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Of which most princely chase sith none did e'er report, Until the noble deer, through toil bereav'd of strength, Or by description touch, t'express that wondrous sport His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, (Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler | The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way songs)

To anything he meets now at his sad decay. To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs :

The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid ; This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid : Some bank or quick-set finds ; to which his haunch In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, opposed, Which oft hast borne thy bow, great huntress, used to He turns upon his foes, that soon have him incloser. rove

The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce bay, The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's | With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly queen,

wounds. With thy dishevel'd nymphs attired in youthful green, The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, About the lawns hast scowr'd, and wastes both far | He desperately assails ; until opprest by force, and near,

He who the mourner is to his own dying corre, Brave huntress ; but no beast shall prove thy quarries Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets falli here ;

| To forests that belongs.
Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red,
The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head,
Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his

[Part of the Twenty-eighth Song of the Polyolbion.] hounds The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds, But, Muse, return at last, attend the princely Trent, Where harbour'd is the hart ; there often from his feed | Who straining on in state, the north's imperious flood, The dogs of him do find ; or thorough skilful heed, The third of England call'd, with many a dainty wood, The huntsman by his slot, ? or breaking earth, per- Being crown'd to Burton comes, to Needwood where ceives,

she shows Or ent’ring of the thick by pressing of the greaves, Herself in all her pomp; and as from thence she flows, Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart She takes into her train rich Dove, and Darwin clear, doth hear

Darwin, whose font and fall are both in Derbyshire ; The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret lair, And of those thirty floods, that wait the Frent upon, He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth Doth stand without compare, the very paragon. drive,

Thus wand'ring at her will, as uncontrollid she As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. ranges, And through the cumb'rous thicks, as fearfully he Her often varying form, as variously and changes ; makes,

| First Erwash, and then Lyne, sweet Sherwood sends He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, her in ; That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to Then looking wide, as one that newly wak'd had been, weep ;

Saluted from the north, with Nottingham's proud When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, height, That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring So strongly is surpris'd, and taken with the sight, place :

That she from running wild, but hardly can refrain, And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase. To view in how great state, as she along doth strain, Rechating? with his horn, which then the hunter That brave exalted seat beholdeth her in pride, cheers,

As how the large-spread meads upon the other side, Whilst still the lusty stag bis high-palm'd head up- All flourishing in flowers, and rich embroiderics bears,

dress'd, His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, in which she sees herself above her neighbours bless'd. Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. As wrap'd with the delights, that her this prospect But when th' approaching foes still following he per- brings, ceives,

In her peculiar praise, lo thus the river sings : That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves : • What should I care at all, from what my name I And o'er the champain flies ; which when the as take, sembly find,

That thirty doth import, that thirty rivers make; Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. | My greatness what it is, or thirty abbeys great, But being then imbost, the noble stately deer

That on my fruitful banks, times formerly did seat; When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) | Or thirty kinds of fish that in my streams do live, Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing To me this name of Trent, did from that number give! soil;

What reck I ? let great Thames, since by his fortune he That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, | Is sovereign of us all that here in Britain be ; And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag- | From Isis and old Tame his pedigree derive : wool'd sheep,

And for the second place, proud Severn that doth Them frighting from the guard of those who had their strive, kеер.

Fetch her descent from Wales, from that proud mounBut when as all his shifts his safety still denies,

tain sprung, Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows trics ; | Plinillimon, whose praise is frequent them among, Whom when the ploughman meets, his teem he letteth As of that princely maid, whose name she boasts to

stand, to assail him with his goad : 80 with his hook in hand, Bright Sabrin, whom she holds as her undoubted heir, The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hallow : Let these imperious floods draw down their long deWhen, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and hunts scent men follow;

From these so famous stocks, and only say of Trent,

bear,

1 The track of the foot. % One of the measures in winding the born.

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That Moreland's barren earth me first to light did The flounder smooth and flat, in other rivers caught,

