Teach me thy love to know; BEN JONSON. BEN JONSON was born A.D. 1574. At an early age he served as a volunteer in Flanders, and highly distinguished himself; especially on one occasion, when he engaged with an enemy in single combat, and slew him, in the presence of both armies. Another instance of his high spirit he exhibited after he had become a writer for the stage. Marston and Chapman had been sent to prison, soon after the accession of James to the English throne, on a charge of having reflected injuriously on Scotland in a comedy entitled Eastward Hoe. Jonson having had a part in the composition of the play deemed it his duty to share in the responsibility, and voluntarily accompanied his fellow-dramatists to prison. His dramatic career was eminently successful; and his fortunes were further improved by royal favour, and the liberal payment which he received for his court masques. In his later life, being reduced to distress by sickness, he found a munificent patron in the Earl of Newcastle; to whom, as a mark of his gratitude, he presented a dramatic interlude on the occasion of a royal visit to the earl's country seat. He died in the year 1637. Jonson was the most learned of the English dramatists; and valued himself especially on his adherence to the ancient models. He is excellent alike for the perfection of his plots, his vigour in the conception of character, and the robust power of his diction. A man of a fiery temper, as well as of a daring spirit, his life was occasionally embittered by literary quarrels. The charges of malevolence and vindictiveness so long reiterated against him appear to have been brought forward on insufficient grounds. He has recorded, in the most expressive terms, his admiration of Shakespeare, whom he was accused of having depreciated. SONG OF HESPERUS. [In Cynthia's Revels. Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Earth, let not thy envious shade Cynthia's shining orb was made Lay thy bow of pearl apart, Space to breathe, how short soever : SONG. [In the Silent Woman.] Still to be neat, still to be drest Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. SONG OF NIGHT. [In the Masque of the Visions of Delight.] Break, Phant'sie, from thy cave of cloud, And various shapes of things; It must have blood, and naught of phlegm; And though it be a waking dream, Chorus. Let it like an odour rise To all the senses here, And fall like sleep upon their eyes, Or music in their ear. GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE. It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be, Or standing long an oak three hundred year, Is fairer far in May; Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. CAREW. THOMAS CAREW was born A.D. 1589, and descended from a family of the same name, long settled in Devonshire. He was in part educated at Oxford, after which he betook himself to the court of Charles I., of which he was one of the most brilliant ornaments. His poems possess a singular sweetness, freshness, and grace. Unfortunately a few of them are not free from a license in remarkable contrast with the refinement of the greater number. Carew died A.D. 1639. INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, Of common beauties, lived unknown, I gave it to thy voice and eyes: Thou art my star, shinest in my skies; Tempt me with such affrights no more, I'll know thee in thy mortal state. DISDAIN RETURNED. He that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, WOTTON. SIR HENRY WOTTON was born at Brougton Place, Kent, A.D. 1568. After the accession of James I. to the English throne he was appointed ambassador at the court of Venice. In later life he became a clergyman, and was made provost of Eton. A man of learning, piety, and blameless life, he must ever rank among the worthies of early English literature. He died A.D. 1639 FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, I would be great, but that the sun doth still I would be high, but see the proudest oak Would the world now adopt me for her heir, 66 the fair, Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike justice dumb To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! 1 Pieces of money. |