbly  takes  leave  to  dedicate  this  small  poem  (the  offspring 
of  a  pennyless  Muse)  to  your  kind  acceptance}  having  nothing 
in  this  iron  age,  wherewithal  to  support  him,  but  a  feeble  quill. 
He  knows  it  is  not  practicable  to  trade  for  wealth  in  the  Poet's 
territories  j  he  might  as  well  depend  on  the  wheel  of  fortune 
for  a  benefit,  which  only  turns  to  the  advantage  of  her  fa- 
vouiites,  than  fish  for  pearl  in  the  Muses*  Helicon,  where  are 
only  wrecks,  and  no  riches  :  he  has  only  play'd  a  little  about 
the  brink ;  which,  if  not  well  done,  is  submitted  to  correction  : 
but,  believing  the  spirit  of  goodness  and  true  humihty  resides  in 
your  generous  breast,  as  a  rich  gem  in  a  noble  cascate,  he  is 
encourag  d  to  lay  this  aforesaid  brat  at  your  hospitable  gate ; 
for  they  whose  estimate  of  men  and  things  proceed  not  from  a 
blind  and  popular  applause,  live  up  most  near  the  example 
of  our  Saviour,  who,  when  on  earth,  declin'd  the  conversation 
of  a  proud  Tetrarch,  for  that  of  a  poor  lazer,  and  valu'd  more 


4'83 

the  holy  acts  of  an  humble  fisher,  than  all  the  great  and  herolck 
4eeds  of  an  haughty  Caesar. 

I  am  your  honour's 

most  dutiful  servant, 

Henry  Anderson." 

The  Poem  opens  with  the  following  lines. 

"  Deluding  world,  which  hath  so  long  amus'd, 
A.nd  with  false  shapes  my  dreaming  soul  abus'd : 
Tyrannick  court,  where  simple  mortals  buy. 
With  hfe  and  fortune,  splendid  slavery  3 
Henceforth  adieu ;  my  goodly  stock  of  years. 
Laid  out  for  that,  I  now  lament  with  tears. 
Monarchs,  who  with  amazing  splendour  glare. 
And  favourites,  who  tlaeir  reflections  are ; 
Both  shine,  'tis  true,  but  tis  like  glass  they  do  j 
Brittle  as  that,  and  made  of  ashes  too  : 
The  hour  is  set,  wherein  they  must  disown 
The  Royal  Pomp,  the  Treasure,  and  the  Throne : 
The  dazzling  lustre  of  majestic  state 
Shall  be  extinguish'd  by  the  hand  of  Fate  :  < 

Highness  must  stoop  into  the  hollow  grave. 
And  keep  sad  court  in  a  cold  dampish  cave. 
Beauty  and  jovial  j'outh  decays  apace ; 
Age  still  and  sickness  oft  doth  both  deface  : 
The  favourite,  whooj  all  adore  and  fear. 
Whose  strength  doth  so  unshakeable  appear. 
Is  but  a  tower  built  on  flitting  sands. 
No  longer  than  the  tempest  sleepeth,  stands : 
Nor  can  the  calm  of  fortune  long  insure  j 
Or  monarch's  favour  crazy  man  secure : 
We  moulder  of  ourselves,  and  soon,  or  late. 
We  must  resign  beloved  life  to  fate, 


484 

From  stately  palaces  we  must  remove. 
The  narrow  lodging  of  a  grave  to  prove  ; 
Leave  the  fair  train,  and  the  light-guilded  room. 
To  lye  alone,  benighted  in  the  tomb. 
God  only  is  immortal :  man  not  so  3 
Life  to  be  paid,  upon  demand,  we  owe. 
The  rigid  laws  of  fate  with  none  dispence. 
From  the  least  beggar  to  the  greatest  prince; 
The  crooked  scythe,  that  no  distinction  knows, 
Monarchs,  arid  slaves,  indifferently  mows. 
One  day  we'd  pity  those  we  now  admire. 
When  after  all  the  glory  they  acquire  j 
When  after  all  the  conquests  they  have  made. 
Fierce  Death  their  lawrels  in  the  dust  hatli  laid." 

The  Poet  then  goes  on  to  shew,  that  God  alone 
should  engross  the  whole  of  our  love;  and  that,  while 
•we  revere  kings,  we  must  not  forget  to  pay  homage  to 
God,  whose  vicegerents  they  are.  Setting  forth  then 
the  folly  of  seeking  the  smiles  of  Princes,  so  difficult 
to  be  obtained,  and  so  easily  changed  into  frowns,  and 
shewing  how  little  is  necessary  to  find  favour  with 
God,  even  simple  innocence  alone,  the  Author  thu? 
encourages  us  to  repair  to  his  court. 

''His  bounty,  like  his  treasure's,  uncoufin'd. 
By  giving,  still  to  give  tlie  more  inclin'd. 
Come,  then,  and  crowd  into  his  Royal  Court, 
And  to  the  source  of  Goodness  all  resort. 
Love  Him,  whose  goodness  words  cannot  express ; 
And  whose  all-flowing  bounty  is  not  less. 
Lift  up  youi'  reason  then,  and  have  a  care. 
No  foolish  worldly  baubles  enter  there  : 
With  such  precaution  you'll  acquire  his  grace, 
^nd  purchase  in  his  glorious  Court  a  place^ 


485 

Where  you  will  bless  tlie  day  you  first  awoke. 
The  happy  time  in  which  your  slumber  broke ; 
Crowds  of  all  blessings  will  your  heart  invade. 
And  your  fresh  blooming  joys  will  never  fade." 

Descanting  upon  the  security  which  we  should  thus 
be  placed  in,  and  contrasting  it  with  the  fear  which 
ever  reigns  in  the  courts  of  princes,  where 

"  An  angry  word,  a  slight,  a  gloomy  frown. 
Will  be  enough  to  cast  a  courtier  down." 

And  after  again  shewing  the  easiness  of  God's  service, 
the  Poet  continues— 

'*  Of  monarchs,  he  to  Him  is  great  alone. 

Who  to  himself  becomes  a  little  one. 

The  only  greatness  which  poor  man  can  have. 

Is  to  be  here  his  Great  Redeemer's  slave. 

That  king  that  doth  not  heav'n's  just  King  obey, 

A  traitor  is  himself  to  majesty. 

The  simple  shepherd,  who  with  chaste  desires. 

And  cheerful  innocence  to  heav'n  aspires : 

The  honest,  painful  labourer,  who  sweats 

From  morn  to  night,  to  get  the  bread  he  eats  ; 

If  he  serves  heaven,  is  indeed  more  great 

Than  kings,  with  all  their  pride  and  purple  state. 

Thrice  brave  those  monarchs  who  had  dar'd  to  fly 

From  all  the  alluring  charms  of  majesty  j 

****** 

Thrice  blest  are  those,  who  fled  from  being  great. 
From  courts,  to  suffer  cottages  retreat : 
Heav'n  kindly  doth  their  humble  thoughts  defeat  5 
For  greatness,  while  they  strive  to  shun,  they  meet. 
They  are  made  great,  and  [far  ?]  more  glorious  kings. 
By  being  just,  than  by  all  earthly  things. 


486 

Ah  1  how  we  win,  in  losing  for  our  God, 

While  heav'n  is  gain'd  for  a  poor  sorry  clod 

Of  earth  :  when  for  a  short  grief,  here  endur'd, 

"We  are  of  everlasting  joys  assur'd  : 

Since  for  one  pleasure,  we  refuse  our  sence. 

We  shall  have  millions  for  our  recompence. 

Poor  abus'd  men,  unlucky  flock,  that  stray 

Without  the  shepherd,  void  of  the  right  way. 

Unthinking  souls,  that  perish  with  delight. 

Which  all  the  threats  of  heaven  cannot  affright. 

For  sure  those  pains,  which  doth  on  sin  attend. 

Pain  which  begins,  but  never  must  have  end  : 

The  immaterial  fire  that  burneth  stiU, 

But  to  their  great  misfortune  cannot  kill : 

The  Devil's  dungeons,  [and]  all  sorts  of  pain. 

Which  human  fortitude  cannot  sustain. 

Might  (one  would  think)  men's  brutish  courage  shake. 

And  in  our  souls  a  noble  fear  awake." 

"  And  if  this  fear  will  not  prevent  us  from  com- 
mitting sin,  at  least  let  the  love  of  Jesus  dissuade  us 
from  it,"  says  the  Poet.  He  then  contrasts  the  lq.w  of 
Jesus  with  the  laws  of  the  world. 

"  —  1  th'  world,  a  hundred  laws  there  be. 
Void  of  all  sense,  but  full  of  tyranny  j 
Where  foppish  form  our  liberty  restrains. 
And  cripples  us  with  false  fantastic  chains  : 
You  must  pretend  to  Jove  whom  you  detest  j 
Fawn  on  the  great  one  when  by  him  opprest  j 
With  sneering  praise  guild  o're  his  blackest  crimes. 
And  all  those  humours  which  debauch  the  times : 
Mask  your  displeasure  with  a  smiling  face. 
And  swear  you're  highly  pleas'd  with  your  disgrace  ; 
Triumph  in  shew,  when  you  are  overtlarown, 
Aiid  all  your.discontents  and  griefs  disown  j 


487 

Cutting  off  quite  (with  base  uneasy  art) 

The  honest  commerce  of  the  mouth  aud  heart. 

O  shameful  slavery  of  poor  mankind. 

Unworthy  of  a  man,  or  christian  mind  j 

Instead  of  Christ,  whom  we  should  always  own,^ 

False  tyranny  and  passion  we  enthrone ; 

Crino-inar  to  those  that  from  all  virtue  run. 

To  serve  a  thousand  masters  in  their  turn. 

The  crowded  way  of  vice  cou'd  never  show 

Such  pleasure,  which  true  virtue  doth  bestow  : 

From  innocence,  a  native  joy  accrues ; 
But  wracking  sorrow,  always  guilt  pursues  : 

The  ill  man's  never  quiet,  nor  content ; 

The  good  is  full  of  cheer,  though  penitent ; 
His  inward  calm  upon  his  brow  appears. 
And  halcyon  like,  no  blust'ring  storm  he  fears. 
Him*  all  the  turns  of  Fate's  prepar'd  to  find. 
Meets  frowns  and  favours  with  an  equal  mind. 
If  sickness  warns  him  of  approaching  death  j 
Or  fortune  robs  him  of  his  worldly  wealth. 
It  cannot  his  unshaken  courage  move. 
Who,  above  earth,  hath  plac'd  in  heav'n  his  love  : 
»     His  health,  his  riches,  and  his  sole  delight. 
Is  sure  to  serve  his  God  with  all  his  might ; 
And  that  great  Master  faithfully  to  trace. 
Whose  death  was  triumph,  pleasure  a  disgrace :" 

Here  the  Poet  breaks  out  into  a  rapturous  eulogium 
of  the  cross,  and  Christ's  sufFerings,  which  I  shall  not 
transcribe,  as  it  is  unworthy  of  the  subject.  He  then 
enumerates  the  mercies  of  God  towards  him,  and  his 
ingratitude,  lamenting  his  folly  in  having  so  long 
courted  the' great. 

"  For  what  avails  a  mitre,  or  a  crown, 
•    Or  all  that  here  a  man  can  call  his  own  ? 


488 

Those  whom  our  fawning  flatterers  call  great  j 
Wliom  baser  mankind  prostrate  at  their  feet,* 
In  the  divine,  eternal  glass  appear. 
As  little  as  the  meanest  mortal  here.— 
"When  the  eye  in  darkness  sets,f  and  life's  fire 
With  the  ice  of  death,  in  sorrow  doth  expire  : 
What  matters  gold,  by  some  men  so  ador'd  ? 
What  pleasure  will  a  starry  crown  afford  ? 
This  garb  ill  fits  a  pale  and  lifeless  head. 
And  that  bright  metal  shines  not  to  the  dead  j 
Corruption  then  will  not  forbear  its  prey. 
For  fear  of  dead  and  helpless  majesty  j 
Nor  will  the  lustre  which  amaz'd  poor  man. 
Dazzle  the  legions  of  bold  vermin  then : 
Alas  !  there's  no  distinction  in  the  grave 
Between  the  greatest  king,  [and  ?]  meanest  slave. 
All  flesh  is  there  unto  one  chang'd  destin'd. 
And  leaves  all  worldly  goods  and  fame  behind. 
But  difi^erent  fates  the  righteous  souls  attend. 
From  theirs  that  here  doth  make  a  wicked  end. 
Those  of  the  good  to  heav'n's  great  King  repair. 
The  unknown  pleasures  of  his  court  to  share. 
In  peace  and  glcTrious  triumph  to  enjoy 
The  fruit  of  their  laborious  victory. 
But  those  who  lodg'd  in  bodies  did  defy. 
With  [unrepented  crimes]  the  Deity,  J 

*  This  line  should  run  thus  perhaps : 

Who  prostrate  baser  mankind  at  their  feet. 

t  [When  sets  the  eye  in  darkness  ?] 

}  This  Ime,  in  the  copy  I  have  of  the  Court  Convert,  has  been  cut  off  in 
the  binding  j  the  tops  of  some  of  the  letters  ho^Vever  remain,  and  I  can  almost 
with  certainty  decipher  the  three  words  not  enclosed  in  brackets ;  the  others 
appealing  to  correspond  with  the  marks  remaining,  and  with  the  distance 
between  the  words  which  could  be  ascertained,  I  hare  ventured  to  supply 
the  deficiency. 


489 

Condemned  to  chains,  and  hopeless  of  relief^. 
Die  to  all  bliss,  but  ever  live  to  grief. 
It  is  a  doleful  scene  to  see  base  man 
Provoke  his  patient  Maker  all  he  can  j 
Shun  happiness,  so  easy  to  be  won^^ 
And  take  a  world  of  pains  to  be  undone  j 
Even  employ  his  whole  life  long  to  buy 
A  wretched  right  to  endless  misery." 

I  shall  here  close  my  extracts  from  this  little  Poem, 
which  finishes  with  an  expression  of  the  Author's 
gratitude  to  the  Saviour  for  having  delivered  him  from 
the  court  and  the  world,  and  declaring  his  readiness  to 
relinquish  every  thing,  even  life,  for  the  service  of 
God. 

The  passages  which  I  have  selected  from  this  little 
Poem  are  the  only  ones  which  appeared  to  me  to  possess 
any  merit ;  and  in  transcribing  them  I  have  scrupu- 
lously adhered  to  the  text,  enclosing  in  brackets,  with 
a  note  of  interrogation,  such  amendments  as  seemed 
necessary  from  misprints. 

I  had  almost  forgotten  to  mention  the  size  of  the 
volume  in  question  :  it  is  an  18""°.  and  contains  twenty- 
three  pages,  besides  the  title  page,  and  one  for  the 
epistle  dedicatory.  The  first  page  of  the  poem,  how- 
ever, is  marked  9,  and  from  that  the  pages  are  numbered 
in  regular  succession  to  32,  when  the  poem  ends.  You 
will  probabl}'^  smile.  Sir,  at  my  particularity  in  stating 
these  trifling  circumstances,  but  I  thought  it  better  to 
run  the  risk  of  writing  more  than  was  necessary,  than  to 
omit  any  thing  which  might  be  desired  by  writing  less. 

Who  the  Author  of  the  Court  Convert  and  his 
Patron  w«re,  I  know  norbut  hv  their  names. 

VOL.   II.  3  R 


490 


S<*>®«" 


Two  Bookes  of  Epigrammes  and  Epitaphs.  Dedicated 
to  two  top  branches  of  Gentry :  Sir  Charles  Shir- 
leyj  Baronet,  and  William  Davenport,  Esquire. 
Written  by  Thomas  Bancroft. 

London :  printed  by  I,  Okes,  for  Matthew  Walbancke, 
and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  in  Grayes-Jnne-gate. 
1639. 

8vo. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  EPIGRAMS, 

Dedication  to  Sir  Charles  Shirley,  Baronet. 

"  This  verse  (whose  Author  was  so  near  you  bred) 
Seems  to  run  straight  to  you  for  patronage. 
As  to  a  brave  bud,  that  hath  promised 
The  fruit  of  honour  in  maturer  age  : 
Deign  then  these  leaves  to  sweeten  with  your  spring's 
Faire  growth,  and  listen  whilst  a  black-bird  sings. 


II. 

To  the  Reader. 

Reader,  till  Martial  thou  hast  well  survey'd. 
Or  Owen's  wit  with  Johnson's  learning  weigh'd> 
Forbear  with  thankeless  censure  to  accuse 
My  writ  of  errour^  or  condemn  my  Muse. 


491 

III. 
To  the  Same. 

Though  Epigr&ms  be  but  a  curter  kind 

Of  satyrs,  striking  on  as  sharpe  a  string. 

To  dysticks  or  tetrasticks  do  not  bind 

My  free-borne  Muse,  for  youth  would  have  his  swing. 


IV. 

To  his  Beoke. 

Deare  issue,  some  thy  name  that  view'd. 
Did  from  rash  premises  conclude. 
That,  through  suffusion  of  thy  gall. 
Thy  parts  would  prove  ictericall ; 
And  that  (wrapt  up  in  sheets  unclean) 
With  scurrile  rhymes  and  jests  obscene. 
Thou  would'st  prophane  a  good  man's  ear : 
But,  as  thou  art  to  virtue  dear. 
Such  lewd  licentious  tricks  defy. 
And  cheat  such  censures  honestly. 


V. 

On  the  Spheares. 

What  are  those  ever- turning  heavenly  spheares. 
But  wheels,  that  from  our  cradles  to  our  urns. 
Wind  up  our  threads  of  life,  that  hourely  weares  ? 
And  they  that  soonest  dye  have  happiest  turnes. 


492 
VI. 

On  several  Countries. 

In  several  figures  several  regions  are 

Cast  and  describ'd,  some  round,  some  angular : 

So  Ireland's  form  is  oval :  Britain  takes 

The  threat' ning  semblance  of  a  sharp'ned  axe, 

Where-with  large  France  seems  hewn  into  a  square : 

And  to  an  oxe's  hyde  we  Spain  compare : 

]But  Nature  well  brave  Italy  doth  shew. 

Like  a  swift  leg,  that  far  with  Fame  doth  go. 


VII. 

On  cracking  of  Nuts. 

Much  cracking  hurts  the  teeth,  but  to  the  tongue 
The  bragging  humour  does  a  deeper  wrong. 

VIII. 

On  Thomas  Randall. 

Who  know  not  this  brave  sparke  of  Phoebus  ?  Whose 

Botli  life  and  learning  might  detraction  pose. 

Save  only  that  he  drank  too  greedily 

O'  th'  Muses  spring,  and  left  the  Sisters  dry  ; 

Who  smiUng  therefore,  gave  the  Fates  command 

His  body  to  convert  to  pearly  sand. 

And  strew  it  in  their  Fountain,  there  to  shine 

Like  his  clear  tlioughts,  and  make  tlieir  draught  divine. 


493 
IX. 

To  a  Glazier  shrewdly  married. 

Of  glass  and  lead,  woman  and  weighty  care. 
Thou  hast  enough,  and  some  perhaps  to  spare ; 
Yet  break  thou  wilt,  nor  can  thy  brittle  trade 
Long  hold,  now  quarrels  are  so  rashly  made. 