Perhaps in greater store, yet better are not thought : Which though she be but brown, my clear complexion's The dainty gudgeon, loche, the minnow, and the spring

bleak, Gain'à with the nymphs such grace, that when I first Since they but little are, I little need to speak did rise,

Of them, nor doth it fit me much of those to reck, The Naiads on my brim danc'd wanton hydagies, Which everywhere are found in every little beck; And on her spacious breast (with heaths that doth Nor of the crayfish here, which creeps amongst my abound)

stones, Encircled my fair fount with many a lusty round: From all the rest alone, whose shell is all his bones : And of the British floods, though but the third I be, | For carp, the tench, and bream, my other store Yet Thames and Severn both in this come short of me, among,

For that I am the mere of England, that divides To lakes and standing pools that chiefly do belong, || The north part from the south, on my so either sides, Here scouring in my fords, feed in my waters clear,

That reckoning how these tracts in compass be extent, Are muddy fish in ponds to that which they are
Men bound thein on the north, or on the south of here.'
Trent;

From Nottingham, near which this river first begun Their banks are barren sands, if but compard with This song, she the meanwhile, by Newark having run, mine,

Receiving little Synte, from Bever's bat’ning grounds, Through my perspicuous breast, the pearly pebbles At Gainsborough goes out, where the Lincolnian shine :

bounds. I throw my crystal arms along the flow'ry valleys, Yet Sherwood all this while, not satisfied to show Which lying sleek and smooth as any garden alleys, Her love to princely Trent, as downward she doth Do give me leave to play, whilst they do court my fiow, stream,

Her Meden and her Man, she down from Mansfield And crown my winding banks with many an anadem ; sends My silver-scaled sculls about my streams do sweep, To Iddle for her aid, by whom she recommends Now in the shallow fords, now in the falling decp: Her love to that brave queen of waters, her to meet, So that of every kind, the new spawn'd numerous fry When she tow'rds Humber comes, do humbly kiss her Seem in me as the sands that on my shore do lie.

feet, The barbel, than which fish a braver doth not swim, And clip her till she grace great Humber with her Nor greater for the ford within my spacious brim, L. fall.

Nor (newly taken) more the curious taste doth please ; When Sherwood somewhat back the forward Muse il The grayling, whose great spawn is big as any pease ; doth call; The perch with pricking fins, against the pike pre- For she was let to know, that Soare had in her song

So chanted Charnwood's worth, the rivers that along, As nature had thereon bestow'd this stronger guard, Amongst the neighbouring nymphs there was no other His daintiness to keep (each curious palate's proof) I lays, From his vile ravenous foe : next him I name the But those which seem'd to sound of Charnwood, and ruff,

her praise : His very near ally, and both for scale and fin, Which Sherwood took to heart, and very much disIn taste, and for his bait (indeed) his next of kin,

dain'd, The pretty slender dare, of many call'd the dace, (As one that had both long, and worthily maintain'd Within my liquid glass, when Phæbus looks his face, The title of the great'st and bravest of her kind) Oft swiftly as he swims, his silver belly shows,

To fall so far below one wretchedly confined But with such nimble flight, that ere ye can disclose Within a furlong's space, to her large skirts comHis shape, out of your sight like lightning he is shot ; pared : The trout by nature mark'd with many a crimson spot, Wherefore she, as a nymph that neither fear'd nor As though she curious were in him above the rest,

cared And of fresh-water fish, did note him for the best ; For ought to her might chance, by others love or The roach whose common kind to every flood doth fall; I hate, The chub (whose neater name which some a chevin With resolution arm'd against the power of fate, call)

All self-praisc set apart, determineth to sing Food to the tyrant pike (most being in his power), That lusty Robin Hood, who long time like a king Who for their numerous store he most doth them Within her compass lived, and when he list to range derour;

