And all the smooth routine of gallantries, Where the Chief Justice on his knees and hands doth crawl. LXXXVI. "Counts of the palace, and the state purveyor Of moth's-down, to make soft the royal beds, The Common Council and my fool Lord Mayor Marching a-row, each other slipshod treads; Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other; Toe crush'd with heel ill-natured fighting breeds, Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother, And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother. LXXXVII. "A Poet, mounted on the Court-Clown's back, Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels, And close into her face, with rhyming clack, Began a Prothalamion ;- she reels, She falls, she faints! while laughter peals Over her woman's weakness. 'Where,' cried I, 'Where is his Majesty ?' No person feels Inclined to answer; wherefore instantly I plunged into the crowd to find him or to die LXXXVIII. "Jostling my way I gain'd the stairs, and ran To the first landing, where, incredible! I met, far gone in liquor, that old man, So far so well,— For we have proved the Mago never fell Down stairs on Crafticanto's evidence; And therefore duly shall proceed to tell, Plain in our own original mood and tense, The sequel of this day, though labour 'tis immense!" PON a time, before the faery broods Before King Oberon's bright diadem, His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft: On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight 1 "This tragedy (King Stephen) gave place to Lamia, a Poem, which had been in hand for some months. He wrote it with great care, after much study of Dryden's composition."-CHARLES BROWN. Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored. Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found Round bush and tree, soft-brushing in his speed Bright and cirque-couchant, in a dusky brake. She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd; And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed Their lustres with the gloomier tapestriesSo rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar: Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete ; And for her eyes - what could such eyes do there But weep and weep, that they were born so fair, As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air? Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake, And thus, while Hermes on his pinions lay, Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey: "Fair Hermes! crown'd with feathers, fluttering light, I had a splendid dream of thee last night! Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan. I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, |