^ 

X. 

Of  the  Earth. 

Those  that  make  earth  a  living  monster,  whose 
Breath  moves  the  ocean,  when  it  ebbs  and  flows, 
Whose  warts  are  rugged  hills,  whose  wrinkles  vales. 
Whose  ribs  are  rocks,  and  bowels,  minerals. 
What  will  they  have  so  vast  a  creature  eat, 
Sith  sea  too  salt,  and  aire's  too  windy  meat  ? 

XI. 

A  drunken  Brabler. 

Who  only  in  his  cups  will  fight,  is  like 

A  clock  that  must  be  oyl'd  well,  ere  it  strike. 


XII. 

An  Epitaph  on  his  Father  and  Mother,  luried  near  to- 
gether in  Swarston  Church, 

Here  lies  a  pair  of  peerless  friends. 
Whose  goodness,  like  a  precious  chain. 


494 

Adom'd  their  souls  in  lives  and  ends  j 
Whom  when  detraction  self  would  staine. 
She  drops  her  tears  instead  of  gall. 
And  helps  to  mourn  their  funerall. 


XIII. 
To  James  Shirley. 

James,  thou  and  I  did  spend  some  precious  years 
At  Katherine-Hallj  since  then,  we  sometime  feel 
In  our  poetick  braines,  as  plaine  appears, 
A  whirling  trick,  then  caught  from  Katherine's  wheel. 


XIV. 

Usurer. 

He^uts  forth  money  as  the  hangman  sofwes 
His  fatal  hempe-seed,  that  with  cvirses  grows : 
So  grows  hts  damn'd  wealth  in  the  Devil's  name. 
That  doth  in  Hell  the  harvest-home  proclaim  j 
For  which  deep  reason  my  poor  Muse  prefers 
I'his  suite,  that  Poets  ne're  prove  usurers. 


XV. 

An  Epitaph  on  Mistress  Anne  Knyveton. 

Here  hidden  lies  dear  treasure  under  ground. 
Blest  Innocence,  with  budding  virtue  crown'dj 


495 

That  like  a  taper  on  some  altar  fir'd. 
Shone  fairly  forth,  and  sweetly  so  expir'd. 
Expecting  here,  in  darksome  shade  of  night, 
A  rising  sun,  that  brings  eternal  light. 


XVI. 

Another,  on  the  Same. 

Gentle  friends,  with  tears  forbear 
To  drown  a  wither'd  flower  here. 
That,  in  spring  of  nature's  pride. 
Drank  the  morning  dew  and  dy'd. 
Death  may  teach  you  here  to  live. 
And  a  friendly  call  doth  give 
To  this  humble  house  of  mine  : 
Here's  his  inn^  and  this  the  sign. 


XVII. 

To  Thomas  Pegge,  Gentleman. 

Methinks  I  may  to  sugar  and  to  wine 

Our  loves  compare,  which  kind  discourses  mixt : 

Since  when,  that  heart  that  totally  was  mine. 

Hath  in  your  bosom's  paradise  been  fixt. 

What  wonder  then  my  friendship's  force  doth  last 

Firm  to  your  goodness  ?  you  have  pegg'd  it  fast. 


496 

XVIII. 

To  an  Eunuch. 

Thou  still  art  wrestling,  yet  the  fall  dost  get. 
As  ships  that  want  their  ballast,  over-set. 


XIX. 

Against  Drunkenness. 

Of  all  soule- sicknesses  that  mortals  have. 
This  falls  the  heaviest,  quenching  many  a  brave 
Young  spark,  yet  kindling  lust's  unhallow'd  fire. 
Sweet  friends,  that  to  the  two-topt  mount  aspire. 
Of  noble  art  and  honour,  to  the  ditch 
Of  base  contempt,  tumble  this  loathed  witch. 
That  worse  than  Circe,  with  a  cup  doth  sack 
The  fort  of  reason,  and  sound  sences  crack. 
For  who,  not  frantick,  would  diseases  buy 
At  a  lame  rate,  or  thirst  for  poverty  V 


EXTRACTS 

From  LACHRYM^  LACHRYMARUM,  l6l^. 

Upon  the  unseasonable  times  that  have  followed  the  unseasou' 
able  death  of  my  sweete  master.  Prince  Henry,  by  J.  Hall. 

"  Fond  vulgar,  canst  thou  thinke  it  strange  to  find. 
So  watery  water,  and  so  wasteful!  winde  ? 
What  other  face  could  nature's  age  become. 
In  looking  on  great  Henry's  herse  and  toome  ? 
The  world's  whole  frame,  his  part  in  mourning  beares : 
The  windes  are  sighes  :  the  raine  is  heaven's  teares : 
And  if  these  teares  be  rife,  and  sighes  be  strong, 
Such  sighs,  such  teares,  to  these  sad  times  belong. 
These  show'rs  have  drown'd  all  hearts  :  these  sighs  did  make 
The  church,  the  world,  with  griefs,  with  tears  to  shake. 
Weep  on,  ye  heav'ns  j  and  sigh  as  ye  begon  : 
Men's  sighes  and  teares  are  slight,  and  quickly  done. 


Of  the  Rainbowe,  that  was  reported  to  be  seen  in  the  night, 
over  St.  James's,  before  the  Prince's  death}  and  of  th$ 
unseasonable  winter  since,  by  J.  Hall. 

Was  ever  mighty  Rainbowe  seen  ? 
Did  ever  winter  mourne  in  greene  ? 
Had  that  long  Bowe  been  bent  by  day; 
That  chased  all  our  clouds  away  : 
But  now  that  it  by  night  appeares. 
It  tells  the  deluge  of  our  teares. 
No  marvell  rainbowes  shine  by  night. 
When  suns  yshorne  do  lose  their  light. 
VOL.  II.  3s 


498 

Iris  was  wont  to  be  of  old 
Heaven's  messenger  to  earthly  mold ; 
And  now  she  camCj  to  bring  us  dowft 
Sad  newes  of  Henry's  better  crowne. 
And  as  the  Easterne  star  did  tell 
The  Persian  sages  of  that  cell. 
Where  Sion's  King  was  borne,  and  lay ; 
And  over  that  same  house  did  stay : 
So  did  this  westerne  breeze  descry 
Where  Henry  prince  of  men  should  die. 
Lo  there  this  arch  of  heavenly  state 
Rais'd  to  the  triumph  of  his  fate  j 
Yet,  rais'd  in  dark  of  night  to  showe 
His  glory  should  be  with  our  woe. 
And  now,  for  that  men's  mourning  weed. 
Reports  a  griefe,  not  felt  indeed ; 
The  winter  weeps,  and  moumes  indeed. 
Though  clothed  In  a  summer  weed. 


To  Master  Joshua  Sylvester. 

I  dare  confesse,  of  Muses  more  than  nine. 
Nor  list,  nor  can  I  envi  none  but  thine. 
She's  drench' t  alone  in  Sion's  sacred  spring. 
Her  Maker's  praise  hath  sweetly  chose  to  sing. 
And  reacheth  neerest  th'  Angels'  notes  above, 
Nof  lists  to  sing,  or  tales,  or  wars,  or  love. 
One  while  I  finde  her  in  her  nimble  flight. 
Cutting  the  brazen  spheares  of  heaven  bright. 
Thence  rushing  downe  through  native's  closet  dore. 
She  ransacks  all  her  Grandame's  secret  store. 
And  diving  to  the  darknesse  of  the  deepe. 
Sees  there  what  wealth  the  waves  in  prison  keep. 


^99 

And,  what  shee  sees  above,  below,  between,* 

Shee  showes  and  sings  to  other's  ears  and  eyes. 

'Tis  true ;  thy  Muse  another's  steps  doth  presse. 

The  more's  her  paine ;  nor  is  her  praise  the  lesse. 

Freedome  gives  scope  unto  the  roving  thought. 

Which  by  restraint  is  curb'd.     Who  wonders  ought 

That  feete  unfett'red,  walken  far,  or  fast. 

Which  pent  with  chaines,  more  want  their  wonted  haste. 

Thou  follow' St  Bartasse's  diviner  straine ; 

And  sing'st  his  numbers  in  his  native  veine. 

Bartas  was  some  French  angel,  girt  with  bayes. 

And  thou  a  Bartas  art,  in  English  layes. 

Whether  is  more  ?  mee  seems  the  sooth  to  sayn. 

One  Bartas  speakes  in  tongues,  in  nations  twain, 

Jos.  Hall. 

Other  poems  b}'^  Bishop  Hall  occur  in  Carmen  Fu' 
nebre  Caroli  Horni,  1596,  and  in  funeral  verses  upon 
the  death  of  Sir  Edward  Lewkenor  and  his  Lady,  I6O6. 
An  encomiastic  epigram  by  him  is  prefixed  to  Green- 
ham's  works,  1601 ;  and  verses  In  Autorem  before 
Bishop  Bedell's  Tale  of  the  Pozoder  Plot. 

f 

•  Qu.  the  transcript  here  ?     Editor. 


500 


VERSES  PREFIXED  TO 

"  The  Wil  of  Wit,  Wit's  Wil,  or  Wil's  Wit,  chuse  you 
whether.  Containing  Jive  discourses,  the  effects 
whereof  follow.  Reade  and  iudge.  Newly  cor' 
reded  and  amended ;  being  the  fift  time  imprinted. 
Compiled  by  Nicholas  Breton,  Gentleman. 

Non  ha,  che  non  sa. 

London,  printed  by  Thomas  Creede,  l60(5." 
4to. 

yid  Lectorem,  de  Authore. 

What  shall  I  say  of  gold,  more  than  'tis  gold? 

Or  call  the  diamond  more  than  precious  ? 
Or  praise  the  man  with  praises  manifold. 

When  of  himselfe  himselfe  is  vertuous  ? 
Wit  is  but  Wit,  yet  such  his  wit  and  will. 
As  proves  ill  good,  or  makes  good  to  be  ill. 

Why,  what's  his  wit  ?  proved,  and  aske  his  will. 

Why,  what's  his  will  ?  reade  on,  and  learne  of  Wil. 
Both  good  I  gesse,  yet  each  a  severall  ill. 

This  may  seeme  strange  to  those  that  heare  of  it. 
Nay,  nere  a  whit :  for  vertue,  many  waies, 
Is  made  a  vice, — yet  vertue  hath  her  praise. 

Wherefore,  O  Breton  !  worthy  is  thy  worke 
Of  commendations,  worthy  to  the  worth  : 

Sith  captious  wittes  in  every  corner  lurke, 
A  bold  attempt  it  is  to  set  them  forth 

A  forme  of  wit — and  that  of  such  a  sort 

As  none  offends — for  all  is  said  in  sport. 


501 

And  such  a  sport,  as  serves  for  other  kinds. 

Both  young  and  old,  for  learning,  armes,  and  love. 

For  ladies'  humors,  mirth  with  none  he  fiudes. 
With  some  extreames  their  patient  mindes  to  prove. 

Well,  Breton  !  write  in  hand,  thou  hast  the  thing. 

As  when  it  comes,  love,  wealth,  and  fame  will  bring. 

W,  S. 

The  three  following  are  taken  from  this  Tract. 

A  Song  betweene  IVit  and  Will. 

Wit.  What  art  thou.  Will  ?      W.  S.  babe  of  nature's  broode. 
W.     Who  was  thy  syre  ?         W.  Sweet  lust,  as  lovers  say. 
W.    Thy  mother  who }  W.  Wilde,  lustie,  wanton  blood. 

W.     When  wert  thou  born  ?     W.  In  merrie  moneth  of  May. 
W.     And  where  brought  up  ?  W.  In  schoole  of  little  skill. 
W.     What  learn'dst  thou  there  ?  W.  Love  is  my  lesson  still. 


The  Song  letween  Miserie  and  Care. 

Mis.  What  art  thou.  Care }    C.  A  secret  skil  unseene. 

M.     Who  was  tliy  syre }    C.  Sound  Wisdome,    M,  Mother 

who? 
C.      Devise.    M.  And  who  thy  nurse  ?    C.  Delight,  I  weene. 
M.    When  wert  thou  born  ?  C.  In  harvest.    M.  What  to  do  ? 
C.     To  worke,    M.  With  whom  ?    C.  With  Wit  and  honest 

WUl. 
M.    What  worke  ?    C.  In  paine — to  gleane  the  good  from  ill. 


The  Song  of  Care. 

Come,  all  the  world,  submit  yourselves  to  Care, 
And  him  acknowledge  for  your  chiefest  king; 


502 

With  whom  no  king  or  keisar  may  compare. 
Who  bears  so  great  a  sway  in  every  thing. 
At  home,  abroad,  in  peace,  and  ecbe  in  warre. 
Care  chiefly  stands,  to  either  make  or  marre. 

The  court  he  keepes,  is  in  a  wise  conceit. 

His  house  a  head,  where  reason  rales  the  wit ; 

His  seate,  the  heart,  that  hateth  all  deceit ; 
His  bed,  the  braine,  that  feeles  no  frantick  lit : 

His  diet  is  the  cates  of  sweete  content. 

Thus  is  his  life  in  heavenly  pleasure  spent. 

His  kingdome  is  the  whole  world  round  about } 
Sorrow  his  sword,  to  such  as  do  rebell : 

His  counsaile,  wisdom,  that  decides  each  doubt  j 
His  skill,  foresight  of  things  to  come  to  tell : 

His  chief  delight  is  studies  of  devise. 

To  keepe  his  subjects  out  of  miseries. 

Oh,  courteous  king !  oh,  high  and  mightie  Care ! 

What  shall  I  write  in  honour  of  thy  name  ? 
But  to  the  world,  by  due  desert  declare 

Thy  royall  state,  and  thy  immortal  fame. 
Then  so  I  end,  as  I  at  first  begun. 
Care  is  the  king  of  kings,  when  all  is  done. 


503 


"  The  Garden  of  Prudence,  wherein  is  contained  a  pa- 
theticall  Discourse  and  godly  Meditation,  most 
briejiie  touching  the  vanities  of  the  World,  the  ca- 
lamities of  Hell,  and  the  felicities  of  Heaven.  You 
shall  also  find  planted  in  the  same  divers  sweet  and 
pleasant  Flowers,  most  necessarie  and  comfortable 
both  for  body  and  soule. 

"  Printed  at  London  by  Richard  Johnes,  at  the  signe  of 
the  Rose  and  Crowne,  next  above  S.  Andrewes 
Church  in  Holborne^  1595." 

8vo.  5  sheets. 

This  mixture  of  prose  and  rhyme  is  inscribed  to 
Anne  Countesse  of  Warwick,  by  Bartholomew  Chap- 
pell  :  the  man,  as  Ritson*  thinks  probable,  who  had 
some  poetical  altercation  with  Thomas  Camel,  who 
was  himself  engaged  in  a  concurring  controversy  with 
Churchyard,  the  old  court-poet.  From  an  inspection 
of  the  strange  metrical  jingle  which  took  place  between 
the  above  parties,  1  doubt  whether  "  Goodman  Gef- 
feray  Chappell  of  Whipstable"  was  more  than  a  fabri- 
cated designation ;  and,  if  a  real  one,  I  doubt  again, 
whether  it  was  likely  to  apply  to  Bartholomew  Chappell, 
who  published  this  little  moral  work  forty-three  years 
afterward. 

The  title-page  of  his  volume  will  sufficiently  con- 
vey the  nature  of  Chappell's  publication.  His  preface 
invites  the  reader  to  mark,  with  all  diligence,  the  sweet 

•  See  Bibliogi-aphia  Poetica,  p.  157. 


504 

flowers  which  he  shall  find  to  adorn  this  little  garden^ 
and  regard  not  the  slender  workmanship  of  the  un- 
skilful gardener;  but  weigh  in  the  balance  of  deep 
discretion  the  singular  virtues  and  divine  operations 
both  of  the  plants,  herbs,  and  flowers,  inserted  in  the 
same.  After  twenty-eight  pages  of  verse,  there  follows 
"  a  prayer  to  eschewe  worldly  vanities  :"  another,  "  to 
escape  the  calamities  of  hell :"  and  a  third,  "  to  attaine 
heavenly  felicities."  These  are  followed  by  sentences 
selected  from  Scripture,  from  the  Fathers,  and  from 
the  Grecian  and  Roman  philosophers,  forming  the  most 
valuable  portion  of  this  scarce  relique ;  which  is  con- 
sidered by  its  author  as  unique.  The  commentators  on 
Shakspeare  may  add  to  their  notes  on  Romeo  and  Juliet > 
that  "  griping  grief"  occurs  more  than  once  among 
the  metre,  of  which  a  few  lines  may  furnish  a  sufficient 
sample. 

"  The  roaring  sea  doth  fret  and  fume  } 

her  waves  she  flings  above  the  land  j 
She  shewes  all  things  are  out  of  tune, 

she  cries— '  God's  day  is  nigh  at  hand.' 
The  earth  of  late  hath  shakt  herself, 

as  wearie  of  her  sinfull  burne  ;* 
Which  is  ourselves  with  worldly  pelfe  j 

but  oh  !  thereby  we  are  forlorne. 
Of  late  she  swallowed  in  her  gulfe 

twelve  thousand  out  of  London  towne. 
By  sudden  plague,  f  like  ravening  wolfe. 

Yet  are  our  hearts  not  once  pluckt  down. 
****** 

*  A  contraction  for  burden, 
i  In  the  year  1594. 


505 

O  man  ?  to  thee  now  must  I  call, 

the  end  where  first  I  did  begin. 
That  joyes,  that  blisse,  that  paine  and  thrall, 

may  keep  thy  soule  and  mind  from  sin. 
Thy  heart  will  melt,  on  them  to  thinke, 

if  any  grace  in  thee  remaine  ; 
And  from  all  filthy  sinfull  sinke 

thy  heart  and  hand  thou  wilt  refraine. 
When  grisly  death  doth  thee  assault, 

it  is  too  late  for  to  amend  : 
Wherefore  in  time  confess  thy  fault, 

and  God  to  please  see  thou  intend. 
For  when  this  life  is  gone  and  past, 

there  is  no  cure  for  any  sinne  : 
Then  as  we  are,  so  shall  we  last, 

in  joy  or  paine,  as  we  begin." 


f 


"  Hebdomada  Sacra :  a  Weekes  Devotion :  or  seven 
poeticall  Meditations  upon  the  second  Chapter  of 
St.  Matthewes  Gospel.     Written  by  Roger  Cocks. 

"  At  London,  imprinted  by  Felix  Kingston  for  Henry 
Seile,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  in  St.  Pauls 
church-yard,  at  the  signeofthe  Tyger's  head,  1630." 


Small  8vo.  78  pages. 


VOL.  II.  3  T 


50^ 

This  little  volume  is  dedicated  to 

The  right  honorable  James,  Lord  Strange. 


ft 


Poetiy,  noble  Lord,  in  these  loose  times. 
Wherein  men  rather  love  than  loath  their  crimes^ 
If  hand  in  hand  with  Piety  she  goe, 
(Though  without  blushing  she  her  face  may  show) 
Finds  but  cold  welcome.     Such  things  only  take 
As  flatter  Greatnesse,  or  fond  Fancie  make 
A  baud  to  base  delight :  yet  graver  eyes  * 
No  sacred  lines,  though  rudely  drawne,  despise ; 
And  such  are  yours.     Upon  this  worke  of  mine 
Vouchsafe  to  let  them  fall,  or  rather  shine  j 
With  kind  acceptance  do  but  daigne  to  grace  it. 
And  Envie  shall  want  power  to  deface  it." 