For some rich booty set, or else his air to change, The lusty salmon then, from Neptune's wat'ry realm, To Sherwood still retired, his only standing court, When as his season serves, stemming my tideful Whose praise the Forest thus doth pleasantly report : stream,

“The merry pranks he play'd, would ask an age to tell, Then being in his kind, in me his pleasure takes, And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befel, (For whom the fisher then all other game forsakes) When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been Which bending of himself to th' fashion of a ring,

laid, Above the forced wears, himself doth nimbly fling, How he hath cousen'd them, that him would have | And often when the net hath drag'd him safe to land, betray'd ;

Is seen by natural force to 'scape his murderer's hand; How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised, Whose grain doth rise in flakes, with fatness inter- | And cunningly escaped, being set to be surprised. larded,

In this our spacious isle, I think there is not one, Of many a liquorish lip, that highly is regarded. But he hath heard some talk of him and Little John ; And Humber, to whose waste I pay my wat'ry store, And to the end of time, the tales shall ne'er be done, Me of her sturgeons sends, that I thereby the more Of Scarlock, George-a-Green, and Much the miller's son, Should have my beauties grac'd with something from Of Tuck the merry friar, which many a sermon made him sent;

In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade. Not Ancum's silver'd cel excelleth that of Trent; An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, | Though the sweet smelling smelt be more in Thames Still ready at his call, that bowman were right good, than me,

| All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue, The lamprey, and his lesse, in Severn general be; His fellow's winded horn, not one of them but knew,

When setting to their lips their little beugles shrill Suiting to these he wore a shepherd's scrip, The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill : Which from his side hung down upon his hip. Their bauldricks set with studs, athwart their shoul. Those for a champion that did him disdain, ders cast,

Cast with themselves what such a thing should mean; To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled Some seeing him so wonderously fair fast,

(As in their eyes he stood beyond compare), A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span, Their verdict gave that they had sent him sure Who struck below the knee, not counted then a man: As a choice bait their champion to allure; All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wond'rous Others again, of judgment more precise, strong;

Said they had sent him for a sacrifice.
They not an arrow drew, but was a cloth yard long. | And though he seemed thus to be very young,
Of archery they had the very perfect craft,

Yet was he well proportioned and strong,
With broad-arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft, And with a comely and undaunted grace,
At marks full forty score, they used to prick, and rove, Holding a steady and most even pace,
Yet higher than the breast, for compass never strove ; This way nor that way, never stood to gaze;
Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win : But like a man that death could not amaze,
At long-buts, short, and hoyles, each one could cleave Came close up to Goliah, and so near
the pin :

As he might easily reach him with his spear.
Their arrows finely pair'd, for timber, and for feather, Which when Goliah saw, “Why, boy, quoth be,
With birch and brazil pieced, to fly in any weather ; Thou desperate youth, thou tak'st me sure to be
And shot they with the round, the square, or forked Some dog, I think, and under thy command,
pile,

That thus art come to beat me with a wand: The loose gave such a twang, as might be heard a mile. The kites and ravens are not far away, And of these archers brave, there was not any one, Nor beasts of ravine, that shall make a prey But he could kill a deer his swiftest speed upon, Of a poor corpse, which they from me shall hare, Which they did boil and roast, in many a mighty And their foul bowels shall be all thy grare.' wood,

Uncircumcised slave,' quoth David then, Sharp hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food. That for thy shape, the monster art of men ; Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he Thou thus in brass comest arm'd into the field, Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood And thy huge spear of brass, of brass thy shield: tree.

