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Why blush you, love, to give to me your hand,
I often look upon a face The pledge of all our band ?
Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin ; Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing,
I often view the hollow place That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. Where eyes and nose had sometime been ;
I see the bones across that lie,
Yet little think that I must die.
I read the label underneath,
That telleth me whereto I must; cal lights of the reign of Elizabeth is due to ROBERT SOUTHWELL, who is also remarkable as a victim of
I see the sentence too, that saith, the religious contentions of the period. He was born
“Remember, man, thou art but dust.'
But yet, alas ! how seldom I in 1560, at St Faiths, Norfolk, of Roman Catholic parents, who sent him, when very young, to be
Do think, indeed, that I must die ! educated at the English college at Douay, in Flan Continually at my bed's head ders, and from thence to Rome, where, at sixteen A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell years of age, he entered the society of the Jesuits. That I ere morning may be dead, În 1584, he returned to his native country, as a mis Though now I feel myself full well ; sionary, notwithstanding a law which threatened all But yet, alas ! for all this, I members of his profession found in England with Have little mind that I must die ! death. For eight years he appears to have ministered secretly but zealously to the scattered adhe
The gown which I am used to wear, rents of his creed, without, as far as is known, doing
The knife wherewith I cut my meat ; anything to disturb the peace of society, when, in
And eke that old and ancient chair,
Which is my only usual seat ; 1592, he was apprehended in a gentleman's house at Uxenden in Middlesex, and committed to a dungeon
All these do tell me I must die, in the Tower, so noisome and filthy, that, when he
And yet my life amend not I. was brought out for examination, his clothes were
My ancestors are turn'd to clay, covered with vermin. Upon this his father, a man And many of my mates are gone ; of good family, presented a petition to Queen Eliza My youngers daily drop away, beth, begging, that if his son had committed any And can I think to 'scape alone ? thing for which, by the laws, he had deserved No, no ; I know that I must die, death, he might suffer death; if not, as he was a And yet my life amend not I. gentleman, he hoped her majesty would be pleased to order him to be treated as a gentleman. South
If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; well was, after this, somewhat better lodged, but
If rich and poor his beck obey ; an imprisonment of three years, with ten infic If strong, if wise, if all do smart, tions of the rack, wore out his patience, and he Then I to 'scape shall have no way : intreated to be brought to trial. Cecil is said to
Then grant me grave, O God ! that I have made the brutal remark, that if he was in
My life may mend, since I must die. so much haste to be hanged, he should quickly have his desire.' Being at this trial found guilty, upon his own confession, of being a Romish priest,
Times go by Turns. he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn accordingly, with all the horrible circum- The lopped tree in time may grow again, stances dictated by the old treason laws of Eng; The sorriest wight may find release of pain,
Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; land. Throughout all these scenes, he behaved with a mild fortitude which nothing but a highly Time goes by turns, and chances change by course,
The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: regulated mind and satisfied conscience could have From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. prompted.
The life of Southwell, though short, was full of The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; grief. The prevailing tone of his poetry is therefore She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: that of a religious resignation to severe evils. His Her tides have equal times to come and go; two longest poems, St Peter's Complaint, and Mary ller loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: Magdalene's Funeral Tears, were, like many other No joy so great but runneth to an end, works of which the world has been proud, written No hap so hard but may in fine amend. in prison. It is remarkable that, though composed Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, while suffering under persecution, no trace of angry feeling against any human being or any human insti- The saddest birds a season find to sing,
Not endless night, yet not eternal day: tution, occurs in these poems. After experiencing
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. great popularity in their own time, insomuch that eleven editions were printed between 1593 and 1600, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.
Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, the poems of Southwell fell, like most of the other productions of that age, into a long-enduring neglect. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; Their merits having been again acknowledged in That net that holds no great, takes little fish; our own day, a complete reprint of them appeared in some things all, in all things none are cross'd; in 1818, under the editorial care of Mr W. Joseph Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Walter.
Unmingled joys here to no man befall;
Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.
Love's Servile Lot.
She shroudeth vice in virtue's veil,
Pretending good in ill; But yet, alas ! full little I
She offereth joy, but bringeth grief ; Do think hereon, that I must die.
A kiss—where she doth kill.
A honey shower rains from her lips,
shire, and seems to have been educated under the Sweet lights shine in her face ;
patronage of the Pembroke family. In 1579, he was She hath the blush of virgin mind,
entered a commoner of Magdalen Hall, Oxford, The mind of viper's race.
where he chiefly devoted himself to the study of She makes thee seek, yet fear to find;
poetry and history; at the end of three years, he To find, but nought enjoy ;
quitted the university, without taking a degree, and
was appointed tutor to Anne Clifford, daughter of the In many frowns, some passing smiles
Earl of Cumberland. After the death of Spenser, She yields to more annoy.