From  a  short  address  to  the  reader,  it  appears  that 
the  author,  though  no  profest  poet,  was  a  profest 
preacher.*  For  this  he  probably  was  well  fitted ;  nor 
for  the  poetic  character  w^s  he  unqualified,  as  the  fol- 
lowing lines  may  attest,  in  his  first  canto  intituled  Sun- 
day's meditation. 

*'  If  in  two  kingdoms,  suppose  Spaine  and  France, 
Which  long  in  hostile  manner  did  advance 

*  Reader,  my  fortunes  are  so  meanely  friended, 
I  come  into  thy  presence  uncommended : 
Nor  would  I  have  thee  for  encomiums  looke. 
Or  frontispiece,  farre  better  than  the  booke. 
My  veine  is  not  so  high  to  be  commended. 
Nor  yet  to  low  but  it  may  be  defended 
By  one  sole  Patron.     Some  that  carp,  will  gather 
Thii  IS  no  poem,  but  a  sermon  rather : 
But  let  them  know  who  thus  severely  note  it. 
No  profest  Poet,  but  a  Preacher  wrote  it. 


507 

Arraes  against  armes ;  [if]  one  king's  eldest  sonne 

Marries  the  other's  daughter,  warres  are  done  j 

And  they  which  earst  contended  eagerly. 

Now  meet  in  love,  and  feast  in  royalty. 

So  stood  the  case  with  us  :.  by  fair  pretence 

Malicious  Satan  made  man  to  commence 

A  warre  with  God,  a  warre  that  would  have  wrought 

His  endlesse  ruin,  had  not  mercie  sought 

A  meanes  to  settle  peace — the  only  Son 

Of  the  Almightie,  when  he  did  put  on 

That  veile  of  flesh,  did  by  it  fast  combine 

Our  humane  nature  to  his  owne  divine. 

And  made  a  reconcilement,  which  no  power 

Can  breake  or  time  weare  out,  though  every  howre 

Satan  attempt  new  practises,  and  Hell 

Spit  out  her  rankest  venome,  to  expell 

Man  fi:om  his  Maker  s  favour ;  but  her  spite 

Falls  on  her  head  redoubled,  while  delight 

Crownes  our  desires  :  such  happy  union  'gan 

The  blest  Messias  make  'twixt  God  and  man." 

f 


To  the  Editor  of  Restituta. 


"  SIR, 


The  following  short  Poem,  being  perhaps 
not  possessed  by  many  of  the  Hterati,  may,  from  its 
uncommon  merit,  receive  a  place  m  the  interesting 
pages  of  Restituta. 

In  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
when  hterature  was  beginning  to  emerge  from  barba- 


508 

rism,  it  is  not  surprising  that  many  excellent  ^norks 
of  writers  of  that  period  should,  merely  from  their 
appearance  of  uncouthness,  be  rejected  by  the  modern 
searcher  after  refined  phraseology  :  the  enclosed  sweet 
little  Poem,  however,  though  produced  in  an  age  when 
ruggedness  and  asperity  were  the  chief  characteristics 
of  the  language,  abounds  in  versification  full  of  smooth- 
ness and  harmony,  where  the  soul  of  the  Poet  bursts 
into  wild  and  beautiful  exuberance,  and  breathes  oc- 
casionally sentiments  of  grandeur,  simplicity,  and  na- 
ture. 

This  Poem  was  written  by  William  Dunbar  ; 
and,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  was  completed  on  the  9th 
of  May,  1503,  and  is  esteemed  the  most  excellent  of 
all  his  pieces.  It  is  called  The  Thrissil  and  the 
Rose,  and  was  occasioned  by  the  nuptials  of  James 
IV.  of  Scotland,  and  Margaret  Tudor,  eldest  daughter 
of  Henry  VII.  of  England  ;  an  event  of  great  political 
importance,  as  it  has  been  productive  of  the  union  of 
the  crowns,  the  union  of  the  kingdoms,  and  the  cause 
of  the  protestant  succession. 

Dunbar  was  born  about  1465,  and  died  about  1530. 
He  wrote  several  excellent  poems  for  that  age,  as  the 
Friers  of  Berwick,  8vc.  He  seems  to  rank  on  an  equality 
with  Chaucer. 

THE  THRISSIL  AND  THE  ROSE. 

I. 

\'  dulien  Merche  wes  with  variand  windis  past. 
And  Appryll  had  with  hir  silvir  shouris. 


509 

Tane  lelf  at  nature,  with  ane  orient  blast. 
And  lusty  May,  that  muddir  is  of  flouris. 
Had  made  the  birdis  to  begyn  their  houris 
Amang  the  tendir  odourls,  reid  and  quhyt, 
Quhois  harmony  to  heir  it  was  delyt. 


II. 


In  bed  at  morrow,  sleiping  as  I  lay, 
Methocht  Aurora  with  her  cristall  ene. 
In  at  the  window  lukit  by  the  day. 
And  halsit  me,  with  visage  paile  and  grene ; 
On  quhois  hand  a  lark  sang  fra  the  splene, 
Awalk  luvaris  out  of  your  slemering, 
Se  how  the  lusty  morrow  dois  upspring. 


III. 


Methocht  fresche  May  befoir  my  bed  upstude. 
In  weid  depaynt  of  mony  diverse  hew. 
Sober,  benyng,  and  full  of  mansuetude. 
In  bright  atteir  of  flowris  forgit  new, 
Hevinly  of  color,  quhyt,  reid,  brown,  and  blew, 
Balmit  in  dew,  and  guilt  with  Phebus  bemys  ; 
Quhyl  all  the  house  illumynit  of  her  lemys. 


IV. 


Slugart,  scho  said,  awalk,  annone,  for  schame. 
And  in  my  honor  sumthing  thow  go  wryt ; 
The  lark  lies  done,  the  mirry  day  proclame. 
To  rais  up  luvaris  with  comfort  and  delyt. 
Yet  nocht  incress  thy  curage  to  indyt, 
Q.uliois  hairt  sumtyme  hes  glaid  and  bhssfuil  bene 
Sangis  to  mak  under  the  levis  grene. 


510 

V. 

Quhairto,  quoth  I,  sail  I  upryse  at  morrow. 

For  in  this  May  few  birdis  herd  I  sing  ? 

Thay  haif  moir  cause  to  weip  and  plane  their  sorrow; 

Thy  air  it  is  nocht  holsum  nor  benyng ; 

Lord  Eolus  dois  in  thy  sessone  ring  : 

So  bustcoDs  are  the  blastis  of  his  home, 

Amang  thy  bewis  to  walk  I  haif  forborne. 

VI. 

With  that  this  lady  sobirly  did  smyll. 
And  said.  Uprise,  and  do  thy  observance  3 
Thou  did  promyt,  in  Mayis  lusty  quhyle. 
For  to  discryve  the  Rose  of  most  plesance.l 
Go,  se  the  birdis,  how  thay  sing  and  dance, 
Illumynit  our  with  orient  skyis  brycht, 
Anamyllit  richely  with  new  asur  lycht. 

VII. 

Quhen  this  was  said,  departit  scho  this  quene. 
And  enterit  in  a  lusty  gardyng  gent ; 
Arid  then,  methocht,  full  hestely  besene. 
In  serk  and  mantill  after  her  I  went 
Into  this  garth  most  dulce  and  redolent. 
Of  herb  and  flour,  and  tendir  plantis  sweit. 
And  grene  levis  doing  of  dew  down  fleit. 

VIII. 

The  purpour  sone,  with  tendir  bemys  reid. 
In  orient  bricht  as  angell  did  appeir. 
Throw  goldin  skyis  putting  up  his  held, 
Quhois  gilt  tressis  schone  so  wondir  cleir. 
That  all  the  world  tuke  comfort,  fer  and  neir. 
To  luke  upone  his  fresche  and  blissfull  face. 
Doing  all  sable  fro  the  Hevynis  chace. 


511 

IX. 

And  as  the  blissful!  soune  of  cherarchy 
The  foulis  sung  throu  comfort  of  the  lycht  ? 
The  bnrdis  did  with  oppin  vocis  cry 
To  luvaris  so.  Away,  thow  duly  nicht. 
And  welcome  day,  that  comfortis  every  wicht. 
Hail  May,  hail  Flora,  hail  Aurora  schene. 
Hail  princes  Nature,  hail  Venus,  Luvis  quene. 

X. 

Dame  Nature  gave  an  inhibitioun  thair 
To  fers  Neptunus,  and  Eolus  the  bauld, 
Nocht  to  perturb  the  wattir  nor  the  air. 
And  that  no  schouris  and  no  blastis  cawld 
Effray  suld  flouris  nor  fowlis  on  the  fauld : 
Scho  bad  eik  Juno,  goddes  of  the  sky. 
That  scho  the  hevin  suld  keip  amene  and  dry. 

XL 

Scho  ordaind  eik  that  every  bird  and  beist 
Before  her  Hienes  suld  annone  compeir. 
And  every  flour  of  vertew,  most  and  leist. 
And  every  herb  be  feild,  baith  fer  and  neir. 
As  they  had  wont  in  May,  fro  yeir  to  yeir. 
To  hir  thair  maker  to  mak  obediens 
Full  law  inclynand  with  all  due  reverens. 

XII. 

With  that  annone  sche  send  the  swyift  ro. 
To  bring  in  beistis  of  all  conditioun  ; 
The  restles  swallow  commandit  scho  also 
To  fetch  all  foull  of  small  and  greit  renown ; 
And  to  gar  flouris  compeir  of  all  fassoun. 
Full  craftely  conjurit  scho  the  yarrow, 
Quhilk  did  forth  swirk  as  swift  as  ony  arrow. 


512 

XIII. 

AH  present  were  in  twynkling  of  an  ee, 

Baith  beist,  and  bird,  and  flour,  befoir  the  Quene. 

At  first  the  Lyone,  gretast  of  degre. 

Was  callit  thair ;  and  he  most  fair  to  sene. 

With  a  full  hardy  countenance  and  kene, 

Befoir  Dame  Nature  came,  and  did  inclyne. 

With  visage  bauld,  and  courage  leonyne. 

XIV. 

This  awfull  beist,  full  terrible  of  cheir, 
Persing  of  luke,  and  stout  of  countenance, 
Ilycht  strong  of  corpes,  of  fassoun  fair,  but  feir. 
Lusty  ofshaip,  lycht  of  deliverance, 
Reid  of  his  cullour,  as  the  ruby  glance. 
In  field  of  gold  he  stude  full  mychtely. 
With  floure-de-lycis  sirculit  lustely. 

XV. 

This  lady  liftit  up  his  cluvis  cleir. 

And  leit  him  listly  lene  upone  hir  kne. 

And  crownit  him  with  dyademe  full  deir. 

Of  raydous  stonis,  most  ryall  for  to  se  : 

Saying,  The  King  of  Beistis  mak  I  the. 

And  the  protectour  cheif  in  wodds  and  schawls. 

To  thy  leigis  go  furtli,  and  keip  the  lawis. 

XVI. 

Exerce  justice  with  mercy  and  consciens. 
And  lat  no  small  beist  suffir  skaith  na  scornis 
Of  greit  beistis,  that  bene  of  moir  puisence. 
Do  law  alyke  to  aipis  and  unicornis. 
And  let  no  bowgle  with  his  busteous  hornis 
The  meik  pluch-ox  oppress,  for  all  his  pryd, 
Bot  in  the  yok  go  peciable  him  besyd. 


SIS 

XVII. 

Quhen  this  was  said,  with  noyis  and  sound  of  joy 

All  kynd  of  beistis  into  thair  degre 

At  onis  cryit  laud.  Five  le  Roy, 

And  till  his  feet  fell  with  humilite ; 

And  all  thay  maid  him  homage  and  fewte ; 

And  he  did  thame  ressaif  with  princely  laitis, 

Quhois  noble  yre  is  Proteir  Prostratis, 

XVIII. 

Syne  crownit  scho  the  Egle  King  of  Fowlis, 

And  as  steiU  dertis  scherpit  scho  his  pennis. 

And  bad  him  be  als  just  to  awppis  and  owlis. 

As  unto  pakokkis,  papingais,  or  crenis. 

And  mak  ae  law  for  wicht  fowlis  and  for  wrennis. 

And  lat  no  fowle  of  ravyne  do  effray. 

Nor  birdis  devoir,  bot  his  awin  pray. 

XIX. 

Then  callit  scho  all  flouris  that  grew  on  field, 
Discryving  all  thair  fassiouns  and  effeirs ; 
Upon  the  awfiill  Thrissill  scho  beheld. 
And  saw  him  keipit  with  a  busche  of  speiris  j 
Considering  him  so  able  for  the  weiris, 
A  radius  crowne  of  rubies  she  him  gaif. 
And  said.  In  feild  go  furth,  and  fend  the  laif. 

XX. 

And  sen  thou  art  a  King,  thou  be  discreit  j 
Herb  without  vertew  thow  hald  nocht  of  pryce 
As  herb  of  vertew  and  of  odor  sweit ; 
And  lat  no  netlil  vyle,  and  foil  af  vyce., 
Hir  fallow  to  the  gudly  flour-de-lyce  j 
Nor  lat  no  wyld  weid  full  of  charlishness 
Compeir  her  till  the  lillies  nobilnes. 
VOL.  II.  3  u 


14 


XXI. 

Nor  hald  no  udlr  flour  in  sic  deuty 

As  the  fresche  Rose,  of  culler  reid  and  quhyt : 

For  gif  thou  dois,  hurt  is  thyne  honesty  ; 

Considdering  that  no  flour  is  so  perfyt. 

So  full  of  vertew,  plesans,  and  delyt. 

So  full  of  blissfull  angelik  bewty, 

Imperial,  birth,  honour,  and  dignite. 

XXII. 

Than  to  the  Rose  scho  turnit  hir  visage. 

And  said,  O  lusty  dochtir,  most  benyng, 

Aboif  the  lilly  lustrare  of  lynage. 

Fro  the  stok  ryall  rysing  fresche  and  ying. 

But  ony  spot  or  raacull  doing  spring ; 

Cum,  bloume  of  joy,  with  jemmis  to  be  cround. 

For  our  the  laif  thy  bewty  is  renound. 

XXIII. 

A  costly  crown,  with  clarifeid  stonis  bricht. 

This  cumly  Quene  did  on  hir  heid  inclose, 

Quhyll  all  the  land  illumynit  of  the  lycht ; 

Quhairfoir  methocht  the  flouris  did  rejose. 

Crying  at  anis,  Haill,  be  thou  richest  Rose, 

Haill,  hairbis  Empryce,  haill,  freschest  Quene  of  flouris. 

To  the  be  glory  and  honour  at  all  howris, 

XXIV. 

Than  all  the  birdis  sang  with  voce  on  hicht, 
Quhois  mirtlifull  soun  wes  marvellus  to  heii" ; 
The  mavys  sang,  Haill,  Rose,  most  riche  and  richt. 
That  dois  upflureiss  under  Phebus'  spheir  ! 
Haill,  plant  of  youth,  haill,  Princis  dochtir  deir, 
Haill,  blosonae  breking  out  of  the  blud  royall, 
Quhois  pretius  vertew  is  imperiall. 


515 

XXV. 

The  merle  scho  sang,  Haill,  Rose  of  most  delyt, 
Haill,  of  all  fluris  queue  and  soverane. 
The  lark  scho  sang,  Haill,  Rose  both  reid  and  quhytj 
Most  pleasand  flour,  of  michty  coullors  twain. 
The  nichtingaill  sang,  Haill,  Naturis  sufFragene, 
^    In  bewty,  nurtour,  and  every  nobilnes, 
In  liche  array,  renown,  and  gentilness. 

xxvr. 

The  common  voce  upraise  of  burdis  small 
Upon  this  wys,  O  blissit  be  the  hour 
That  thou  wes  chosin  to  be  our  principall  5 
Welcome  to  be  our  Princes  of  honour. 
Our  perle,  our  plesans,  and  our  paramour. 
Our  peace,  our  play,  our  plane  felicite, 
Chryst  the  conserf  frome  all  adversite. 

XXVII. 

Than  all  the  burdis  sang  with  sic  a  shout. 

That  I  anone  awoik  quhair  that  I  lay. 

And  with  a  braid  I  turnit  me  about 

To  see  this  court,  bot  all  wer  went  away  : 

Then  up  I  leinyt,  halflings  in  afFrey, 

And  thus  I  wret,  as  ye  haif  hard  to  sorrow, 

Of  lusty  May  upone  the  nynt  morrow,"* 

I  am,  Sir,  &c. 

SCOTUS. 

*  Uamsay  has  given  this  a  more  poetical  and  beautiful  conclusion  : 

"  Callt  to  my  Muse,  and  for  my  subject  chois 
To  sing  the  Royall  Thrissili  and  the  Rose." — ScoTtos; 

The  Editor  cannot  perceive  this  superior  heauty  of  Kamsmj,  which  his  Corresi- 
pondent  supposes.     Dunbar's  poetry  does  mdced  exhibit  Scotch  geijius  in 
plendid  colours.    Editor. 


516 

The  thirteen  Bookes  of  Aeneidos^  The  first  twelve  beeing 
the  work  of  the  divine  Poet,  Virgil  Maro,  and  the 
thirteenth,  the  supplement  of  Maphaus  Vegius. 

Translated  into  English  Verse,  to  the  first  third  part  of 
the  tenth  Booke,  hy  Thomas  Phaer,  Esquire:  and 
the  residue  finished,  and  now  newly  set  forth  for  the 
delight  of  such  as  are  studious  in  poetrie :  by  Tho- 
mas Twyne,  Doctor  in  Physicke. 

London,  printed  by  Tho.  Creede,  dwelling  in  the  Old 
Change,  at  the  signe  of  the  Eagle  and  Childe,  iieare 
Old  Fish-streete. 

4*^     Sig.  X  3.     Dated  from  Lewes,  26  Oct.  1583. 

"  To  the  Right  IVorshipfull  Master  Robert  Sackuil,  Esquire, 
most  u'orthie  son  and  heir  apparent  to  the  Right  Honorable 
Sir  Thomas  Sackuil,  Knight,  Lord  Buckhurst. 