I in the name of Israel's God alone, From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant That more than mighty, that eternal One, store,

Am come to meet thee. who bids not to fear. What oftentimes he took, he shared amongst the poor : Nor once respect the arms that thou dost bear, No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way,

Slave, mark the earth whereon thou now dost stand, To him before he went, but for his pass must pay : I'll make thy length to measure so much land, The widow in distress he graciously relieved

As thou liest grov'ling, and within this hour And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved : The birds and beasts thy carcass shall derour.' He from the husband's bed no married woman wan, In meantime David looking in his face, But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian,

Between his temples, saw how large a space Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she He was to hit, steps back a yard or two: came,

The giant wond'ring what the youth would do: Was sovereign of the woods, chief lady of the game : Whose nimble hand out of his scrip doth bring Her clothes tuck'd to the knee, and dainty braided A pebble-stone and puts it in his sling; hair,

At which the giant openly doth jeer, With bow and quiver arm’d, she wander'd here and And as in scorn, stands leaning on his spear, there

Which gives young David much content to see, Amongst the forests wild ; Diana never knew

And to himself thus secretly saith he : Such pleasures, nor such harts as Mariana slew.' * * 'Stand but one minute still, stand but so fast,

And have at all Philistia at a cast.' [David and Goliah.]

Then with such sleight the shot away be sent,

That from his sling as 't had been lightning went; And now before young David could come in,

And him so full upon the forehead smit, The host of Israel somewhat doth begin

Which gave a crack, when his thick scalp it hit, To rouse itself ; some climb the nearest tree,

As't had been thrown against some rock or post, And some the tops of tents, whence they might see That the shrill clap was heard through either host. Ilow this unarmed youth himself would bear

Staggering awhile upon his spear he leant, Against the all-armed giant (which they fear):

Till on a sudden he began to faint: Some get up to the fronts of easy hills ;

When down he came, like an old o'ergrown oak, That by their motion a vast murmur fills

His huge root hewn up by the labourers' stroke, The neighbouring valleys, that the enemy thought That with his very weight he shook the ground; Something would by the Israelites be wrought

His brazen armour gave a jarring sound They had not heard of, and they longed to see

Like a crack'd bell, or vessel chanced to fall What strange and warlike stratagem, 't should be. From some high place, which did like death appal

When soon they saw a goodly youth descend, The proud Philistines (hopeless that remain), Himself alone, none after to attend,

To see their champion, great Goliah, slain : That at his need with arms might him supply, When such a shout the host of Israel gave, As merely careless of his enemy :

As cleft the clouds; and like to men that rare His head uncovered, and his locks of hair

(O’ercome with comfort) cry, 'The boy, the boy ! As he came on being played with by the air,

( the brave David, Israel's only joy! Tossed to and fro, did with such pleasure move, God's chosen champion ! O most wondrous thing! As they had been provocatives for love:

The great Goliah slain with a poor sling! His sleeves stript up above his elbows were,

Themselves encompass, nor can they contain ; And in his hand a stiff short staff did bear,

Now are they silent, then they shout again. Which by the leather to it, and the string,

Of which no notice David seems to take, They easily might discern to be a sling.

| But towards the body of the dead doth make,

With a fair comely gait ; nor doth he run,

The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair As though he gloried in what he had done;

The eyed feathers of his pompous train; But treading on the uncircumcised dead,

Nor golden Iris so bends in the air With his foot strikes the helmet from his head ; Her twenty-coloured bow, through clouds of rain : Which with the sword ta'en from the giant's side, Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich, and rare, He from the body quickly doth divide.

Her girdle did in price and beauty stain ; Now the Philistines, at this fearful sight,

Not that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost, Leaving their arms, betake themselves to flight, Nor Venus' cestus could match this for cost. Quitting their tents, nor dare a minute stay ;

Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet Time wants to carry any thing away,

Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear ; Being strongly routed with a general fear ;

Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, gries, and sad regret ; Yet in pursuit Saul's army strikes the rear

Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear, To Ekron walls, and slew them as they fled,

That, mixed first, by weight and measures meet; That Sharam's plains lay cover'd with the dead :

Then, at an easy fire, attempered were; And having put the Philistines to foil,

This wondrous girdle did Armida frame,
Back to the tents retire and take the spoil

And, when she would be loved, wore the same.
Of what they left ; and ransacking, they cry,
' A David, David, and the victory!'
When straightway Saul his general, Abner, sent

[Rinaldo at Mount Olivet and the Enchanted Wood.] For valiant David, that incontinent

It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day, lle should repair to court ; at whose command

Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined, He comes along, and beareth in his hand

For in the east appear'd the morning grey, The giant's head, by the long hair of his crown,

And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, Which by his active knee hung dangling down.

