THOMAS HEYWOOD.

HEYWOOD, THOMAS, an English actor, dramatist, and poet; born in Lincolnshire about 1580; died at London about 1650. Of his personal history little is known beyond what may be gathered from casual notices in his own works. He says that he had "an entire hand, or at least a main finger," in two hundred and twenty plays, of which only twenty-three have been preserved. He also wrote several prose works. The first complete collection of Heywood's extant dramatic works, in six volumes, was made in 1874. Although he wrote all sorts of poetry and prose, for any who would pay him, his reputation rests upon his sparkling song and still more sparkling comedy. The best of his plays are "A Woman Killed with Kindness," "The Four London 'Prentices," and "Love's Mistress."

SEARCH AFTER GOD.

I SOUGHT Thee round about. O Thou, my God!
In Thine abode :

I said unto the earth, "Speak, art thou He?"
She answered me,

"I am not." I inquired of creatures all,

In general

Contained therein. They with one voice proclaim
That none amongst them challenged such a name.

I asked the seas and all the deeps below,
My God to know;

I asked the reptiles and whatever is
In the abyss;

Even from the shrimp to the leviathan
Inquiry ran:

But in those deserts which no line can sound
The God I sought for was not to be found.

I asked the air if that were He; but lo!
It told me "No!"

I, from the towering eagle to the wren,
Demanded then,

If any feathered fowl 'mongst them were such,

Offended, with my question-in full choir,

Answered, "To find thy God thou must look higher."

I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars: but they
Said, "We obey

The God thou seekest." I asked what eye or ear
Could see or hear;

What in the world I might descry or know,
Above, below;

With a unanimous voice all these things said,
"We are not God, but we by Him were made."

I asked the world's great universal mass
If that God was;

Which with a mighty and strong voice replied,
As stupefied,

"I am not He, O man! for know that I

By Him on high

Was fashioned first of nothing; thus instated
And swayed by Him by whom I was created."

I sought the Court; but smooth-tongued flattery there
Deceived each ear;

In the thronged city there was selling, buying,
Swearing and lying;

In the country, craft in simpleness arrayed:
And then I said,

"Vain is my search, although my pains be great;
Where my God is there can be no deceit."

A scrutiny within myself I then

Even thus began:

"O man, what art thou?" What more could I say
Than, "Dust and clay,

Frail mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast
That cannot last;

Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn,

Formed from that earth to which I must return."

I asked myself what this great God might be that fashioned me;
I answered "The All-potent, Sole, Immense,
Surpassing sense,

Unspeakable, Inscrutable, Eternal

Lord over all;

The only Terrible, Just, Strong, and True,
Who hath no end, and no beginning knew.

"He is the well of life; for He doth give
To all that live

Both breath and being; He is the creator
Both of the water,

Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that subsist
He hath the list;

Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims,
He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their names."

And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace,
Thy glorious face,

(So far forth as it may discovered be),

Methinks I see;

And though invisible and infinite,

To human sight,

Thou in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest
In which, to our weak sense, Thou comest nearest.

Oh, make us apt to seek, and quick to find,
Thou God most kind!

Give us love, hope, and faith in Thee to trust,
Thou God most just!

Remit all our offences, we entreat,

Most good! most great!

Grant that our willing though unworthy quest
May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst the blest.

FRANKFORD'S SOLILOQUY.

(From "A Woman Killed with Kindness.")

O GOD! O God! that it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday!
That time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell the days, and to redeem these hours!

Or that the sun

Could, rising from the West, draw his coach backward,-
Take from the account of time so many minutes,

Till he had all these seasons called again,
These minutes and these actions done in them.

HIERARCHY OF ANGELS.

MELLIFLUOUS Shakespeare, whose enchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will;
And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipped in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, was but Jack;
Dekker but Tom, nor May, nor Middleton,
And he's but now Jack Ford that once was John.

SHEPHERDS' SONG.

WE that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-hooks for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition:
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold;
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good-morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend from wind and rain;
As warm too, in an equal eye,
As those bestained in scarlet dye.
The shepherd, with his homespun lass,
As many merry hours doth pass
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls;
And though but plain, to purpose woo,
Nay, often with less danger too.
Those that delight in dainties' store,
One stomach feed at once, no more;
And when with homely fare we feast,
With us it doth as well digest;
And many times we better speed,
For our wild fruits no surfeits breed.
If we sometimes the willow wear,
By subtle swains that dare forswear,
We wonder whence it comes, and fear
They've been at court, and learnt it there.