The  regard  of  your  manifold  courtesies,  whereof  you  cease 
not  every  day  to  give  experiment,  not  only  generally,  so  as  all 
men  take  notice  thereof,  but  particularly  bestowed  upon  my 
poor  self  not  unknown  unto  many,  and  which  without  great  note 
of  ingratitude  I  cannot  conceal,  hath  often  times  driven  me, 
and  yet  doth,  to  devise  the  means,  whereby  in  duty  and  service, 
I  might  someway  seem  to  be  thankful!.  But  finding  mine 
ability  evermore  inferior  to  my  good  meaning,  and  myself  every 
day  farther  overladen  with  the  debt  of  your  benefits,  I  have 
almost  given  over  to  strive  with  you  in  good  turns,  contenting 
myself  now,  since  I  am  much  already,  to  be  more,  if  it  may 
be,  and  altogether  beholden  unto  you.  Whereunto,  neither 
hath  the  respect  of  mine  own  private  commodity  only,  so  far 


517 

induced  me,  as  I  must  needs,  and  that  truly  acknowledge, 
rather  the  singular  gifts  of  virtue  and  nature,  which  are  suffi- 
cient to  induce  any  to  love  and  honour  those  that  are  absent 
and  unknown,  so  much  the  more  eminent  in  you,  as  wisdona 
and  learning  have  taught  you  to  know,  you  were  not  born  only 
for  your  self,  but  to  deserve  well  of  your  country,  parents,  and 
welwillers.  Of  which  last  sort,  as  I  will  not  profess  myself  the 
least  willing,  but  rather  yield  unto  none  in  respect  of  dutlfull 
<Jevotion,  so  must  I  not  forget  the  worthy  mention  of  your 
honorable  parents,  unto  whom  for  great  causes,  and  also  to  your 
whole  race  of  Sackvils,  for  private  respects,  all'  manner  ways 
I  owe  my  self:  so  that  in  honoring  them,  I  must  needs  love 
you }  and  in  loving  them,  so  honor  you,  as  the  rare  hope,  and 
only  expected  Imp  of  so  noble  roots,  and  heir  of  so  ancient 
a  family.  Then,  for  as  much  as  it  may  not  be,  that  the  dedi- 
cation of  the  work  of  yEneidos,  now  at  the  latter  hand,  can 
bring  any  addition  of  credit  vmto  you,  but  rather  be  the  more 
acceptable  under  the  title  of  your  worshipful  patronage,  most 
humbly,  with  my  self,  I  present  the  same  unto  yotir  good 
liking.  Trusting,  that  as  Virgil  and  Maphceus  of  themselves, 
shall  be  welcome  unto  you,  so  they  never  the  worse  for  the 
company  of  my  poor  name  j  but  rather  my  name  for  the  pre- 
sence of  so  worthy  writers  the  better  accepted,  as  of  one  that 
of  duty  intermitteth  not  to  solicit  the  Almighty  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  your  good  estate  unto  all  felicity  here  on  earth, 
and  also  hereafter  in  the  everlasting  kingdom.  At  my  house 
in  Lewis ^  this  first  of  January,  1584. 

Your  worship's  most  bounden  and  willing 

Thomas  Twine." 


51« 


*'  To  the  gentle  and  courteous  Readers. 

Marvel  not,  gentle  Readers,  nor  be  not  raovedj  that  I  have 
rashly  attempted  to  set  upon  the  residue  of  Virgily  after  M. 
Phaer.     The  manifold  examples  that  commonly  are  alledged, 
to  deter  men  from  finishing  such  works  as  have  been  left  un- 
perfect  by  notable  artificers  in  all  sciences^  would  not  make  me 
afraid :   howbeit  perchance  they  may  be  laid  in  my  dish.     I 
know  there  be  many  young  gentlemen  and  others,  whose  gift 
this  way  so  much  excelleth  my  poor  ability,  that  there  is  no 
comparison  between  them.     But  peradventure  either  they  lack 
good  will,  which  I  assure  you  aboundeth  in  me  for  my  simple 
skill,  or  else  leisure,  whereof  I  have  more  at  this  present  than 
I  would  gladly  wish :  or  else  they  pinch  courtesy  like  women, 
and  one  looketh  upon  another  who  shall  begin.     But  I  who 
have  been  brought  up  in  the  University,  and  meetly  trained  in 
other  places,  have  learned  it  to  be  good  manners,  to  be  doing 
with  that  which  is  before  me.    Wherein  though  I  be  upbraided 
of  some  for  over  rash  sauciness,  what  remedy  ?    I  trust  I  have 
attained  the  poet's  meaning,  though  my  verse  be  far  from  fine- 
ness.    And  I  know  that  it  is  an  easier  matter  to  find  fault 
withall  than  to  mend  it.     For  in  other  poems  and  ditties  of 
pleasure,  it  is  of  less  diflSculty  to  bring  a  man's  own  sense  to 
his  own  rhyme,  than  in  this  kind  of  translation  to  enforce  his 
rhyme  to  the  necessity  of  another  man's  meaning.   Which  they 
cannot  well  judge  of,  that  never  came  where  it  grew.     And 
■whereas  there  is  now  made  an  accession  of  Maphceus  XIII. 
Book,  for  that  the  same  author  judged  Virgil's  conceit  not  to 
be  perfected  in  the  former  XII.     I  have  not  done  it  upon  oc- 
casion of  any  dream,  as  Gawin  Douglas  did  in  Scottish,  but 
moved  with  the  worthiness  of  the  work,  and  the  nearness  of 
the  argument,  verse  and  style  unto  Virgil,  wherein,  as  judge, 
the  writer  hath  declared  himself  an  happy  imitator.     Craving 
for  my  good  meaning  and  travel,  but  only  friendly  acceptance. 


519 

whereby  ye  shall  bind  me  as  occasion  shall  be  offered,  to  at- 
tempt great  matters,  as  well  for  profit  as  pleasure,  if  God  pro- 
long my  dayes  with  happy  success.  And  to  the  end  ye  may  be 
assured  where  my  poor  translation  ensue th  M.  P hares,  I  have 
caused  the  printer  to  set  this  note  [JVH]  in  the  margin,  within 
a  few  leaves  after  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  book,  whereof  I 
thought  it  good  not  to  leave  thee  unadmonished.  And  so  fare 
ye  well  heartily,  most  friendly  Readers. 

Thomas  Twine." 


The  Arguments  of  the  tldrteen  Books  of  Aeneidos,  expressed  in 

Verse. 

4 

1 .  iEneas,  in  the  first,  to  Liby  land  arriveth  well. 

2.  The  fall  of  Troy,  and  woefull  dole,  the  second  Book  doth 

tell. 

3.  The  third  of  wand'rings  speaks,  and  father  dead,  and  laid 

full  low. 

4.  In  fourth.  Queen  Dido  burns,  and  flames  of  raging  love 

doth  show. 

5.  The  fifth  declareth  plays,  and  how  the  fleet  with  fire  was 

caught. 

6.  The  sixth  doth  speak  of  ghosts,  and  how  deep  Pluto's  reign 

was  sought. 
7"  The  seventh  Book,  Aeneas  brings  unto  his  fatal  land; 
8.  The  eighth  prepareth  war,  and  power  how  foes  for  to  with- 
stand. 
•  9.  The  ninth  of  battles  tells,,  and  yet  the  Captain  is  away. 

10.  Aeneas'  grevous  wrath  Mezentius,  in  the  tenth,  doth  slay. 

11.  The  eleventh  in  unequall  fight  Camilla  casts  to  ground. 

12.  The  twelftli  with  heavenly  weapons  gives  to  Turnus  mor- 
»  tal  wound. 

13.  The  thirteenth  weds  iEneas'  wife,  andbriiigs  him  to  eter- 

nal life. 


520 

Beginning  of  the  Jirst  Book  of  the  Aeneidos  of  Virgil. 

I  that  my  slender  oaten  pipe  in  verse  was  wont  to  sound. 

Of  woods,  and  next  to  that  I  taught  for  husbandmen  the 

ground. 
How  fruit  unto  their  greedy  lust  they  might  constrain  to  bring 
A  work  of  thanks  :  lo,  now  of  Mars,  and  dreadfuU  wars  I  singj 
Of  arms,  and  of  the  man  of  Troy,  that  first  by  fatal  flight 
Did  thence  arrive  to  Lavine  land,  that  now  Italia  hight. 
But  shaken  sore  with  many  a  storm  by  seas  and  land  ytost. 
And  all  for  Juno's  endless  wrath  that  wrought  to  have  had  him 

lost. 
And  sorrows  great  in  wars  he  bode,  ere  he  the  walls  could 

frame 
Of  mighty  Rome,  and  bring  the  gods  t*  advance  the  Roman 

name. 
Now,  Muse,  direct  my  song  to  tell  for  what  offence  and  why. 
What  ailed  so  the  Queen  of  Gods  to  drive  thus  cixielly. 
This  noble  prince  of  virtue  mild,  from  place  to  place  to  toil. 
Such  pains  to  take  ?  may  heavenly  minds  so  sore  in  rancour 
boil? 
There  was  a  town  of  ancient  time,  Carthage  of  old  it  hight. 
Against  Italia  and  Tyber's  mouth  lay  loof  at  seas  aright : 
Both  rich  in  wealth  and  sharp  in  war,  the  people  it  held  of 

Tyre : 
This  town  above  all  towns  to  raise  was  Juno's  most  desire : 
Forsook  her  seat  at  Samos'  isle,  and  here  her  arms  she  set. 
Her  chair,  and  here  she  minds  to  make  (if  all  gods  do  not  let) 
An  empire,  all  the  world  to  rule :  but  heard  she  had  beforne 
From  Troy  should  rise  a  stock,  by  whom  their  towers  should  all 

be  torn. 
That  far  and  wide  should  bear  the  rule,  so  fierce  in  war  to  feel : 
That  Lyby  land  destroy  they  should,  so  fortune  turns  the  wheel. 
For  fear  of  that,  and  calling  eft  the  old  war  to  her  mind. 
That  she  at  Troy  had  done  before,  for  Greeks  her  friends  so 
kind. 


521 

Ne  from  her  heart  the  causes  old  of  wrath  and  sore  disdain 
Was  slaked  yet,  but  in  her  breast  high  spight  did  still  remain. 
How  Paris  Venus'  beauty  prais'd,  and  hers  esteem'd  at  nought, 
Sh'  abhors  the  stock  and  Ganiraede,  whom  Jove  to  heaven  had 

wrought. 
Thus  flamed  in  her  mood,  she  cast  through  all  the  seas  to  throw 
The  silly  poor  remain  of  Troy  that  Greeks  had  laid  so  low. 
And  them  that  wild  Achilles'  wrath  had  spai'd  alive  at  last. 
From  Italy  she  thought  to  keep,  tUl  destinies  should  be  past. 
And  many  a  year  they  wander'd  wide  in  seas,  and  sundry  pine. 
So  huge  a  work  of  weight  it  was,  to  build  of  Rome  the  line. 
Scant  from  the  sight  of  Sicil  isle,  their  sails  in  merry  array 
Went  under  wind,  and  tliro'  the  seas,  and  salt  foam  made  theif 

way : 
When  Juno  her  bethought  again  of  her  immortal  wound 
Unto  herself     And  shall  I  thus  be  conquer'd,  and  confound  ? 
And  shall  I  leave  it  thus,  quoth  she  ?  shall  yet  this  Trojan  king 
For  all  my  work  to  Italy  this  people  safely  bring  ? 
I  trow  the  destiny  wills  it  so,  but  did  not  Pallas  burn 
A  fleet  of  Greeks  and  in  the  seas  them  aU  did  overturn 
For  one  man's  sin,  and  for  the  fault  of  Ajax  made  to  fall } 
She  threw  the  fires  of  mighty  Jove  from  skies  among  them  all. 
And  drown'd  their  ships,  and  he  himself  with  whirlwind  set  a 

fire. 
All  smoaking  on  the  rocks  she  kest  his  carcase  to  expire. 
But  I,  that  Queen  of  Gods  am  call'd,  and  sister  of  Jove  in 

throne. 
And  eke  his  wife,  how  long  I  war  with  this  poor  stock  alone  ? 
So  many  a  year  ?   and  who  shall  now  dame  Juno's  godhead 

know. 
Or  shortly  upon  mine  altars  who  due  honours  will  bestow  ? 

Thus  rolling  in  her  burning  breast  she  streight  to  Aeolia  hied. 
Into  the  country  of  cloudy  skies  where  blust'ring  winds  abide. 
King  Aeolus  the  wrestling  winds  in  caves  he  locks  fiill  low  : 
In  prison  strong  the  storms  he  keeps,  forbidden  abroad  to  blow* 

VOL,  II.  3   X 


S'iH 


They  for  disdain  with  murmur  great  at  eveiy  mouth  do  rage. 
But  he  aloft  with  mace  in  hand  their  force  doth  all  asswage. 
If  he  so  did  not,  lands  and  seas  and  skies  they  would  so  sweep 
Within  awhile,  that  all  were  gone.    Therefore  in  dungeons  deep 
Almighty  Jove  did  close  them  up,  and  hills  hath  over  set. 
And  made  a  king,  and  should  know  when  to  loose  them,  when 

to  let. 
Whom  to  entreat  this  Juno  came,  and  thus  to  him  she  spake : 
King  Aeolus,  for  unto  thee  the  great  god  hath  betake. 
And  given  thee  leave  to  lift  the  floods  and  calm  to  make  them 

stiU: 
On  Tyrrhene  sea  there  sails  a  fleet  that  bears  me  no  good  will. 
To  Italy  they  mind  to  pass,  a  new  Troy  there  to  build  j 
Let  out  thy  winds,  and  all  their  ships  do  drown  with  waters 

wild ; 
Disperse  them  all  to  sundry  shores,  or  whelm  them  down  with 

deep. 
Of  goodly  ladies  seven,  and  seven  about  me  I  do  keep. 
Whereof  tliQ  fairest  of  them  all  that  call'd  is  Deiopey, 
Shall  be  thine  own  for  evermore,  my  mind  if  thou  obey. 
And  of  a  godly  son,  quoth  she,  she  shall  thee  make  a  sire. 

To  that  said  Aeolus  :  O  Queen,  what  needs  all  this  desire  ? 
Command  me,  dame,  I  must  obey,  my  duty  it  is  of  right. 
By  you  this  kingdom  first  I  gat,  and  grace  of  Jove  on  height. 
You  make  me  sit  among  the  gods  at  banquets,  this  ye  know : 
You  gave  me  might  these  stormy  winds  to  strain,  or  make  to 

blow. 
He  turn'd  his  sword  when  this  was  said,  and  through  the  hill 

he  pusht. 
And  at  that  gap  with  throngs  at  once  the  winds  forth  out  they 

rusht. 
The  whirlwinds  to  the  land  went  out,  and  then  to  seas  they 

flew. 
Both  east  and  west,  and  from  the  sands  the  waves  aloft  they 

threw. 


523 


The  stormy  south  against  the  cHfts  the  waters  drive  so  high. 
That  tables  all  began  to  crack,  and  men  for  dread  to  cry. 
Anon  was  ta'en  from  Troyans'  eyes  both  sight  and  light  of  sun. 
And  on  the  sea  the  grim  dark  night  to  close  all  in  begun. 
The  thunders  roar'd,  and  lightning  leapt  full  oft  on  every  side  : 
There  was  no  man  but  present  death  before  his  face  espied, 
Aeneas  then  in  every  limb  with  cold  began  to  quake. 
With  hands  upthrown  to  heaven  aloft  his  moan  thus  'gan  he 

make ; 
O  ten  times  treble  blessed  men,  that  in  their  parents'  sight. 
Before  the  lofty  walls  of  Troy  did  lose  their  lives  in  fight ! 
O,  Diomedes,  valiant  Lord,  and  guide  of  Greeks  most  stout. 
Could  I  not  of  thy  force  have  fall'n,  and  shed  my  life  right  out 
In  Troyan  fields  ?    where  Hector  fierce  U'th  under  Achilles' 

lance. 
King  Sarpedon  and  many  a  lord,  how  blissful  was  their  chance. 
Whose  bodies  with  their  arms  and  shields  in  Siraois'  waters 

sinks. 
As  he  thus  spake,  the  northern  blasts  his  sails  brake  to  the 

brinks. 
Unto  the  skies  the  waves  them  lift,  their  oars  being  all  to 

tome : 
Away  goeth  helm,  and  with  the  surge  the  ship  side  down  is 

borne : 
In  come  the  seas,  and  high  as  hills  some  hang  in  floods  above. 
Some  down  the  gaping  water  sends  against  the  sands  to  shove. 
There  three  at  once  the  southern  wind  into  the  rocks  hath  cast, 
(So  they  call  stones  that  in  the  seas  like  altars  lie  full  fast,) 
And  three  the  eastern  wind  also,  that  (pity  it  is  to  think) 
Out  of  the  deep  into  the  shoals,  and  quick  sands  made  to  sink. 
And  one  that  men  of  Lycia  land,  and  trusty  Orentes  held. 
Afore  his  face  there  fell  a  sea  that  made  the  poop  to  yield  ; 
And  headlong  down  tlie  master  falls,  and  thrice  the  keel  aground 
The  water  whirl'd,  and  at  the  last  the  wild  sea  swallow"d  round. 


524 

'I'hen  might  you  see  botli  here  and  there  men  witli  tlieir  armour 

swim. 
The  robes  and  painted  pomp  of  Troy  lay  fleeting  on  the  brim  j 
And  now  the  ships  where  Ihonee,  and  where  Achates  strong. 
And  whereas  Abas  went,  and  where  Alethes  living  long. 
The  weather  had  won,  ancl  thro'  the  ribs  the  seas  came  won- 
drous fast, 
When  suddenly  the  God  Neptune  upstart  him  all  aghast. 
With  wonder  how  so  great  a  rage  should  hap  to  him  untold. 
And  forth  his  noble  face  he  put  the  waters  to  behold  : 
There  saw  he  how  Aeneas'  ships  through  all  the  seas  be  spread. 
And  Troyan  folks  ydrown'd  with  flood,  and  storms  fallen  over- 
head. 
Anon  the  craft  thereof  he  knew,  and  Juno  his  sister's  ire. 
Straight  by  their  names  he  calls  the  winds,  who  then  began  retire. 
Are  you  so  bold,  you  blasts,  quoth  he,  without  my  licence  here. 
The  lands  and  skies  and  seas  also  with  such  a  storm  to  steer  ? 
I  will  be  quite :  but  first  is  best  the  floods  to  set  in  stay. 
And  after  this  for  your  deserts  be  sure  I  shall  you  pay. 
In  haste  be  gone,  go  tell  your  king,  the  seas  is  not  his  charge. 
But  unto  me  that  lot  befell  with  mace  three-forked  large. 
Not  here,  but  in  his  caves  of  wind,  his  court  go  bid  him  keep ; 
There  let  him,  if  he  list,  you  blasts,  enclose  in  prison  deep. 
This  spoken,  with  a  thought  he  makes  the  swelling  seas  to  cease. 
And  sun  to  shine,  and  clouds  to  flee,  that  did  the  skies  oppress : 
The  Mermaids  there-withall  appears,  and  Triton  fleets  above. 
And  with  his  fork  they  all  the  ships  from  rocks  do  softly  move. 
Then  lets  he  loose  the  perlous  sands,  that  ships  away  may  slide. 
And  on  the  sea  full  smooth  his  chair  with  wheels  he  made  to  ride. 
And  like  as  in  a  people  stout,  when  chanceth  to  betide 
The  multitude  to  make  a  fray  of  wit  full  often  wide. 
That  stones  and  weapons  flies  abroad,  and  what  comes  first  to 

hand. 
Some  sad  man  cometh,  that  for  his  right  is  lov'd  of  all  the  land. 


