A Complete Edition of the Poets of Great Britain..: Spenser. Shakespeare ...

Forth ye

Erc Chrysalus had barr'd the common boxe, Would'st thou the tongues that erst were learned Which oft he pick'd to store his private ftocks;

hight, But now hath all with vantage paid againe, Though our wise age hath wip'd them of their And locks and plates what doch behind remaine ;

right; When erst our dry soul'd fires so lavish were, Would'nt thou the courtly three in most request, To charge whole boots-full to their friends welfare; Or the iwo barbarous neighbours of the West ? Vow shalt thou never see the Salt beret

Bibinus felfe can have ten tongues in one, With a big-bellied gallon Hagonet.

Though in all ten not one good tongue alone. fan ebbe cruise must thirsty Silen sip,

And can deep skill lie smothering within, Chat's all forestalled by his upper lip;

Whiles neither finoke nor flame discerned bin ? omewhat it was that made his paunch so peare,

Shall it not be a wild fig in a wall, lis girdle fell ten inches in a yeare.

Or fired brimstone in a minerall ? fr when old gouty bed-rid Euclio

Do thou disdain, O ever-learned age! o his officious factor fair could shew

The tongue-ey'd filence of that Samian fage : lis name in margent of some old cast bill,

fine wits and rush into the presse, .nd say, Lo! whom I named in my will, And for the cloyed world your works addresse, Thiles he believes, and looking for the share Is not a gnat, nor fly, nor feely ant, eodeth his cumbrous charge with busy care But a fine wit can make an elephant. or but a while ; for now he sure will die, Should Bandell's throttle dic without a song, ✓ his strange qualme of liberality.

Or Adamantius, my deg, be laid along, reat thanks he gives--but God him shield and Downe in some ditch without his excquies, save

Or epitaphs, or mournful elegies? om ever gaining by his master's grave:

Folly äfelf, and baldnesle may be prais'd, ily live long and he is well repaid,

And sweet conceits from filthy objects rais'd. d wets his forced cheeks while thus he faid; What do not fine wits dare to undertake? me strong smellid onion shall ftir his eyes What dare not fine wits do for honcur's fake? ther than no falt teares shall then arise, But why doth Balbus his dead doing quill looks he like a marble toward raine,

Parch in his rusty scabbard all the while ; d wrings and snites, and weeps, and wipes His golden fleece o'ergrownc with mouldy hoare again :

And though he had his witty works for wore ! en turns his back and smiles, and looks askance, Belike of late now Balbus hath no need, s'ning again his forrow'd countenance ; Nor now belike his shrinking shoulders dread viles yet he wearies heav'n with daily cries, The catch-poll's fift-The presse may still remaing d backward death with devout sacrifice, And breathe, till Balbus be in debt againe. at they would now his tedious ghost bereav'n, Soon may that be! so I had silent beene, d wishes well, that wish'd no worse than heav'n. And not this rak'd up quiet crimes unseen. en Zoylus was sicke, he knew not where, Silence is safe, when saying stirreth fore, e his wrough nigt-cap, and lawy pillowbear. And makes the stirred puddle stink the more. d fooles! they made him fick that made him Shall the controller of proud Nemesis

In lawlesse rage upbraid each other's vice, e those away, and there's his medicine. While no man seeketh to reflect the wrong, Gellia wore a velvet mastick-parch

And curb the raunge of his misruly congue ? on ber temples when no tooth did ache; By the two crownes of Parnasse ever-green, len beauty was her sheume I fonn efpy'd, And by the cloven head of Hippocrene · could her plaifter cure her of her pride. As I true poet am, I here avow se vices were, but now they ceas'd off long: (So solemnly kiss'd he his laurell bough) o why did I a righteous age that wrong? li that bold satire unrevenged be zuld repent me were it not too late,

For this so saucy and foule injury. * not the angry world prejudicate.

So Labeo weens it my eternal shame I the seven penitential

To prove I never carn'd a poet's nanie, boufand white wands might me ought availe; But would I be a poet if I might, rent or Thames could scoure my foule offence To rub my browes three days and wake three fet me in my former innocence,

nights, uld at last repent me of my rage:

And bite my nails, and scratch my dullard head, , bear my wrong, I thine, O righteous age. And curse the backward Muses on my bed or fine wits, an hundred thousand fold About one peevith syllable; which ou:-Sought Eth our age whatever times of old.

| cake up Tales joy, lave for fore-thought * that puisne world, our fires of long How it shall please cach ale-knight's censuring eye, d hardly wag their too unwieldy tongue. And hang'd my head for fear they decm awry: ned crowes and parrots can do now,

While thread-bare Martiall curns his merry note hoary age did bend their wrinkled brow : To beg of Rufus a cast winter coate; now of lace did many a learned man

While hungry Marot leapeth at a beane, = thirty years prenticeship with Priscian; And dieth like a starved Cappuchcin; how can every novice spcake with ease Go Ariost, and gape for what may fall ar-fetch's language of th' Antipod.cs.