When to Mount Olivet he took his way, And through the army as he comes along,

And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, To gaze upon him the glad soldiers throng :

Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine, Some do instyle him Israel's only light,

This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine. And other some the valiant Bethlemite, With congees all salute him as he past,

Thus to himself he thought : how many bright And upon him their gracious glances cast:

And 'splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! He was thought base of him that did not boast,

Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, Nothing but David, David, through the host.

Her fix'd and wand'ring stars the azure sky; The virgins to their timbrels frame their lays

So framed all by their Creator's might,
Of him ; till Saul grew jealous of his praise.

That still they live and shine, and ne'er will die,
Till in a moment, with the last day's brand

They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.
EDWARD FAIRFAX.

Thus as he mused, to the top he went, The celebrated translation of Tasso's Jerusalem, And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; by EDWARD FAIRFAX, was made in the reign of

His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; Queen Elizabeth, and dedicated to that princess,

His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were who was proud of patronising learning, but not very

| The sins and errors which I now repent, lavish in its support. The poetical beauty and free

Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, dom of Fairfax's version has been the theme of

Remember not, but let thy mercy fall almost universal praise. Dryden ranked him with | And purge my faults and my offences all. Spenser as a master of our language, and Waller Thus prayed he ; with purple wings up-flew, said he derived from him the harmony of his mum In golden weed, the morning's lusty queen, bers. Collins has finely alluded to his poetical and Begilding with the radiant beams she threw, imaginative genius

His helm, the harness, and the mountain green : Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind

Upon his breast and forehead gently blew

The air, that balm and nardus breath'd unseen ; Believed the magic wonders which he sung!

And o'er his head, let down froin clearest skies, T: The date of Fairfax's birth is unknown. He was | A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies. the natural son of Sir Thomas Fairfax of Denton, in

| The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, Yorkshire, and spent his life at Fuystone, in the forest of Knaresborough, in the enjoyment of many

To which compar'd, his clothes pale ashes seem, blessings which rarely befall the poetical race-com

And sprinkled so that all that paleness fled,

And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: | petence, ease, rural scenes, and an ample command

So cheered are the flowers, late withered, | of the means of study. He wrote a work on Demon| ology, which is still in manuscript, and in the pre

With the sweet comfort of the morning beam;

And so return’d to youth, a serpent old face to it he states, that in religion he was neither

Adorns herself in new and native gold. a fantastic Puritan, nor a superstitious Papist. He also wrote a series of eclogues, one of which was

The lovely whiteness of his changed weed published in 1741, in Cooper's Muses' Library, but it | The prince perceived well and long admired; is puerile and absurd. Fairfax was living in 1631. | Toward the forest march'd he on with speed, but the time of his death has not been recorded.

Resoly'd, as such adventures great required :
Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread

Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; [Description of Armida and her Enchanted Girdle.]

But not to him fearful or loathsome made l' And with that word she smiled, and ne'ertheless

That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade.
Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold : Forward he pass’d, and in the grove before,
Her hair (that done) she twisted up intress,

He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was ; And looser locks in silken laces rollid ;

There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, Her curls, garland-wise, she did up dress,

There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass ; Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold,

There sang the swan, and singing died, alas! The twisted flow'rets smild, and her white breast There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard, 1. The lilies there that spring with roses drest.

And all these sounds one sound right well declared.