59.5 

Anon  they  cease,  and  silence  make,  and  down  they  lay  their 

rage. 
To  hark  at  him,  and  he  with  speech  their  wood  minds  doth 

assuage. 
So  fell  this  deadly  fray  at  sea,  when  Neptune  had  control'd 
The  waters  wild,  and  thro*  the  seas  his  chair  abroad  had  roll'd. 
The  men  of  Troy  unto  the  shore,  that  next  was  in  their  sight, 
Alade  haste  to  draw,  and  on  the  coast  of  Africa  they  light. 

Far  in  the  shore  there  li'th  an  isle,  and  there  besides  a  bay. 
Where  from  the  channel  deep  the  haven  go'th  in  and  out  alwa}'. 
On  either  side  the  reaches  high,  to  heaven  up  climb  to  grow. 
And  under  them  the  still  sea  li'th,  for  tliere  no  breath  can  blow. 
But  green  wood  like  a  garland  grows,  and  hides  them  all  with 

shade. 
And  in  the  midst  a  pleasant  cave  there  stands  of  nature  made, 
"Where  sits  the  Nymphs  among  the  springs  in  seats  of  moss  and 

stone. 
When  ships  are  in,  no  cables  need,  nor  anchors  need  they  none. 
Then  from  the  ship  to  walk  a-land  Aeneas  longed  sore. 
And  those  of  all  the  number  seven,  and  brought  with  him  to 

shore : 
There  by  a  bank  their  weary  limbs  of  salt  sea  did  they  stretch. 
And  first  Achates  from  the  flint  a  spark  of  fire  did  fetch. 
Which  he  receiv'd  in  matter  meet,  and  dry  leaves  laid  about. 
Then  victuals    out    they  laid    a-land,   with    seas  well .  near 

ymar'd ; 
And  corn  to  dry  they  set,  and  some  with  stones  they  bruised 

hard. 
There  whilst  Aeneas  up  the  rock  was  gone  to  walk  on  high, 
To  see  where  any  ships  of  his  astray  he  might  espy. 
If  Caicus  arms  upon  the  sail,  or  Capis  haps  to  show ; 
No  boat  in  sight,  but  on  the  shore  three  harts  there  stood  arow, 
And  after  them  the  herd  behind  along  the  valley  fed. 
He  stayed,  and  of  his  bow  and  bolts  Achates  straight  him  sped. 


026 


l"he  chief  that  liighest  bare  their  heads,  adown  with  darts  he  cast. 
And  to  the  woods  he  foUow'd  then  with  hke  pursuit  the  rest. 
He  left  them  not  till  seven  of  them  were  fall'n  with  bodies 

great. 
To  match  the  number  of  his  ships  that  now  had  need  of  meat. 
Then  to  the  haven  he  doth  the  flesh  among  his  men  divide. 
And  pipes  of  wine  departed  eke  that  was  aboard  that  tide. 
Which   good  Acestes  had  them  given  when  they  from  Sicil 

went. 
And  then  to  chear  their  heavy  hearts  with  these  words  he  him 

bent: 
O  mates,  quoth  he,  that  many  a  woe  have  bidden  and  borne 

ere  this. 
Worse  have  I  seen,  and  this  also  shall  end  when  God's  will  is. 
Tlirough  Scilla  rage  (you  wot)  and  tlirough  the  roaring  rocks 

we  past. 
Though  Cyclops'  shore  was  full  of  fear,  yet  came  we  through 

at  last. 
Pluck  up  your  hearts,  and  diive  from  thence  both  thought  and 

fear  away. 
To  think  on  this  may  pleasure  be  perhaps  another  day. 
With   pains  and  many  a  danger  sore  by  sundry  chance  we 

wend. 
To  come  to  Italia,  where  we  trust  to  find  our  resting  end ; 
And  where  the  dest'nics  have  decreed  Troy's  kingdom  eft  to 

rise. 
Behold,  and  harden  now  yourselves,  take  ease  when  ease  ap- 
plies. 
Thus  spake  he,  though  but  in  his  heart  huge  cares  him  had  op- 

prest. 
Dissembling  hope  with  outward  eyes,  full  heavy  was  his  breast. 
Then  all  bestir'd  them  to  the  prey,  the  banquets  'gan  begin. 
The  skins  from  off  the  flesh  they  pluckt,  and  eke  th'  entrails 

within. 


59,7 

Some  cut  their  shares^  and  quaking  yet  on  broaches  'gan  to 

broil  J 
Some  blew  the  fire  to  burn,  and  some  their  cauldrons  set  to  boil. 
Good  cheer  they  made,  and  fed  them  fast  as  on  the  grass  they 

sat. 
With  wine  and  victuals  of  the  best,  and  red  deer  good  and  fat. 
When  meat  was  done  and  hunger  past,  and  trenchers  up  were 

take. 
Great  search  and  talking  for  their  friends  that  were  behind  they 

make. 
In  hope  and  dread  of  them  they  stand,  and  whether  alive  they 

be. 
Or  what  is  else  of  them  become,  or  shall  they  them  ever  see. 
But  chiefly  good  Aeneas  did  the  case  full  sore  lament 
Of  stout  Orontes  and  Amicus  whom  the  seas  had  Iient ; 
And  otherwhiles  he  sighed  sore  for  Licus'  piteous  fall. 
And  mighty  Gias  and  Cloanthus  mourn' d  he  most  of  all. 
And  now  an  end  thereof  there  was,  when  Jove  himself  on 

high 
Beheld  the  seas  where  ships  do  sail,  and  broad  lands  under 

sky. 
And  from  the  tops  of  heavens  above  he  cast  his  eyes  a-down. 
And  stay'd  to  look  on  Afric  land,  and  who  there  bear  the 

crown. 
And  unto  him,  as  to  and  fro  his  careful  mind  he  cast. 
Came  Venus  in,  and  sad  she  was,  unlike  her  custom  past ; 
With  tears  about  her  eyes  so  bright  she  thus  began  to  plain  : 
O  king,  quoth  she,  that  over  us  all,  both  gods  and  men  dost 

reign 
For  evermore,  and  with  thy  dints  of  lightning  makest  a  fright. 
What  hath  my  son  Aeneas  wrought  or  spoken  against  thy 

might  ? 
What  hath  the  simple  Trojans  done  r  that  after  torments  all, 
From  Italy  to  keep  tiiem  of  the  world  is  made  too  small  ? 


528 


Sometime  ye  said  there  should  arise^  when  years  were  coming 

about, 
The  men  of  Rome  that  of  the  line  of  Troy  should  be  so  stout. 
That  seas  and  lands  should  to  their  rule  both  far  and  nigh  sup- 
press. 
What  makes,  O  mighty  father,  now  your  will  away  to  dress  ? 
In  hope  thereof,  ywis,  I  tooke  the  fall  of  Troy  so  light. 
And  thought  amends  should  now  be  made,  and  pleasure  pain 

to  quite ; 
But  now  I  see  the  same  mischance  the  poor  men  yet  to  chase. 
What  end  thereof  shall  we  await  at  your  almighty  grace  ? 
Antenor  through  the  midst  of  Greece  had  fortune  safe  to  steal. 
And  to  Lyburnus'  kingdom  came  as  destiny  list  to  deal : 
Even  to  the  midst  thereof,  and  head  whereof  Tymauus  springs. 
Where  issues  nine  the  sea  makes  in,  for  noise  the  mountain 

rings. 
Yet  for  the  men  of  Troy  to  dwell.,  a  city  built  he  there, 
Padua  by  name,  and  gave  them  laws  and  arms  of  Troy  to  bear ; 
Now  ii'th  he  there  in  pleasant  rest,  no  wight  him  doth  disease. 
But  we  your  stock,  whom  to  the  stars  of  heaven  admit  you 

please. 
Our  ships  destroy'd,  (I  abhor  to  think)  and  for  the  cruel  spight 
Of  one  alone,  we  be  betray'd  and  spoiled  of  our  right : 
Ne  to  the  coasts  of  Italy  for  ought  we  can  attain. 
Is  this  the  father's  love  we  find  ?  so  'stablish  you  my  reign  ? 
The  maker  of  the  gods  and  men  to  her  all  sweetly  smiles. 
With  count'nance  such  as  from  the  skies  the  storms  and  clouds 

exiles. 
And  sweetly  kost  his  daughter  dear,  and    there  withall    he 

speaks : 
Fear  not,  quoth  he,  thy  men's  good  hap,  for  none  their  fortune 

breaks. 
Thy  kingdom  prosper  shall,  and  eke  the  walls  I  thee  behight. 
Thou  shalt  see  rise  in  Lavine  land,  aud  grow  full  great  of  might. 


529 

And  thou  thy  son  Aeneas  stout  to  heaven  shalt  bring  at  last. 
Among  the  gods  be  sure  of  this,  my  mind  is  fixed  fast. 
And  now  to  thee  disclose  I  shall  (for  sore  I  see  thee  doubt) 
The  long  discourse  of  destinies  that  years  shall  bring  about. 
Great  war  in  Italy  have  he  shall,  ere  he  the  people  wild 
May  undertread,  and  learn  to  live,  and  then  the  city  build. 
That  summers  three,  ere  he  shall  sit  as  king,  them  shall  renew. 
And  winters  three,  before  he  can  the  Rutyls  all  subdue. 
Then  shall  Ascanius,  now  a  child,  whose  name  Yulus  hight, 
(Was  Ylus  call'd,  when  Troy's  estate  and  kingdom  stood  up- 
right) 
Till  space  of  thirty  years  expire  his  kingdom  shall  obtain. 
And  he  from  Lavine  land  shall  translate  the  old  state  of  the 

reign. 
And  strongly  fortity  the  town  of  Alba  long  shall  he, 
Where  whole  three  hundred  years  the  stock  of  Hector  kings 

shall  be. 
Till  Ilia  Queen,  with  child  by  MarSj  two  twins  to  light  shall 

bring, 
Whom  wolves  shall  nurse,  and  proud  thereof  he  grows  that  shall 

be  king. 
He  Romulus  shall  take  the  rule,  and  up  the  walls  shall  frame 
Of  mighty  Rome,  and  Romans  all  shall  call  then  of  his  name. 
No  end  to  their  estate  I  set,  ne  terms  of  time  or  place. 
But  endless  shall  their  empire  grow,  and  Juno's  cruel  grace. 
That  now  with  fear  the  ground  beneath  turmoils,  and  eke  the 

skies. 
Shall  leave  her  wrath,  and  work  with  me,  and  take  more  sad 

advice. 
To  love  the  Romans,  lords  of  peace,  and  people  clad  in  gown. 
Let  il  be  so :  let  time  roll  on,  and  set  forth  their  renown. 
Then  shall  be  born  of  Trojan  blood  the  Emperor  Caesar  bright, 
Whose  empire  through  the  seas  shall  stretch,  and  fame  to  hea- 
ven uprigiit. 
VOL.  II.  3  Y 


530 


And  Julius,  his  name  it  is  of  mighty  lule  deriv'd : 

Him  laden  fell  of  eastern  spoils  by  him  in  wars  acheiv'd. 

In  hsaven  thou  shalt  bestow  full  glad^  and  vo\vs  men  shall  him 

bight : 
Then  down  go'th  war,  men  shall  be  mild,  in  arms  shall  not 

delight. 
Then  truth  and  right  and  Roman  gods  shall  sit  with  laws  in 

hand  j 
The  gates  of  war  with  bolts  and  bars  of  haid  steel  fast  shall 

stand. 
And  there  within  on  armour  heapes  sits  Battle  rage,  and  wails 
With  brazen  chains  an  hundred  bound,  his  wrestling  not  avail. 
Thus  much  he  said,  and  down  anon  the  son  of  May  he  sent. 
That  new  Carthage,  and  all  the  coasts  of  Afric  should  be  bent 
The  Tiojans  to  receive  a  land,  lest  Dido  there  the  Queen 
Might  from  her  shore  expell  them  off,  ere  she  the  cause  had 

seen. 
And  down  he  flies  him  through  the  skies,  with  wings  as  swift 

as  wind, 
And  off  the  land  of  Lyby  stood,  and  did  his  fathers  mind. 
With  that  the  Moors  laid  down  their  rage  (as  God  did  bid) 

and  eke 
The  Queen  herself  'gan  turn,  and  to  the  Trojans  waxed  meek. 
But  good  Aeneas  all  that  night  his  mind  about  he  tost. 
And  in  the  morning  went  him  out  to  search  and  see  the  coast, 
To  learn  what  land  tliey  were  come  to,  what  people  dwelt 

thereon ; 
If  men  or  savage  beasts  it  hold,  for  till'd  he  could  see  none  } 
This  would  he  know,  and  to  his  men  the  truth  of  all  to  tell. 
There  whilst  withiB  a  water  cave  his  ships  he  made  to  dwell, 
Whom  trees  and  woods  with  shadows  thick,  and  eke  the  locks 

doth  hide. 
Then  forth  he  go'th,  and  took  bat  one  Achates  by  his  side ; 
And  lances  two  they  bare  in  hand  of  metal  sharpe  and  light ; 
And  as  they  went  amid  the  wood  he  met  his  mother  right, 


531 

Most  like  a  maid  in  maiden's  weed,  she  maiden's  armour  bears. 
As  doth  Harpalicee  the  Queen  that  horses  wild  outwears  : 
So  light  of  foot,  that  Heber  stream  so  swift  she  leaves  behind. 
For  hunter  like  her  bow  she  bare,  her  locks  went  with  the 

wind : 
Behind  her  back,  and  tuckt  she  was,  that  naked  was  her  knee. 
She  call'd  to  them  and  said,  Good  sirs,  I  pray  you,  did  you  see 
To  stray  this  way  as  ye  have  come,  my  sisters  any  one  i 
With  quiver  bound,   that  in  the  chase  of  some  wild  beast  are 

gone  ? 
Or  with  a  cry  pursu'th  apace  the  foamy  boai  to  pain. 
So  Venus  said,  and  Venus'  son  her  answer'd  tlms  again  : 
None  of  thy  sisters  have  I  seen  nor  heard,  I  thee  assure  : 
O  maid,  what  shall  I  make  of  thee,  thy  face  I  see  so  pure  ? 
Not  mortal  like,  ne  like  mankind  thy  voice  doth  sound,  I  guess 
Some  goddess  thou  art,  and  Phebus  bright  thy  brother  is,  doubt- 
less. 
Or  of  the  noble  Nymphs  thou  com'st ;  of  grace  we  thee  be- 
seech. 
Whatever  thou  art,  and  help  our  need,  and  now  vouchsafe  to 

teach 
What  land  is  this  ?  what  coast  of  haven  be  we  come  under  here  ? 
Where  neitlier  man  nor  place  we  know,  so  stray'd  we  have  in 

fear. 
Out  of  our  course  we  have  been  cast  with  winds  and  floods  were 

shake  ; 
Afore  thine  altars  many  a  beast  to  offer  I  undertake. 
As  for  mine  altars,  quoth  she  tho',  no  such  estate  I  bear. 
The  manner  is  of  virgins  here  this  short  array  to  wear : 
In  purple  weed  we  use  to  walk  with  quiver  light  ybound  ; 
The  realm  of  Afric  here  thou  seest,  and  men  of  Tyrus  ground  : 
Here  is  the  city  of  Agenor,  fierce  be  the  lands  about  j 
Queen  Dido  rules  and  wears  the  crown,  from  Tyrus  she  ciune 
out. 


532 

And  lately  from  her  brother  fled^  the  cause  is  long  to  lerer 
The  story  long,  but  touch  I  will  the  chief,  and  leave  it  there. 
Sicheus  was  her  husband  tho",  the  richest  man  of  ground 
In  all  that  coast,  and  deep,  good  heart,  in  love  with  him  was 

drown' d. 
For  her  to  him  her  father  gave  a  virgin  yet  untwight. 
And  to  her  brother  came  the  crown  of  Tyrus  then  by  right. 
Pigmalion,  a  sinful  wretch  of  all  that  ever  reign'd, 
Whom  covetise  did  blind  so  sore,  and  rage  of  fury  strain'd. 
That  unaware,  with  privy  knife,  before  the  altars  pure. 
He  slew  Sicheus,  and  of  his  sister's  love  he  thought  him  sure. 
And  long  he  kept  the  deed  in  close,  and  she,  good  soul,  full  sad. 
The  crafty  thief  made  wondrous  means  and  tales  her  mind  to 

glad. 
But  in  a  dream,  unburied  yet,  her  husband  came  f  appear 
With  visage  pale,  and  wondrous  hues,  full  deadly  was  hischear. 
And  told  her  all,  and  wide  his  wound  disclosing,  shew'd  his 

breast. 
How  he  before  the  altars  was  for  what  intent  opprest, 
And  bade  her  flee  the  wicked  soil,  ere  worse  might  her  befal. 
And  treasure  under  ground  he  shew'd  to  help  her  there-withal  : 
Both  gold  and  silver,  plenty  great  unknown  till  then,  and  so 
This  Dido  did,  and  made  her  friends,  and  ordain'd  forth  to  go. 
Then  such  as  for  his  wicked  life  the  cnael  tyrant  hates ; 
Or  been  afraid  of  him  for  ought,  them  gets  out  of  the  gates 
In  ships  that  ready  lay  by  chance,  the  gold  with  them  they 

pack'd  5 
They  spoil'd  also  Pigmalion  :  this  was  a  woman's  act. 
Then  past  they  forth,  and  here  they  came,  where  now  thou 

shalt  espy 
The  hugy  walls  of  new  Carthage,  that  now  they  rear  so  high. 
They  bought  the  soil,  and  Birsa  it  call'd,  when  first  they  did 

begin. 
As  much  as  with  a  bull  hide  cut  they  could  enclose  within. 