Tiom trercher of a flattering cardinall;

fine;

And if thou getteft but a pedant's fee,

He knowes the grace of that new clipzene, Thy bed, thy board, and courser livery,

Which sweet Phililides fetch'd of late trea ima, O honour far beyond a brazcn fhrine,

That well beseeni'd his high-til'd Aready, To fit with Tarleton on an ale poft's figne! Though others marre it with much hauty, Who had but lived in Augustus' dayes,

In epithets to joine two wordes in one
'Thad been some honour to be crown'd with bayes; Forsooth, for adjectives can't ttand zice!
When Lucan stretched on his marble bed

As a great poet could of Bacchus say,
To think of Cæsar, and great Pompey's deed: That he was Senele-femoriogena.
Or when Achelaus shav'd his mourning head, Lastly he names the spirit of Afropte;
Soon as he heard Stefichorus was dead.

Now hath not Labeo done woodrvus wel?
At least, would some gond body of the rest But ere his Mufe her weapon learn to win
Set a gold pen on their baye-wreathed creft ; Or dance a sober pirrhicke in the field,
Or would their face in stamped coin expresse, Or marching wade in blood up to the beets
As did the Mycelens their poetesse.

Her arma virum goes by two degrees,
Now as it is, bcfhrew him if he might,

The sheepe-cote first hach beene her ccriery
That would his hrowes with C. sar’s laurell dight. Where she hath worne her idle infancy,
Though what ail'd me, I might not well as they And in high startups walk'd the patur'd plasz
Rake up for furwornerale that smother'd lay To tond her tasked herd that there remaines,
In chininey corners smoak'd with winter fires, And winded fill a pipe of cate or breare,
To read and rock alleep our drowsy fires ? Striving for wages who the praise hali beare;
No man his threshold better knowes, than I As did whilere the homely Carmelite,
Brute's first arrival, and first victory;

Following Virgil, and he Theocrite;
Saint George's forrell, or his crosse of blood, Or else hath becae in Venus' chamber trus'd
Arthur's round hoard, cr Caledonian wood, To play with Cupid, till she had attan'd
Or holy bartles of bold Charlemaine,

To coniment well upon a beauteous face,
What were his knights did Salen's siege maintaine; Then was she fit for an heroic place;
How the mad rival of faire Angelice

As witty Pontan in great earbest laid,
Was physick'd from the new-found paradise. His mistress' breasts were like two weighde
High stories they, which with their swelling straine Another thinks her teeth might liken'd be
Have riven Frontoe's broad rehearsal plaine. To two faire rankes of pales of ivory,
But so to fill up books, both backe and side, To fence in sure the wild bealt of her tonga
What needs it? Are there not enow befide ? From either going far, or going wrong;
O age we!! thriven and well fortunate,

Her grinders like two chalk-Itones in a
When each man hath a muse apropriate;

Which shall with time and wearing ware a]
And she, like to some fervile care-bor'd llave As old Catillaes, which wont every night:
Must play and sing when and what he'd have! Lay up her holy pegs till next day-bg:
Would that were all small fault in number lies, And with them grind soft-fimpring all
Were not the feare from whence it Ihould arise. When, left her laughtes should her guns
But can it be ought but a spurious feed

Her bands mud hide her mouth if he bumi
That growes so rife in such unlikely speed ? Fainc would the seeme all frise and frumos
Sith Pontian left his barren wife at home, Her forehead faire is like a brazen bii
And spent two years at Venice and at Rome, Whose wrinkled furrows whieb her age in !
Returned, hears his blessing ask'd of three, Are dawbed full of Venice chaike for Di
Cries out, O Julian law! adultery!

Her eyes like silver saucers faire bele! Though Labeo reaches right (who can deay?) With thining amber, and with thady let, 'The true strains of heroick poesy :

Her lids like Cupid's bow cafe, where he was For he can tell how fury reft his sense,

The weapons that doth wound the wind And Phæbus fill'd him with intelligence.

Her chin like Pindus, or Parnafsus hill, He can implore the heathen deities

Where down descends th'o'erfoxing areas To guide his beld and busy enterprize;

fill Or filch whole pages at a clap for need

The well of her faire mouth. Ead be from honest Petrarch, clad in English woed;

praise. Wile big but ob's! each stanza can begin, Who wouid not but wed poets now ! Whose tņunk and taile Duttish and beartlelse been.