A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard,

And brought three yards of velvet and three quarters, The aged trees and plants well nigh, that rent, To make Venetians down below the garters. Yet heard the nymphs and syrens afterward,

He, that precisely knew what was enough, Birds, winds, and waters sing with sweet consent ; Soon slipt aside three quarters of the stuff ; Whereat amazed, he stay'd and well prepar'd

His man, espying it, said in derision, For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went,

Master, remember how you saw the vision ! Nor in his way his passage ought withstood,

Peace, knave ! quoth he, I did not see one rag Except a quiet, still, transparent flood :

Of such a colour'd silk in all the flag.
On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound,

SIR HENRY WOTTON.
Flowers and odours sweetly smil'd and smell’d,
Which reaching out his stretched arms around,

Sir HIENRY WoTron, less famed as a poet than as All the large desert in his bosom held,

a political cliaracter in the reigns of Elizabeth and And through the grove one channel passage found; James I., was born at Bocton Hall, the seat of his This in the wood, that in the forest dwellid :

ancestors, in Kent, in 1568. After receiving his Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye education at Winchester and Oxford, and travelling made,

for some years on the continent, he attached himself And so exchang'd their moisture and their shade.

[graphic]

SIR JOIN HARRINGTON. The first translator of Ariosto into English was SIR JOHN HARRINGTON, a courtier of the reign of Elizabeth, and also god-son of the queen. He was the son of John Harrington, Esq., the poet already noticed. Sir John wrote a collection of epigrams, and a Brief View of the Church, in which he reprobates the marriage of bishops. He is supposed to have died about the year 1612. The translation from Ariosto is poor and prosaic, but some of his epigrams are pointed.

Of Treason.
Treason doth never prosper ; what's the reason ?
For if it prosper none dare call it treason.

Of Fortune.
Fortune, men say, doth give too much to many,
But yet she never gave enough to any.

Against Writers that carp at other Men's Books.
The readers and the hearers like my books,
But yet some writers cannot them digest;
But what care I ! for when I make a feast
I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks.

Of a Precise Tailor.
A tailor, thought a man of upright dealing-
True, but for lying-honest, but for stealing,
Did fall one day extremely sick by chance,
And on the sudden was in wondrous trance ;
The fiends of hell mustering in fearful manner,
Of sundry colour'd silks display'd a banner
Which he had stolen, and wish'd, as they did tell,
That he might find it all one day in hell.
The man, affrighted with this apparition,
Upon recovery grew a great precisian :
He bought a bible of the best translation,
And in his life he show'd great reformation ;
He walked mannerly, he talked meekly,
He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly ;
He vow'd to shun all company unruly,
And in his speech he used no oath but truly ;
And zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,
His meat for that day on the eve was drest;
And lest the custom which he had to stcal
Might cause him sometimes to forget his zeal,
He gives his journeyman a special charge,
That if the stuff, allowance being large,
He found his fingers were to filch inclined,
Bid him to have the banner in his mind.
This done (I scant can tell the rest for laughter)
A captain of a ship came three days after,

Sir Henry Wotton. to the service of the Earl of Essex, the favourite of Elizabeth, but had the sagacity to foresee the fate of that nobleman, and to elude its consequences by withdrawing in time from the kingdom. Having afterwards gained the friendship of King James, by communicating the secret of a conspiracy formed against him, while yet only king of Scotland, he was employed by that monarch, when he ascended the English throne, as ambassador to Venice. A versatile and lively mind qualified Sir Henry in an eminent degree for this situation, of the duties of which we have his own idea in the well-known pun. ning expression, in which he defines an ambassador to be an honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.' He ultimately took orders, to qualify himself to be provost of Eton, in which situation he died in 1639, in the seventy-second year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title of Reliquiæ Wottoniunæ ; and a memoir of his very curious life has been published by Izaak Walton.

To his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia.
You meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light !

You common people of the skies!
What are you, when the sun shall rise ?
You curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your voices understood

By your weak accents ! what's your praise
When Philomel her voice shall raisc ?

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