553 

But  what  are  you,  fain  would  I  know,  or  what  coast  come  ye! 

fro? 
Where  would  you  be  ?  Demanding  thus,  he  answer' d  her  unto. 
With  sighing  deep,  and  from  his  breast  heavy  his  tale  he  set. 
O  lady  mine,  quoth  he,  to  tell  if  nothing  did  me  let. 
And  oft  our  pains  ye  list  to  hear  the  stories  out  at  large. 
The  day  were  short,  and  ere  an  end,  the  sun  would  him  dis- 
charge. 
Of  ancient  Troy  (if  eveiy  Troy  beside  your  ears  hath  past) 
Of  thence  be  we  :  by  sundry  seas  and  coasts  we  have  been  cast. 
And  now  the  tempest  hath  us  brought  to  Lyby  land  by  chance. 
My  name  Aeneas  clepid  is  :   my  countrv'"  goods,  t'  advance. 
In  ships  I  bring  :  unto  the  stars  well  blazed  is  my  fame ; 
Of  Italy  I  seek  the  land,  and  Jove's  offspring  I  am. 
A  Trojan  fleet  I  took  to  sea  with  twenty  vessels  wide  j 
My  mother  goddess  taught  my  way,  as  dest'ny  did  me  guide. 
Now  seven  thereof  do  scant  remain,   the  rest  with  weathers 

gone, 
And  I  unknown,  in  wilderness  here  walk,  and  comfort  none. 
From  Asia  and  from  Europa  quite  thus  driven  I  am.    With  that 
She  could  no  longer  bide  him  speak,  but  brake  his  tale  thereat. 
Whatever  thou  art,  quoth  she,  so  well  I  wot  the  gods  above 
Doth  love  thee  much  to  save  thy  life,  to  this  place  to  remove. 
Go  forth  to  yonder  palace  streight,  assay  the  Queen  to  see. 
For  safe  thy  company  a-land  be  set,  believe  thou  me. 
And  safe  thy  ships  are  come  to  shore,  with  Northern  wind  at 

will. 
Unless  my  cunning  fails  me  now,  whom  wont  I  was  to  skill. 
Behold  the  flock  of  six  and  six,  that  yonder  cheerly  flies 
Of  Swans,  whom  late  an  Eagle  fierce  did  chace  througJi  all  the 

skies ; 
Now  toward  land,  or  on  the  land,  they  seem  their  ronrse  >o 

keep. 
And  as  for  joy  of  danger  past,  their  wings  aloft  they  sweep 


534 


With  mirth  and  noise  ;  right  so  thy  men  and  all  thy  ships  arow 
Be  come  to  haven,  or  near  the  haven  in  safeguard,  this  I  know. 
Now  get  thee  forth,  and  where  the  way  thee  leads,  hold  on  thy 

pace. 
Scant  had  she  said/ and  therewithal  she  turn'd  aside  her  face. 
As  red  as  rose  she  'gan  to  shine,  and  from  her  heavenly  hair 
The  flavour  sprang,  as  nectar  sweet'j  down  fell  her  kirtle  tliere. 
And  like  a  goddess  right  she  fled.     When  he  his  mother  wist, 
He  follow' d  fast  and  call'd,  Alas,  what  mean  you,  thus  to  list 
In  feigned  shapes,  so  oft  to  me  beguiling  to  appear  ? 
Why  hand  in  hand  embrace  we  not,  and  jointly  speak  and  hear  ? 
Thus  plaining  sore,  he  still  his  pace  unto  the  city  holds ; 
But  Venus,  as  they  went,  a  weed  about  them  both  she  folds 
Of  mist  and  cloud  and  air  so  thick,  that  no  man  should  them 

spy> 

Ne  do  them  harm,  nor  interrupt,  nor  ask  them  who  nor  why. 
Herself  by  sky  to  Paphos  yee'd,  where  stands  her  honor  seats. 
And  temple  rich,  and  of  incense  a  hundred  altar's  sweets ; 
And  where  of  flowers  and  garlands  fresh  her  floor  is  alway 

spread. 
They  in  that  while  went  on  their  way  whereto  the  path  them 

led: 
And  now  come  up  they  were  the  hill  that  near  the  city  lies. 
From  whence  the  towers  and  castles  all  been  subject  to  their 

eyes." 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

If  the  reader  thinks  this  extract  too  long,  let  him 
recollect,  that  an  ample  specimen  from  a  very  rare 
book,  which  contains  one  of  the  earliest  English  trans- 
lations of  Virgil,  is  valuable  for  its  information  and 
curiosity,  if  not  for  its  amusement.    The  Editor  feels 


535 

confident  that  every  English  Archaiologist  of  real 
scholarship  will  thank  him  for  these  profuse  transcripts 
from  Golding's  Ovid,  and  Phaer's  Virgil. 


••►■<«©  ^OOX" 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  VOLUME. 

On  arriving  at  the  close  of  a  Second  Volume,  per- 
haps a  few  parting  words  will  be  expected  from  the 
Editor.  Will  a  retrospect  of  its  contents  justify  the 
expectations  he  has  held  out?  The  severe  and  the 
imreasonable  will  say,  No.  With  unchastized  calls  on 
the  labour  and  talents  of  others,  they  require  what  has 
neither  been  professed,  nor  can  be  performed.  For 
what  is  done,  they  have  no  praise  to  bestow  ;  for  what 
is  omitted,  they  abound  in  reproach.  The  author  is  a 
slave,  who  has  voluntarily  bent  the  knee  to  their  plea- 
sure 5  and  they  resolve  in  the  insolence  of  their  power 
to  shew  him  the  weight  of  their  rod. 

The  fool  who  hopes  from  them  commendation  for 
his  toils,  deserves  the  contumely  to  which  he  exposes 
fiimself. 

But  will  the  scholar,  to  whose  expanded  mind  all 
the  stores  of  intellect,  past  as  well  as  present,  are  pre- 
cious, lend  himself  to  the  cry  of  these  censurers  ?  Will 
he  not  rather  encourage  the  growing  size  of  this  humble 
undertaking  with  some  gentle  impulse  of  the  fostering 
breath  of  praise  ? 

If  he  be  more  learned  than  rich ;  if  he  shall  have 
spent  his  time  in  reading  rather  than  in  collecting,  he 


536 

will  thank  the  Editor  for  the  communication  of  storeay 
which  were  hitherto  inaccessible  to  him.  He  will  not 
think  an  entire  reprint  of  a  beautiful  [)()em  of  Marlow, 
nor  will  he  deem  afl'eeting  extracts  from  Wither,  or 
specimens  of  Tho.  Heywood,  John  Davies,  Lord  Her- 
bert, R.  Chamberlain,  John  Hall,  or  '^I'homas  Jordan 
—cither  useless  or  uninteresting.  The  time  will  come, 
when  this  fmniturc  for  a  curious  library  will  be  better 
valued:  and  the  Editor  will  look  with  the  calm  con- 
fidence so  well  expressed  by  Bishop  Kennett,  in  the 
Preface  to  his  Historical  ChroniclCf  for  a  due  estimate 
of  his  labours. 


March  54,   18I.>. 


ksn  01"  vol,    II 


GENERAL    INDEX. 


/Admonition,  ane,  to  the  trew 

Lordis.  M.  G.  B.  439 

Aeneidos,  the  thirteen  bookes  of  l-c. 
translaledbyThoniasTwine,  1583, 
516.  Dedication,  ib.  Address  to 
the  reader,  518.  Arguments  to 
the  books, expressed  in  verse,  ji;>. 
Beginning  of  the  1st  book,  5'-'0 

Angler,  lines  to  au,  by  Mildmay 
Fane,  earl  of  Westmoreland,  10'-'. 

Antidote  to  Fear,  in  Wither's  Im- 
provement of  Imprisonment,  ex- 
tract from,  477 

AntiquitiesofYork,  Drake's,  Hearne's 
remarks  on,  78 

Apophthegmes,  &c.,  translated  into 
Znglyshe  by  Nicholas  Udall,  154'J, 
59.  Translator's  Epistle,  60.  Ex- 
tracts, 64-74 

Ark,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Sylves- 
ter, 415 

Athletx,  among  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans, 68 

B. 

Babylon,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Syl- 
vester, 4'20 

Banquet  of  Essayes,  fetcht  out  of  Fa- 
mous Owen's  Confectionery,  &.C., 
by  Henry  Harflete,  1653,2JS.  De- 
dication ;  Contents,  '259 

Barbers,  a  whimsical  allusion  to,  in 
Tom  N:ishe"s  Dedicatory  Epistle, 
360.  Another  in  Gabriel  Har- 
vey'sTrimmingof  TomNashe,369 

Bay-trees,  lines  occasioned  by  seeing 
a  walk  of,  lOi! 

Bibliographical  list  of  Jordan's  pub- 
lications, 176 

Biographiana,  "238,  471 

Brabler,  drunken,  epigram  on  a,  by 
Thomas  Bancroft,  493 

British  Bibliographer,  Analysis  of 
Vol.  II. 


Wither's  Miscellaneous  Works  to 
be  found  in,  348 

G. 

Captains,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Sylvester,  413 

Catechism, Russian,  with  an  account 
of  the  church  government  and  ce- 
remonies of  the  Muscovites,  cited 
by  Hearne,  80 

Caveats,  some,  verses  by  Sir  W.  Kil- 
ligrew,  so  entitled,  133 

Censura  Literaria,  referred  to  re- 
specting the  pestilence  in  1625, 
19? 

Claraphil  and  Clarinda  ;  in  a  Forrest 
of  Fancies,  by  Tho.  Jordan,  Gent. 
183.     Extracts,  183-187 

Colonies,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Sylvester,  417, 

Columns,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Sylvester,  418 

Commentaries,  Chapman's,  on  Ho- 
mer, extracts  from,  81-86 

of  John  Fox,  Hearne's 

remarks  on,  75 

Commentators,  their  obligations  to 
Tom  Nashe,  359 

Compleat  man,  from  Jordan's  Pic- 
tures of  Passions,  173 

Conduit  at  Oxford,  Hearne's  remarks 
on,  79 

Contemplatio  Diurna ;  verses  by 
Mildmay  Fane,  earl  of  Westmore- 
land, 100 

Contumely  of  defamatory  speeches, 
how  to  support;  an  epigram,  by 
Sir  Thomas  Urchard,  29 

Country  Life,  Praise  of,  by  Rob. 
Chamberlain,  279. 

Court  Convert,  &c.,  by  H.  A.  Gent., 
481.  Dedicatory  Epistle,  482. 
Proem,  483.    Extracts,  484-489 

Crowncs  and  Garlandes,  &c.  an  eclog 


SS8 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


treating  of,  by  G.  B,  (uc.)  Knight, 

1605,  58. 
Crucifix,  the  trew  use  of  the,  &c.  a 

poem  in  the  Scottish  dialect,  253 
Cuckow,  the,  &c.  Richardus  Nicols, 

Oxon,  1607,  1.     Extracts,  2-8 

D. 

AA<1>NI2  nOATSTEOANO'S,  an  ec- 
logue treating  of  Crownes  and 
Garlandes,  &c.  by  G.  B.  Knight, 
1605,58.     L' Envoy,  ib. 

Death's  Impartiality,  verses  on,  by 
Rob  Chamberlain,  280 

Decay,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Syl- 
vester, 414 

Dedication  to  Warwick's  Spare  Mi- 
nutes &c.,299,  302 

to    George    Chapman's 

"Sxia  vvxTOi,  51. 

—  to  Chapman's  Quid's  Ban- 


quet ofStnce,  53. 

to  Hero  and  Leander,  a 


poem  begun  by  Marlow  and  finish- 
ed by  Chapman,  1 12 

Dedicatory  Sonnets,  before  George 
Chapman's  Translation  of  Homer's 
Iliad,  81.  To  the  Duke  of  Lennox, 
86.  To  Lord  Ellesmere,  87.  To 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  87.  The 
Earls  of  Suffolk  and  Northampton, 
88.  Earls  of  Arundel  and  Pem- 
broke,89.Earl  of  Montgomery,  90. 
Lord  Lisle  and  Countess  of  Mont- 
gomery. 91.  Lady  Wrothe  and 
Countess  of  Bedford,  92.  Earl  of 
Southampton,  93.  Lord  Walden, 
94.     Sir  Thomas  Howard,  95 

Delightes  for  Ladies,  &c.  1611,  282. 
Extracts,  282-286 

Devises,  Heroical,  a  Garden  of,  &c. 
by  Henry  Feacham,  1612,  148. 
Nusquam  tuta,  148.  Nee  metuas 
nee  optes,  148.  Vos  vobis,  149. 
In  prodigos,  149.  Sic  vos  non  vo- 
bis, 150.  Ex  avaritia  bellum,  150. 
Nostro  elucibus  damno,  J51.  Salo- 
nione  pulchrius,  151.  Tu  contra 
Hudentior,  152.  Huic  ne  credere 
tutissimum,  152 

Devoreux,  Markham's,Guilpin*s  pre- 
liminary sonnet  to,  467 

Donne,  his  faults  and  those  of  his 
imitators,  9 

Drcamc  of  Dekker,  1620,  249.  Epi- 
stle Dedicatory,  249 


Drunkenness,  verses  against,  by  Thos. 
Bancroft,  496 

E. 

Earth,  epigram  on  the,  by  Thomas 
Bancroft,  4 95 

Eden,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Sylves- 
vester,  415 

Elegy,  funeral,  on  the  death  of  Mi- 
chael Drayton,  by  Sir  Aston  Cock- 
ayne, 37 

Elegy  on  Mrs.  Anne  Phillips,  by 
Thos.  Jordan,  152 

on  a  good  man,  186 

to  the  memory  of  Sir  Charles 

Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lisle,  437 

Elizabeth's  (Queen)  Teares,  &c.,  by 
Christopher  Leuer,  (about  1603,) 
55 

Emblems,  with  elegant  figures,  newly 
published,  by  J.  H.  Esq.,  188.  Pre- 
face by  John  Quarles,  188.  Prx- 
ludium,  189.  Sparkles  of  Divine 
Love,  192 

Emperor  of  the  East,  lines  to  Massin- 
ger  on  his  play  so  called,  59 

Encomiastic  verses  on  several  books , 
by  Sir  A.«ton  Cockayne,  38 

Epigrams  multitudinous  in  the  reigii 
of  James  I.,  8 

Epigrams,  twenty-nine,  addressed  to 
cotemporary  poets  by  John  Davies 
of  Hereford' (about  1611),  11 

by  and    to   poets  in   the 

reign  of  King  James  I.  and  King 
Charles  I.,  26 

by  Sir  Aston  Cockayne,  S 1 

by   Sir  John  Harrington, 


1615,  255 

and  Epitaphs,  two  bookes 

of,  &c.  by  Thomas  Bancroft,  1639, 
490.     Extracts,  490-496 

Epitaphs,  by  Thos.  Jordan,  181 

Epithalamium  Teratos,in  Chapman's 
Hero  and  Leander,  345 

Essayes,  Morall  and  Theological  I, 
1609,  137.  Conclusion  of  the  dedi- 
cation, ib.  Extract  from  the  first 
essay,   137 

Essays,  Banquet  of,  he,  by  Henrv 
Harflete,  &c.  1653,  258 

Estates,  those  that  have  greatest,  not 
always  the  richest  men ;  an  epi- 
gram, by  Sir  Thos.  Urchard,  28 

Eugenia,  or  True  Nobilities  Trance, 
&c.,  by  George  Chapman,  1614, 
57 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


539 


Eunuch,  lines  to  an,  by  Thomas  Ban- 
croft, 496 

F. 

Facile  Treatise,  contenand  ane  infal- 
lible reul  to  discerne  trew  from 
fals  religion,  &c.  Be  Maister  Ihone 
Hamilton,  &c.  1600,251.  Account 
of  the  author,  252.  Poem  in  the 
Scottish  dialect,  253 

Famulentur  prioribus,  verses  by 
Mildmay  Fane,  earl  of  Westmore- 
land, 101 

Friend,  a  true  one,  when  best  known, 
an  epigram  by  Sir  Thomas  Ur- 
chard,  28 

Funeral  Elegy,  on  the  death  of  Mi- 
chael Drayton,  by  Sir  Aston  Cock- 
ayne, 37 

Furies,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Syl- 
vester, 419 


Garden  of  the    Muses,  Bodenham's 

sonnet  prefixed  to,  50 
Garden  of  Prudence,  &c.,  1595,  503. 

Extracts,  504 
Glazier  shrewdly  married,  epigram 

on,  by  Thomas  Bancroft,  493 
Great  Britaine's  Troy,  a  poem,  &c., 

by  Thomas  Heywood,    1609,141. 

Extract,  144 
Groves  near  Marlow  Castle,  sonnet 

on,  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 

425 

H. 

Handicrafts,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Sylvester,  417 

Have  with  you  to  Saffron  Walden, 
&c.,  1596,  358.  Hostility  of  Tom 
Nashe  and  Gabriel  Harvey,  358. 
Dedicatory  Epistle,  359.  Address 
to  all  Christian  readers,  366 

Hearuiana  ;  Memories  of  John  Fox 
and  John  Tzetzes,  75.  Humphrey 
Wanley,  76.  Tradesmen's  Tokens, 
77.  Ancient  manuscripts  for  County 
History,  78.  Conduit  at  Oxford, 
79.  Bishop  Fleming,  ib.  Bishop 
Merniati,  SO 

Hebdomada  Sacra,  &c.,  by  Roger 
Cocks,  1630,  505.  Dedication;  ex- 
tract, 506 

Hero  and  Leander,  by  Marloe  and 
Chapman,  1606,  112.FirstSestyad, 
113-127.  Specimen  of  Chapman's 


manner  from  the  sixth  and  last 
Sestyad,  128.  Second  Sestyad, 
161.  Third  Sestyad,  307.  Re- 
marks, 3:i0.  FomthSestyad,  321. 
Fifth  Sestyad,  3S2.  Tale  of  Teras, 
335.  Epithalamium  Teratos,  345. 
Sixth  Sestyad.  458. 

Heroic  Lover,  Bancroft's  poem,  lines 
OH,  46 

Hexameters,  rhyming,  curious  in- 
stance of,  280 

Holy  Memorials,  or  Heavenly  Me- 
mentos, specimen  from,  287 

History  of  Our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ,  &c.  gathered  into  En- 
glish metre,  &c.  by  Robert  Hol- 
land, 153.  Dedication,  ib.  Ad- 
dress to  the  reader,  159 

Honisuckles,  handful  of,  lines  from 
the,  109 

Humours  Heav'n  on  Earth,  &c.  by 
John  Davies  of  Hereford,  1603, 
194.  Conclusion  of  the  dedication, 
194.  Remarks,  196.  Passages  re- 
specting the  plague  in  1603,  197. 

Husband,  the,  a  poem,  expressed  in 
a  compleat  man,  1614,  256.  De- 
dication, 256.  Li.st  of  commenda- 
tory verses ;  Extract,  257. 

Hyve  full  of  Hunnye,  &c.  by  William 
Hunnis,  1578,  105.  Argument, 
105. 

L 

Impostor,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Svlvester,  416 

Improvement  of  Imprisonment,  &c., 
by  George  Wither,  1661,  347. 
Address  to  his  friends,  348.  Me- 
ditation on  his  commitment  to 
Newgate,  349.  Address  to  the 
City  of  London,  351.  Other  ex- 
tracts, 352-357.  Extracts  conti- 
nued, 475-480 

Inductio  VigilicC,  from  Chapman's 
Eugenia,  57 

J. 

Jonas,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Sylves* 
ter,  419. 


Lachrymse  Lachrymarum,  extracts 
from,  1613,  497 

Law,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua  Syl- 
vester, 412 

Lines  before    Christopher    Middle- 


540 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


ton's  Legend  of  Humphrey  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  29 

Lordis,  Trew,  ane  admonition  to  the, 
439 

Lot's  wife,  Jordan's  verses  on,  178 

Loyall  Sacrifice;  the  lives  and  deaths 
of  Sir  Charles  Lucas  and  Sir  Geo 
Lisle,  &c.  1648,  428.  Address  to 
the  reader,  428.  Verses  to  the 
author,  430.  Extracts,  432,  435. 
Elegy,  437 

Lucubrations,  Nocturnall,  &c.  By 
Rob.  Chamberlain,  163S,  275.  Ex- 
tracts, 276.  Prose  extracts,  276, 
Verse, 279.  Rhyming  Hexameters, 
280 

M. 