ELEGY ON DR. WHITAKER*

Bind ye my

browes with mourning cyparisse,
And palish twigs of deadlie poplar trec,
Or if some fadder shades ye can devise,
Those sadder shades vaile my light-loathing eic :

I loath the laurel-bandes I loved best,
And all that maketh mirth and pleasant rest.

Religions hold, Earth's choice, and Peaven's love,
Patterne of Vertue, patron of Muses sage:

All these and more were Whitaker's alone,

Now they in him, and he and all are gone.
Heaven, Earth, Nature, Death, and every Fate,
Thus spoild the carelesse world of woonted joy :
Whiles cach repin'd at others pleasing state,
And all agreed to work the world's annoy:
Heaven strove with Earth, Destiny gave the

doome,
That Death should Earth and Nature overcome,

If ever breath dissolv'd the world to teares,
Or hollow cries made heaven's vault resound :
II ever shrieks were founded out so cleare,
That all the worldswast night heare around: (cries,

Be mine the breach, the teares, the shrikes, che

Yet fill my griefe upscene, unfounded lies.
Thou flattering Sun, that ledst this loached light,
Why didst thou in thy saffron-robes arise ?
Or foldft not up the day in drearie night?
And wakft the westerne worldes amazed cies?

And never more rise from the ocean,
To make the morn, or chale night-shades again.

Heare we no bird of day, or dawning morne,
To grece the sun, or glad the waking eare:
Sing out ye scrich-owles lowder then aforne,
And ravens blacke of night; of death of driere:

And all ye barking foules yet never seene,

That fill the moonlelle night with hideous din.
Now shall the wanton Devils daunce in rings
In everie mede, and everie heath hore :
The Elvish Faeries, and the Gobelins :
The hooled Satyres silent heretofore:

Religion. Vertue, Muses, holie mirth
Have now forsworne the late forlaken earth.

Earth takes one part, when forced Nature sendes
The foul, to flit into the yeelding fkie :
Sorted by death into their fatal ends,
Foreseene, foresett from all eternitie :

Deftinie by Death spoyl'd feeble Natures frame,
- Earth was despöyld when Heaven overcame.
Ah, coward Nature, and more cruell Death,
Envying Heaven, and unworthy mold,
Unweildy carkasse and unconstant breath,
That did so lightly leave your living hold :

How have ye all conspir'd our hopelesse spight,

And wrapt us up in Griefes eternall night.
Base Nature yeeldes, imperious Death com-

maundes.
Heaven desires, durft lowly dust denie?
The Fates decreed, no mortall might withstand,
The spirit leaves his load, and lets it lie.

The senceleffe corpes corrupts in sweeter clay,
And waytes for worms to watte it quite away.

The Prince of Darknesle gins to tyrannize, Now ginne your triumphes, Death and Definies, And reare up cruel trophees of his rage : And let the trembling world witnefse your walt : Faint earth through her despairing cowardice Now let blacke Orphney raise his gastly neighes, Yields up herselle to endlefle vallalage: (Hell, And trample high, and hellish fonic outcast: Whac Champion now shall tanie the power of

Shake he the earth and reare the hollow skies, And the unrulie spirits overquell ?

That all may feele and feare your victories. The world's praise, the pride of Nature's proofc, And after your triumphant chariot, Amaze of times, hope of our faded age :

Drag the paie corpes that thus you did to die, * King's profesos, and malter of St. John's College. To hew what goodly conquells ye have got, Canibudge; he did'in 1595. This elecy was annexed To fright the world, and fill the woondring cie: t the "Carmen Funebre Ciroli Horn, 1506," and is now reprouted from Nichols's “ Select yol.cuius ut fueins,

Millions of lives, of deaths no conquest were, $iole, ismo, Lond. 1785.

Compared with one onely Whitakise,

CIOwoe.

But thou, O soule, shalt laugh at their despite, Seldomc had ever foule such entertaires,
Sitting beyond the mortal mans extent,

With such sweet hymnes, and such a giacima
All in the bosome of that blessed spright :
Which the great God for thy safe conduct sent, Nor with such joy amids the heavenly traines,
He through the circling spheares takech his Was ever led to his Creator's throne:
flight,

There now he lives, and fees his Savioer's box, And cuts the solid fkie with spirituall might. And ever sings sweet songs unto his grace. Open ye golden gatos of Paradise,

Meanewhile, the memorie of his mightie cane, Open ye wide unto a welcome ghost :

Shal live as long as aged earth fhal laf: Enter, O soule, into thy boure of blisse,

Enrolled on berill walles of fame, Through all the throng of Heaven's hoast : Ay ming'd, ay mourn'd: and wished oft in z Which shall with triumph gard thee as thou Is this to die, to live for evermore. go'st

[cost. A double life : that neither liv'd afore? With psalmes of conques and with crownes of