Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And firft, quo' the king, when I'm in this ftead, Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 25 How foone I may ride the whole world about. 30 And at the third question thou must not shrink, O, thefe are hard questions for my fhallow witt, 35 Now three weeks fpace to thee will I give, Away rode the abbot all fad at that word, 40 That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot of comfort fo cold, 45 "Sad newes, fad newes, fhepheard, I muft give; The first is to tell him there in that ftead, With his crowne of golde fo fair on his head, Among all his liege men fo noble of birth, 55 To within one penny of what he is worth. The feconde, to tell him, without any doubt, Now cheare up, fire abbot, did you never hear yet, 60 Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65 I am like your lordship, as ever may bee: There is none fhall knowe us at fair London towne. Now Now horfes, and ferving-men thou shalt have, Now welcome, fire abbot, the king he did fay, And first, when thou feeft me here in this ftead, "For thirty pence our Saivour was fold Amonge the falfe Jewes, as I have bin told; And twenty nine is the worth of thee, For I thinke, thou art one penny worfer than hee." 70 75 8€ The king he laughed, and fwore by St. Bittel*, 85 I did not think I had been worth fo littel! "You must rise with the fun, and ride with the fame, Until the next morning he rifeth againe; 90 Meaning probably St. Botolph. And And then your grace need not make any doubt, The king he laughed, and fwore by St. Jone, "Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: The king he laughed, and fwore by the masse, 96 100 Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee; 105 And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, VII. YOU VII. YOU MEANER BEAUTIES. This little Sonnet was written by Sir HENRY WOTTON, Knight, on that amiable Princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the Electoralatine, who was chofen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The confequences of this fatal election are well known: Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and the following year was employed in feveral embassies in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady feems to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was prefented to him by the Emperor, because it came from an 66 enemy to his royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia." See Biog. Britan. 6 This fong is printed from the Reliquiæ Wottoniana, 1651, with fome corrections from an old MS. copy. OU meaner beauties of the night, You That poorly fatisfie our eies More by your number, than your light; You common people of the skies, What are you when the Moon shall rife? 5 Ye |