Mad  Lover  ;  lines  on  Fletcher's  play 
so  called,  140 

Maid  of  ?Ionour,  lines  on  Massin- 
ger's  play  of,  40 

Meditation  when  ye  go  to  bed,  from 
the  Handful  of  Honisuckles,  109 

Melancholy  man,  from  Jordan's 
Pictures  of  Passions,  173 

Metamorphosis ;  the  xv  bookes  of  P. 
Ouidius  Naso,  &c.  Translated  by 
Arthur  Golding,  1587,  376.  De- 
dicatory Episrle,  376.  To  the 
reader,  r.96.  First  book,  404.  End 
of  the  XV  book,  41 1 

Midnight  and  Daily  Thoughts,  by 
Sir  William  Killigrew,  1694,  130. 
Particulars  concerning  the  author, 
130.  Extracts,  1S2.  Author's  ac- 
count of  himself  in  his  retirement, 
134 

Miners,  Mr.  Busheirs,in  Devonshire, 
song  sung  by,  185 

Minerva  Britanna,  &c.  By  Henry 
Peacham,  16l2,  148.  Extracts, 
148-153 

Mirror  for  Magistrates,  school  pro- 
duced by  the  numerous  editions  of 
the,  9 

Morall  and  Theologicall  Essaye?, 
1609,  137         ' 

Muses' Looking-glass ;  Cokaine'slines 
to  Randolph  on  his  play  so  called, 
38 

My  happy  Life  ;  verses  by  Mildmay 
Fane,  earl  of  Westmoreland,  98 

N. 
Night,  hymn  to,  52 
Nobilities  Trance,  &c.     By  George 
Chapman,  1614,  57 


Nocturnall    Lucubrations,  &c.    By 

Rob,  Chamberlain,  1638,  275 
North-west  regions,  report  of  Capt. 
Frobisher's  voyage  to,    in   1577, 
207 
NosceTe  (Humors",,  1607, line* from, 

29 
Notices  of  Matthew  Roydon ;  dedica- 
tion to  George  Chapman's  Shadow 
of  Night,  1594,  51.      Dedication 
to   Chapman's  Ovid's  Banquet  of 
Sence,  1595,  53 
Nuts,  epigram  on   the  cracking  of, 
by  Thomas  Bancroft,  492 
O. 
Otia  Sacra.  Optima  Fides,  1648,  96. 
Columna  Fidei,  96.     Virtus  vera 
Nobilitas,  97.  My  happy  Life,  98. 
Contemplatio    diurna,    100.      To 
Man,  101.     Second  Part— Famu- 
ientur  prioribus,    101.     Extracts, 
102 
Ouidius  Naso,  the  xv  bookes  of,  en- 
tituled  Metamorphosis.  Translated 
by  Arthur  Golding,  1587,376 
P. 
Parliament  of  England,  compliments 
to,  from  Jordan's  Pictures  of  Pas- 
sions, 173 
Pass-by,  a   short  poem,  by  George 
Wither,  concerning  his  imprison- 
ment, 355 
Picturesof  Passions,  Fancies,  and  Af- 
fections.   By  Thos.  Jordan,  Gent., 
171.     Extracts,    173.      Collective 
list  of  the  author's  various   publi- 
cations, 176 
Piety   and    Poesy   contrasted.       By 

Thos.  Jordan,  Gent.,  178 
Plague  in  London  in    1603,  repre- 
sentation of,    by   John  Davies  of 
Hereford,  197 
Poem  of  Poems,  or  Sion's  Muse,  &c. 
By  J.  M.  1596,  469.     Part  of  the 
Dedication,  469.     Address  to  the 
Reader ;    Verses  to  Mrs.  Sydney, 
470 
Poet,  stinking,  epitaph  on  a,  by  Lord 

Herbert  of  Cherbury,  424 
Poets  in  the  reign  of  K.  James  I., 

remarks  on,  8 
Prudence,  Garden  of,  &c.  1595,  503. 
Notice  concerning  the  Author, 
503.  Extracts,  504 
Puritanism,  cant  of,  exemplified  in 
Sir  William  Killigrew's  Midnight 
and  Daily  Thoughts,  130 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


.^41 


Queen  Elizabeth's  Teares,  &c.  Writ- 
ten by  Christopher  Leuer,  1603, 
55.  To  whom  dedicated,  56.  Cha- 
racter and  extracts,  ib. 


Rash  Man,  from  Jordan's  Pictures 
of  Passions,  175 

Remedy  for  Love,  Sir  A.  Cockayne's 
extracts  from,  138,  140 

Retirement,  Sir  W.  Killigrew's  ac- 
count of  himself  in,  134 

Rose-leaves  or  any  other  single  flow- 
er, how  to  dry,  284 

Rythme,  decasyllabicall,  on  Capt. 
Frobisher's  last  luclde  voyage,  20'J 


Castle,  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cher- 
bury,  425 

Sonnet,  preliminary,  addressed  by 
Guilpin  to  Jervis  Markham,  467 

dedicatory  of  Charles  Fitz- 

geffrey's  Life  of  Sir  Francis  Drake, 
468 

Sonnets,  dedicatory,  before  George 
Chapman's  Translation  of  Ho- 
mer's Ihad,  81.  Extracts  from  his 
prose  commentaries,  81-86 

from  the  Countess  of  Mount- 

gomerie's  Urania,  262,  263,  274 
-  dedicatory  to  several  eminent 


Saffron  Walden,  Have  with  you  to, 
&c.  or  Nashe  his  confutation  of 
the  sinful!  Doctor,  358 

Satires,  Bancroft's,  lines  on,  45    . 

Schisme,  the,  a  sonnet,  by  Joshua 
Sylvester,  413 

Scotland,  a  curious  pamphlet  on  the 
affairs  of,  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  4S9 

Scourge  of  Folly,  by  John  Davies 
of  Hereford,  epigrams  from,  1 1 

Sermon  preached  at  the  Funerall  of 
Sir  Richard  Leveson,  Vice-Admi- 
ral of  England,  &c.  By  Samuel 
Page,  1605,  226.  Dedication,  226. 
Sermon,  227 

Shepherdess,  Faithful,  verses  to 
Fletcher  on  his,   14 

Shews  and  sights,  how  exhibited  a- 
mong  the  ancients,  67 

Sion's  Muse,  or  Poem  of  Poems.  By 
J.  A'l.  [probably  Jervis  Markham] 
1.596,  469 

Sobs,  Seuen,  of  a  sorrowfull  Soule  for 
Sinne,  &c.  By  William  Hunnis, 
1585.     Titles  and  specimens,  107 

Songs  from  the  Countess  of  Mount- 
gomerie's  Urania,  264-273 

Sonnet  by  A,  M.  to  Mr.  John  Bo- 
denham,  before  his  Garden  of  the 
Muses,  1610,50 

by  Michael  Drayton  to  Da. 

Murray,  1611,   104 

by   the  same,   before    John 


Davies's  Holy  Roode,  111 

byD.  Murray  to  Drummond 


of  Hawthornden,  201 
on  the  groves  near  Mario w- 


persons,  by  Joshua  Sylvester,  412. 
TheLaw,4l2.  The  Captains ; The 
Schisme,  413.  The  Decay,  414. 
Eden;  Tlie  Ark,  415.  The  Im- 
posture, 4 1 6.  The  Handy-Crafts ; 
The  Colonies,  417.  The  Columns, 
418.  Jonas;  The  Furies,  '419. 
Babylon, 420.  To  LordEllesmere; 
To  Sir  Ed.  Coke,  421.  To  the 
Earle  of  Dorset,  422 
Sophistes,    original  and   subsequent 

meaning  of  the  term,  66 
Spare-Minutes  ;  or.  Resolved  Medi- 
tations, &c.    By  Arthur  Warwick, 
1636,  298.     Dedication  ;  extracts, 
299.     Part  II.    Posthumous ;  elo- 
gium   on  the  author,  by  George 
Wither,  301.     Dedication,  302 
Sparkles  of  Divine  Love,   192 
Specimen  from   Holy  Memorials  or 

Divine  Mementos,  287 
Spheares,  epigram  on  the,  by  The. 

Bancroft,  491 
Spicerie,  Spiritual,  &c.  By  Rich. 
Braithwaite,  Esq.  1688,  286.  Ex- 
tracts, 286.  Specimen  from  Holy 
Memorials  or  Divine  Mementos, 
287 

T. 
Teares  on  the  death  of  Moeliades, 
by  W.  Drummond  of  Hawthorn- 
den,   1614,55 
Thrissil  and  the  Rose,  a  poem,  by 

William  Dunbar,  1503,  508 
Trimming  of  Thomas  Nashe,  &c. 
1597,  367.  Address  to  the  reader, 
368.  Name  assumed  by  the  au- 
thor, 369.  Epistle,  371 
Troia  Britanica,  &c.  By  Thomas 
Heywood,  1609,  141.  Dedication 
to  the  Earl  of  Worcester,  141. 
Preface,  143.     First  Canto,  144 


542 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


U. 

Urania,  the  Countesse  of  Mountgo- 

.  merie's,  &c.  1621,  260.  First  book, 

261,     Songs,  26,5-273.      Sonnets, 

274 
Usurer,  epigram  on  an,  by  Thomas 

Bancroft,  494 


Valley  of  Varietie,  &c.,  by  Henry 
Peacham,  1638,  295.  Dedication, 
296.    Extract,  297 

Valour  and  Fear,  verses  on,  by  Sir 
William  Killigrew,  132 

Verses,  occasional,  of  Lord  Herbert 
of  Cherbury,  1665,  423.  Sonnet 
on  the  groves  near  Marlow- Castle, 
425.  Extracts  from  an  elegy  for 
Doctor  Donne,  426 

Verses  prefixed  to  the  Wil  of  Wit, 
Sic.  By  Nicholas  Breton,  Gent., 
1606,  500.  Ad  Lectorem,  de  Au- 
thore,  500.     Songs,  501 


Virtus  vera  Nobilitas,  verses  by 
Mildmay  Fane,  earl  of  Westmore- 
land, 97 

Vox  Vulgi,  extract  from  George 
Wither's  Apology  for  writing  the 
poem  so  called,  356 

W. 

Weeke's  Devotion,  or  Hebdomada 
Sacra,  &c.  By  Roger  Cocks,  1630, 
505 

West  and  north-west  Regions,  Report 
of  the  laste  voyage  into  the,  &c. 
ByDionyse  Settle,  1577.  Rythme 
decasyllabicall  on  Captain  Fro- 
bisher's  voyage,  by  A.  Fleming, 
203.  Dedication,  203.  Preface, 
205.  Report  of  Capt.  Frobisher's 
voyage  in  1577,  207-225 

Widow's  Mite,  specimen  from  a 
poem  so  called,  110 

Wil  of  Wit,  Wit's  Wil,  or  Wil's  Wit ; 
verses  prefixed  to,  1 606,  500 


543 


INDEX    OF    NAMES. 


Absalom,  43g  * 

Abydos,  11.3 

Achates,  525 

Acheloy,  395 

Achemenides,  385 

Acteon,  379 

Adam,  391 

Adonis,  383 

^acus,  381 

^neas,  385 

JEcIus,  522 

Africa,  525 

Aide,  Capt.  Frobisher's  ship,  207 

Ajax,  384 

Albany,  John  duke  of,  444 

Alcinous,  395 

Alcyone,  384 

Alemon,  385 

Alexander,  William,  16 

Alexander,  Sir  W.,  55 

Alexander,  371 

Amphitrite,  404 

Anacreon's  celebrated  ode  imitated, 

'J74 
Anaxarete,  385 

Anaximander,  145  n. 
Anaximenes,  145  }i. 

Angous,  Earle  of,  448 

Anderson,  Henry,  485 

Annanderdaill,  453 

Anne  Warwick's  sound,  215 

Annibal,432 

Antisthenes,  €6 

Anwyll,  Lewis,  of  Park,  Esq.  ?45 

Arachne,  380 

Aristippus,  67 

Ark,  392 

Armstrangis,  453 

Arrane,  Erie  of,  445 

Arundel,  Earl  of,  89 

Asaph,  St.,  248 

Ashton,Mrs.  Anne,  302 

Augustus  Cxsar,  70 

Auster,  406 


B. 

Babylon,  420 

Bacchus,  599 

Bacone,  Mr.  Anthonie,  419,  420 

Balcleuch,  453 

Baldwin,  104 

Balle,  Peter,  Esq.,  275 

Balle,Mr.  Wm.,  275 

Bailey,  Lewis,  Bp.  of  Bangor,  246 

Bancroft,    Thomas,  lines  to,  by   Sir 

Aston  Cokaine,  34,  42,45,46' 
,    extracts    from 

his  epigrams,  490 
Bangor,  247 
Barclay,  45 

Bargrave,  Dr.  Isaac,  account  of,  238 
Bartas,  Du,422 

Baskervile,  Sir  Humphrey,  200 
Bastard,  Thomas,  8,  19,  26 
Battus,  .S79 
Bayley,  Nicholas,  248 

,  Theodore,  247.  248 

,  Dr.  Thomas.  248 

Beachcroft,  Sir  Richard,  473 

Beaumont,  Francis,  18,  31 

Bedell,  Bp.,  499 

Bedford.,  Countc.>s  of,  92 

Beloe,  Mr.,  194 

Belvoir  Castle,  454 

Bentivoglio,  33 

Berkshire,  Earl  of,  95  n. 

Berwick,  Friers  of,  508 

Best,  Charles,  13 

Betoun,    James,   Bishop  of  Sanctan- 

drois,  446 
Beza  Georg.    Fabri.    hist.   &C.,    159 

71. 

Birkett,Henrv.  132 
Blockland,  367 
Blunt,  Leonard,  276 
Bodenham,  John,  50 

,  '1  homas,  Esq.,  20O 

Ball,  Hans,  367 
Boreas,  406 
Borthick,  Lord,  445 


544 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


Both  well,  Earle  of,  448 

Bays,  Dr.,  238 

Brackley,    Vise,     Lord    Ellesmere, 

87  n. 
Brathwaite,  Rich.  Esq,,  his  Spiritual 

Spiceiie,  286 
Breton,  Nicholas,  8 
,  lines  from  his  Wit's 

Will,  &c.,  500 
Broke,  Sir  William,  242 
Brome,  Alexander,  33 
Brome,  Richard,  praludium  to  his 

Plays.  43 
Brook,  Lord,  22  n. 
Browne,  William,  10 
Buc  G.,58  7j. 

Buckingham,  Duke  of,  244 
Budge,  John,  mistake  of  Rilson  re- 
specting, 254 
Bulgarians,  371 
Buckhurst,  Lord,  8 
Burbage,  Richard,  196  ». 
Burdett,  Sir  Francis,  lines  to,  by  Sir 

Aston  Cokaine,  34 
Burton,  Latimer,  474 
Bushel,  Mr.,  song  sung  by  his  miners 

in  Devonshire,  185 
Byblis,  383 


Caesar,  7 1,371 

Cairfax  in  Oxford,  conduit  at,  79 

Calve,  Jo.,  257 

Calverly,  Sir  George,  246 

Cambridge,  139 

Camel,  Thomas,  503 

Campion,  Dr.,   12 

Carew,  Sir  George,  24  3 

Carey,  Henry,  Earl  of  Dover,  29G  n. 

,  Sir  Philip,  200 

Carthage,  530 

Castellmareh,  245 

Catherina,  Donna,  of  Portugal,  131 

Cawne,  383 

Centaurs,  384 

Cephalus  and  Procris,  382 

Ceyx,  384 

Chalmers,  Biog.  Diet.,  53  n. 

Chamberlain,  Rob.,  his  Nocturnall 
Lucubrations,  275 

Chaos,  404 

Chapman,  George,  8,  18,  33 

: ,  lines  to,  from  Free- 
man's epigrams,  30.  Dedication 
to  his  Shadow  of  Night,  51.  To 
his  Ovid's  Banquet  of  hence,  53 

,  finished  Hero  and 


Leander,  begun  by  Marlow,  112, 

Specimen,  128 
Chapman,  George,  Dedicatory  Son- 
nets before  his  Homer's  Iliad,  81 
,  Commencement  of 

his  part   of  Hero   and    Leander, 

313  n. 
Chappell,  Bartholomew,  503 
Charles  I.,  K.,  Epigrams  by  and  to 

poets  in  his  reign, 26 
Letter  from,  to  Abp.  I^aud, 

239 
Charles  II.,  131 
Chastellarault,  Duchy  of,  448 
Chaucer,  138,  140 
Cheeke,  Sir  John,  365 
Cherona?a,  73 
Chettle,  Henry,  367 
Christ,  Jesus,  Holland's  History  of, 

153 
Christoloros,  19  n. 
Churchyard, Thomas,  8,  503 
Chwaeu,  474 
Clanchattan,  453 
Clangregour,  45:3 
Claraphil  and  Clarinda,  183 
Clarendon,  Lord,  50, 476 
Clarke,  T.  301 
Cliddisdaill,  453 
Cloanthus,  527 
Cicero,  71 
Cippus,  385 
Circe,  385 
Cocks,  Roger,  his  Hebdomada  Sacra, 

505 
Cokane,    Sir   Aston,    epigrams   by, 

31 
Coke,  Sir  Edward,  421 
Colchester,  428,  437 
Colchos,  381 
Coloni,  366 

Comwallis,  Sir  Charles,  241 
Cotton,  Charles,  31 
,  the  younger,  32,  33, 

47 
Cowper,  260 
Cox,  Ro.,  195 
Croftes,  M.  Anth.  256 
Cumberland,  George  Earl  of,  203 
Cunningham,  449 
Cunningham,  James,  laird  of  Barnes, 

473 
Cyclops,  526 


D. 


Dacians,  371 

]).KdaU:s,  'Zi-I 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


545 


Dalmatjans,  371 

Daniel,  R.,  188  n. 

Daniell,  Sam.,  8,  16 

Daphne,  378 

Davenport,  William,  esq.  490 

David,  4:36 

,  penitentiary  psalms  of,  Hun- 

nis's  version  of,  106 
Davies,  Sir  John,  8,  21,27  n.  195 
■  John,  of  Hereford,  11.  Verses 

on    himself,    24.      His    Humours 

Heav'n  on  Earth,  194 
Davila,  33 
Davison,  Francis,  8 
Davison's  Poetical  Rhapsody  noticed, 

13   71. 

Dekker,  his  Dreame,  249 
Delphos,  571 
Democritus,  145  n. 
Demosthenes,  73 
Dering,  260 

,  Elizabeth,  238 

Deucalion,  392 

Devonshire,  Earl  of,  416,  417 

Deyanira,  383 

Dido, 530 

Digges,  260 

Diodoriis,  145  n. 

Dionysius,  King,  371 

Dodiugton,  Sir  William,  299 

Codsley,  7 

Dolben,  Bishop,  248,  474 

Donne,  Dr.    8,    9.    Elegy    on,    by 

Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  426 
— — ,  extracts  from  an  Elegy 

on,  by  Lord  Herbert,  427 
Dorset,  Earl  of,  413,  422 
Dover,  Henry,  Earl  of,  296 
Douglas,  Gawin,  518 
Dowglas,  Schir  George,  447 
Drake,  Mr.  78 

Sir  Francis,  468 

Drayton,  Michael,  2,  8,  12,  33 
his  lines  before 

Christopher  Middleton's Legend  of 

Humphrey  Duke  of  Glocester,  29. 

Funeral  elegy  on,    by    Sir  Aston 

Cockaine,  37 

Sonnet  by,  104 


Drummond,  William,  of  Hawthorn- 
den,  55 

• Sonnet  to,  200 

Dryden,  97 

Dudley,  Robert,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
105 

Dunbar,  William,  508 

Dutton,  Mrs,  Elizabeth,  200 
Vol.  U. 


Dyer,  Sir  Edward,  24 
DyfFryn  Clwyd,  248 


Egerton,  Thomas,  Lord  Chancellor, 
412 

Mrs.  Vere,  200 

Ellesmere,  Lord,  87,  421 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  55 
Elpenor,  399 
Elysian  Fields,  393 
Empedocles,  145  n. 
Enyon,  Mrs.  Dorothy,    183 
Epicurus,  145  n. 
Erasmus,  59 
Erskine,  Lord,  445 
Essex,  Earl  of,  415 
Euclid,  66 
Eurus,  406 
Excerpta  Tudoriana,  12  «. 


Fairfax,  Edmund,  8 

Fairnyberst,  453 

Fauconberge,  Thomas,  Lord,  286 

Faulconbridge,  246 

Fenton,  207 

Fidelia,  of  Wither,  referred  to,  480  n. 

Finet,  260 

FitzjefFery,  Charles,  17 

■-    Chamberlain's 

lines  on  his  death,  281 

--    his    dedicatory 


sonnet  to  the  Lady  of  Sir  Francis 

Drake,  468 
Fleming,  Bishop,  79 

Abraham,  202 

Fletcher,  John,  13,  32 
lines  to,  by  Sir  Aston 

Cokane,  40.     Epitaph,  47 

ii Giles,  10 

Phineas,  10,  276 


Fotherby,   Dr.,    Bp.   of    Salisbury, 

244 
Fox,  John,  75 

Freeman's  Epigrams,  lines  from,  30 
Freeman,  M.,  257 
Frobisher,  Capt.,  202.    Report  of  his 

last  voyage,  207 


Gabriel,  a  bark  attending  Capt.  Fro- 
bisher, 207 
Garagantua,  157 
Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  55 

Stephen,  365 

Gerardus  Mercator,  243 
4  A 


546 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


Gias,  527 

Gibbon, 260 

Gibbs,  Mr.,  77  n. 

Glasgow,  Castell  of,  445 

Golding,    Arthur,  his  translation  of 

Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  376 
Gorges,  Sir  Arthur,  35 
Gouge,  Mr.,  247 
Grainger,  78 
Green,  Robt.,  94  n. 
Greene,  4  ji. 
■  Greville,  SirFulk,  22 
Greys,  Anth.,  195 
Griffith,  John,  245 
Grifith,  Robert,  of  Caernarvon,  esq., 

474 
Gruytrodius,    Jacobus,   the   life  of, 

287 
Guicciardini,  33 
Guilpin's  sonnet  to  Markham,  467 

H. 
Habington,  33 
Hall.Bp.  Joseph,  8,  17,  497 

John,  his  emblems,  188  k. 

Halyruidhous,  Abbey  of,  445 
Hamilton,  Ihone,  his  Facile  Treatise, 

251 
Hamiltoun,  Schir  James,  445 
Hamiltounis,  the,  444 
Hammond,  260 
Harflete,  Henry,  259,  260 

Sir  Christopher,  258 

Harington,  Sir  John,  8,  13,  139 

•     Epigrams  by,  26, 


255 


Lucy,  Countess  of  Bed- 


ford, 92  }i. 
Harleian  Library,  80 

--' ,  Misc.,  1 

Harrison,  William,  242 

Harvey,  Gabriel,  his  Hunt  is  up,  858 

his  Trimming    of 

Thomas  Nashe,  367 
Havi^kins,  Thomas,  1 1 
Haydock,  William,  302 
Heath,  John,  1 1 
Hecate,  399 
Hector,  523 

Henchman,  Dr.  Humphrey,  474 
Henneberge,  Countess  of,  brought  to 

bed  of  365  children,  297 
Henry  IV.  of  France,  252 
Henry,   king  of  Scots,  murther  of, 

440 
Henry,  Prince,  lines  on  his  death, 

497 
Heraclitus,  145  k. 


Herbert,  Philip,  Earl  of  Moatgome« 
ry,  90  n. 

— ; Lord,  of  Cher  bury,  occa- 
sional verses  of,  423 

Hercules,  382 

Herman,  Karl  of  Henneberg,  297 

Hermaphrodite,  380 

Hesiod,  64 

Heywood,  Thomas,  his  Troia  Bri- 
tanica.  141.  Dedicatory  epistle, 
141,  Address  to  the  reader,  143. 
Canto  I.,  144 

Hippolitus,395 

Hippomenes,  383 

Holbein,  Hauns,  567 

Holinshead,  243 

Holland,  33 

Robert,  153 

Florence,  Earl  of,  297 

Homer's  Iliad, Chapman's,  81 

Honeywood,  of  Pett,  260 

Horace,  45 

an  ode  of,  imitated  by  Wi- 
ther, 477 

Horni  Caroli  Carmen  Funebre  re- 
ferred to,  499 

Howard,  Sir  1  homas,  95 

Henry,  Earl  of  Northamp- 
ton, 88  n. 

Howland,  Dr.  Richard,  Bp.  of  Peter- 
borough, 243 

Humphrys,  Dr.  Humphry,  Bp.  of 
Bangor,  246 

Hubert,  Sir  Francis,  9 

Hume,  Alexander,  252 

Hunnis,  WiUiam,  105,  107 

Huon  of  Bourdeaux,  157 

Hutton,  Dr.,  79 

Hyppasus,  145  n. 


I. 


Icarus,  382 


Jackman's  Sounde,  213 

James   I.,  K.,  epigrams  by  and  to 

poets  in  his  reign,  26 
James  IV.  of  Scotland,  444 
. poem  on  his 

marriage  with    Margaret  Tudor, 

508 
Jason, 381 
Jegon,  Dr.    John,  Bp.  of  Norwich, 

241 
Job,  228 
Johnstounis,  453 
Jonas,  419 
Jones,  Charles,  245 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


547 


Jonson,  Ben,  15,  33,  186,  257 

— verses   to,    by    Lord 

Herbert,  423 

Jordan,  Thos.,  171.  List  of  his  va- 
rious publications,  176.  Piety  and 
poesy  contrasted,  178 

— — Claraphil  and  Clarin- 

da,  183 

Judea,  436 

Juno, 398,522 

Jupiter,  371 

Juvenal,  45 

K. 

Keimer,  Samuel,  473 

Kennett's  MSS.  cited,  243,244,  246, 

474 
Kirk,  a  punning  epitaph  on,  182 
Killigrew,  Sir  William,  130 

Thomas,  ISO 

Knyveton,  Mrs.  Anne,  494 


Langbaine,  30,  172 

Lansdunen  in  Holland,  297 

Lapithes,  584 

Laud,  Abp.,  239 

Leicester,  Earl  of,  105 

Golding's  dedica- 
tion to,  376 

Lennox,  Duke  of,  86 

Frle  of,  446,  447 

Lenton,  Francis,  34 

Leucote,  458 

Leuer,  Christopher,  55 

Leveson,  Sir  Richard,  226 

Lewkenor,  Sir  Edward,  499 

Licaon,399 

Lichfield,  Richard,  a  name  assumed 
by  Gabriel  Harvey,  368,  372 

Liddisdaill,  453 

Lilly,  W.,  366,  371 

Linlithgow,  446 

Lisle,  Lord,  91 

,  Sir  George,  428,  436 

Littleton,  Sir  Edward,  246 

Llandinam,  247 

Llanfair,  247 

Llangeslyn,  247 

Llanwnoc,  247 

Lochleuin,  450 

Lodge,  Thomas,  8. 

London,  alluded  to,  by  Sir  A.  Cok- 
ayne,138 

plague  in,  A.D.  1603, 197 

Lot's  wife,  178 

Lucas,  Sir  Charles,  428, 433 


Lucius,  371 

Lyttleton,  Stephen,  esq.,  241 

M. 
Macedonians,  371 
Mac  Flecknoe,  97 
Machiavel,  33 
Malone,  171,  128 
Maphaus,  517 
Marcellus,  436 
Marlow  and  Chapman's  Hero  and 

Leander,  112 
■ second  Ses- 

tyad,     161.    Third  Sestyad,   307. 

Fourth,  321.  Fifth,  332.  Sixth,  458 
Marlow  Castle,  sonnet  on  the  groves 

near,  by  Lord  Herbert,  425 
Markham,  Gervase,  8 

his  Devoreux,  467 

Mars,  380,  397 

Marshall,  W.  M.,  96,  101 

Martial,  490 

Marston,  John,  23 

Mary,  Queen, 55 

Massinger,  31,  33 

lines   to,  by   Sir   Aston 

Cokane,  39,  40.     Epitaph  to,  47 
Medea,  381 

Medico  campo,  Don  Richardo  He,  367 
Mendez,  Moses,  7 
Meniati,  Bishop,  80 
Mennis,  260 
Mercury,  398 
Metrodorus,  145  n. 
Michael,  a    bark    attending    Capt. 

Frobisher,  207 
Microcosmus,  Davies's,  cited,  24 
Midas,  384 

Middleton,  Christopher,  9 
Mi  1dm  ay  Fane,  Earl  of  Westmore- 
land, 97 
Minerva  Britanna,  148 
Minos,  381 
Montgomery,  Earl  of,  90 

Countess  of,  91 

Mountgomerie,     Countess    of,    her 

Urania,  £60 
Mountjoy,Lord,  Earl  of  Devonshire,- 

416 
Morgan,  Capt.,  of  Goalgrave,  246 
Mosely,  Humphrey,  36 
Moses,  145  7J. 
Mullier,  Hauns,S67 
Mundy,  Anthony,  8 
Murray,  Erie  of,  448 

David,  104 

— — — —  Sir  James,  16 


548 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


Murray,  John,  15,  104 
Murre,  Francis  de,  367 
Mustapha,  Tragedy  of,  by  whom, 

'22 

N. 
Nabbes,  276 
Nantenog,  474 
Nashe,  Thou.as,  his  Have  with  you 

to  Saffron  Walden,  358 
,  ,  the  Trimming  of, 

367,  369 
Neptune,  3y9 
Neesus,  383 
Nestor,  396,  421 

Newcastle,  Margaret  Duchess  of,  435 
Newfoundland,  209 
Newgate,    George   Wither's    verses 

on,  349 
Newman,  Richard,  132 
Newton,  Thomas,   105 
Nicanor,  157 
Nicols,  Richard,    1 
Nisus,  382 
Noah,  392 

Norfoulke,  Duke  of,  451 
North,  Lord,   12 
Northampton,  Earl  of,  87 
Nott's,  Dr.,  excellent  reprint  of  Dek- 

kcr's  Gull's  Hornbook  referred  to, 

250 
Nottingham,  Earl  of,  226 

O. 

Oldham,  172 

Oldys,  30  rt. 

Olympus,  410 

Onslow,  Sir  Richard,  357 

Ops,  398 

Orford,  Lord,  423 

Orontes,  527 

Orkney,  209 

Orpheus,  383 

Ossa,  410 

Overburii,  in  statuam  ligneam,  4'23 

Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  translated  by 

Arthur  Golding,  376 
Owen,  John,  '20 

,  Sir  Rob.,  ofDornton,  246 

Owen's   Confectionary,  Banquet    of 

Essays  fetcht  out  of,  258 
Owens,  Owen,  474 
Oxford,  139.     Conduit  at,  79 
,  Lord,  77 


Page,  Samuel,  his  sermon  at  the  fu- 
neral of  Sir  Richard  Leveson,  226 


Palingen,  295 

Pamphylia  to  Amphllanthus,  poems 

annexed  to  Urania,  270  n. 
Panter,  Dauid,  446 
Paradise,  391 
Park,  Mr.,  97,  423 
Parnassus,  393 
Passjeus,  Sim.,  2G0 
Peacham,  Henry,  his  Valley  of  Va- 

rietie,  295 
Pegge,  Thomas,  Gent.,  495 
Pelion,  410 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  21,  89,414 
• ,  Mary  Countess  Dowager 

of,  23 
Pentland  Hills,  defeat  of  the  rebels 

at,  472 
Percy,  Algernon,  Lord,  194 
Persius,  45 
Peterborough  (Dr.  Howland),    Bp. 

of,  243 
Phaer,  Thomas,  his  translation  of  part 

of  theiEneid,  516 
Phillips's  Theatrum  noticed,  29 
Phillips,  Mrs  Ann,  of  Picton,  153 
Philocrates,  429 
Philomele,  381 
Phlegeton,  393 
Philomus,  257 
Phocion,  432 
Phoebus,  398,  408 
Pigmalion,  532 
Plat,  Sir  Hugh,  284  n. 
Pluto,  399 

Polydore  Virgil,  146  7Z.,  371 
Polypheme,  385 
Polyxena,  384 
Pompey,  71 
Porter,  Endymion,  249 
Posket,  Robert,  56 
Poulo,  Padre,  239 
Priam,  384 

Price,  John  of  Rhiwlas,  246 
Prideaux,  Edmund,  Esq.,  482 
Prometheus,  390,  407 
Prynne's  Abp.  Laud,  239  ?i. 
Pyramus  and  Thisbc,  3W 
Pythagoras,  385 


Quarles,  John,  189 


R. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  8 
Ramsav,  515 
Randafl,  Thomas,  492 
Randolph,  33,  3S 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


549 


RatclifFe,  Rob.,  Earl  of  Sussex,  94  n. 

Reading,  John,  239 

Richardson,  Dr.,  78 

Ritson,  10,  171,  503 

Robinson,  Humphrey,  36 

Rokeby,  Col.,  184 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  504 

Romulus,  529 

Rous,  Francis,  provost  of  Eton  Col- 
lege, 240 

Roydon,  Matthew,  8,  13,  51,  53 

Russel,  Lord,  Chapman's  poem  on 
his  death,  57 

Ruthuen,  Lord,  445 

Ryley,  Henry,  242 


Sackvil,  Robert,  Esq.,  Twine's  de- 
dication to,  516 

Sackvi lie, Lord,  epitaph  on  his  child, 
by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 
424 

Saffron  Walden,  Have  with  you  to, 
&c.,  338 

Salisbury,  Earl  of,  53,  87,  4 13 

Salmacis,  380 

Sanctandrois,  Bishop  of,  447 

Sandys,  33,260 

Sarmatians,  371 

Sarpedon,  523 

Saturn,  398 

Scaliger,  33 

Scanderbeg,  276 

Scotland,  sufferings  of  the  church  of, 
471 

,  Queue  of,  444 

Scythia,  406 

Sennacherib,  157 

Servians,  371 

Sestos,  113 

Settle,  Elkanah,  172 

,  Dionyse,  202 

Sidney,  John,   181 

Simpliciu'5,  85 

Shadwell,  97 

Shakespear,  14,  38,  44,  196  n.,  504 

Sharp,  Abp,,  murder  of,  471 

Sharphell,  Edw.,  195 

Shirley,  James,  494 

,  Sir  Charles,  490 

Smith,  Sir  Thomas,  Master  of  Re- 
quests, '244,  419 

Socrates,  64 

Sophonisba  and  Cslia  noticed,  15  n. 

Siiuthampton,  Earl  of,  93 

Southcote,  Thomas,  240 

Speuser,  7,  140 


Spondanus,  85 

Stallenge,  William,  150 

Stanley,  '260 

,  Thomas,  183 

Steevens,  'M  n. 

Steward,  John,   I8l 

Stirling,  Earl  of,  16  n. 

Strange,  James,  Lord,  506 

Styx,  393 

Suckling,  33 

Suffolk,  Earl  of,  87 

Sussex,  Earl  of,  94 

Sydney,  Sir  Philip,  23.  Epitaph  on 
his  lying  in  St.  Paul's  without  a 
monument,  by  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury,  4'23 

■,  Robert,  Lord  Vere,  91 

,  Mrs.  Elizabeth,  469,  470 

Sylla,  71 

Sylvester,  Joshua,  493 

,  ,  his  sonnets  dedi- 
catory to  several  eminent  persons^ 
412 

Syracuse,  436 

T. 

Tatham,  172 

Taubman,  172 

Teras,  Tale  of,  in  Hero  and  Leander, 
335.     Epithalamion  Teratos,  345 

Terence,  74  n. 

Thebes,  393 

Theseus,  381 

Thoresby,  Mr.,  78 

Thracians,  371 

Tithonus,  396 

Titus,  436 

Tiuidaill,  432 

Todd's  Deans  of  Canterbury,  239  n. 

Troy,  384,  5'i8 

Troy,  Britain's,  141 

Tru'^ser,  367 

Tudor,  Margaret,  808 

Turner,  Richard,  Epigram  by,  29 

Twine,  Thomas,  his  translation  of 
pan  of  the  ^aeid,  516 

Twysdeu,  260 

Tzetzes,  John,  75 
U. 

Udall,  Nicholas,  59 

Ulysses,  384 

Urchard,  Sir  Thomas,  epigrams  by, 
28 

Ursini,  366 

Uxbridge,  Henry  Earl  of,  248 


Valachians,  371 


550 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 


Vatinius,  71 

Venus,  S80, 597,  527 

Vere,  I.adySusan,  Countess  of  Mont- 
gomery, 91  n. 

Vesey,  Rob.,  257 

Virgil's  ^neid  translated  by  Phaer 
and  Twine,  516 

Vulcan,  399 

W. 

Waldegrave,  Robert,  253 

Walden,  Lord  of,  94 

Walsingham,  Sir  Thomas,  112 

Walton's  Angler  cited,  50 

Wanley,  Humphrey,  76,  77 

Warner,  William,  8 

Warton,  9 

Warwick,  Arthur,  his  Spare-Mi- 
nutes, &c.  298 

,  Anne,  Countess  of,  503 

Weldon,  Sir  Anthony,  238,  244 

Wesley,  172 

Westmorland,  Mildmay  Fane,  Earl 
of,  97 

Whipstable,  GefFeray  Chappell  of, 
503 

Whitgifc,  Dr.  John,  244 

Williams,  Sir  William,  of  Vaynol, 
245 

■ .Dr.  Hugh,  474 

Windet,  J.,  81  n. 


Winstanley,  172,  276 
Wither,  George,  10 

,  ,    his    elogium    of 

Warwick's  Meditations,  801 

-,  his  Improvement  of 


Imprisonment,  347 
,  ,    extracts  from  his 


Improvement    of    Imprisonment, 

475 
Wittberg,  Christ..  159 
Wod,  Maister  John,  452 
Wood,  1,  242 
Worcester,  Earl  of,  141 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry,  8 
Wroth,  Thomas.  1 
Wroth,  Lady,  22,  92,  260 
Wyatt,  260 
Wynne,   Richard,    Archdeacon    of 

Bangor,  246 
Wynn,  Ra.,  257 
Wynter,  Robert,  Esq.,  241 


Yorke,  207 

Young,  Sir  Peter,  of  Seton,  418 

Yvry,  Battaile  of,  422  n. 


Zeno,  145  n. 
Zephyr,  406,  408 


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