Daniel became what Mr Campbell calls voluntary She letteth fall some luring baits,
laureate' to the court, but he was soon superseded For fools to gather up ;
by Ben Jonson. In the reign of James (1603), he Now sweet, now sour, for every taste
was appointed Master of the Queen's Revel's, and She tempereth her cup.
inspector of the plays to be represented by the
juvenile performers. He was also preferred to be a Her watery eyes have burning force,
Gentleman-Extraordinary and Groom of the ChamHer floods and flames conspire ;
ber to Queen Anne. Towards the close of his life, Tears kindle sparks—sobs fuel are,
he retired to a farm at Beckington, in Somersetshire, And sighs but fan the fire.
where he died in October 1619. May never was the month of love,
The works of Daniel fill two considerable volumes ; For May is full of flowers;
but most of them are extremely dull. Of this nature But rather April, wet by kind,
is, in particular, his History of the Civil War (beFor love is full of showers.
tween the houses of York and Lancaster), which
occupied him for several years, but is not in the With soothing words enthralled souls
least superior to the most sober of prose narratives. She chains in servile bands;
His Complaint of Rosamond is, in like manner, rather Her eye, in silence, hath a speech
a piece of versified history than a poem. His two Which eye best understands.
tragedies, Cleopatra and Philotas, and two pastoral Her little sweet hath many sours ;
tragi-comedies, Hymen's Triumph and The Queen's Short hap immortal harms;
Arcadia, are not less deficient in poetical effect. In Her loving looks are murdering darts,
all of these productions, the historical taste of the Her songs, bewitching charms.
author seems to have altogether suppressed the poet
ical. It is only by virtue of his minor pieces and Like winter rose and summer ice,
sonnets, that Daniel continues to maintain his place Her joys are still untimely;
amongst the English poets. His Epistle to the CounBefore her hope, behind remorse,
tess of Cumberland is a fine effusion of meditative Fair first-in fine unkindly.
[From the Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland.]
He that of such a height hath built his mind,
As neither hope nor fear can shake the frame
Of his resolved powers; nor all the wind
His settled peace, or to disturb the same: The feebler part puts up enforced wrong,
What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may And silent sees, that speech could not amend :
The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey! Yet higher powers must think, though they repine, When sun is set the little stars will shine.
And with how free an eye doth he look down
Upon these lower regions of turmoil, While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly,
Where all the storms of passions mainly beat
On flesh and blood! where honour, power, renown,
Are only gay afflictions, golden toil;
As frailty doth ; and only great doth seem
To little minds who do it so esteem. The merlin cannot ever soar on high,
He looks upon the mightiest monarch's ware, Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase ;
But only as on stately robberies; The tender lark will find a time to fly,
Where evermore the fortune that prevails And fearful hare to run a quiet race.
Must be the right: the ill-succeeding mars He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
The fairest and the best-fac'd enterprise. Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails :
Justice he sees, as if reduced, still In Haman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept,
Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill,
As are the passions of uncertain man;
He sees that, let deceit work what it can,
Plot and contrive base ways to high desires ;
That the all-guiding Providence doth yet
[Richard II., the Morning before his Murder in
Pomfret Castle.] Whether the soul receives intelligence, By her near genius, of the body's end, And so imparts a sadness to the sense, Foregoing ruin whereto it doth tend ; Or whether nature else hath conference With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, And gives the heavy careful heart to fear : However, so it is, the now sad king, Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering ; Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. The morning of that day which was his last, After a weary rest, rising to pain, Out at a little grate his eyes he cast Upon those bordering hills and open plain, Where other's liberty make him complain The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. O happy man, saith he, that lo I see, Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, If he but knew his good. How blessed he That feels not what affliction greatness yields ! Other than what he is he would not be, Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. Thine, thine is that true life : that is to live, To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, And hear'st of other's harms, but fearest none : And there thou tell’st of kings, and who aspire, Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost enquire Of my restraint, why here I live alone, And pitiest this my miserable fall ; For pity must have part-en vy not all. Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, And have no venture in the wreck you see ; No interest, no occasion to deplore Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free. How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be : Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.
[Selections from Daniel's Sonnets.] I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile ; Flowers have time before they come to seed, And she is young, and now must sport the while. And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither ; And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise : Pity and smiles do best become the fair ; Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair ; Her brow shades frown, altho' her eyes are sunny ; Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. A modest maido, deck'd with a blush of honour, Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; The wonder of all eyes that look upon her : Sacred on earth ; design'd a saint above; Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, Live reconciled friends within her brow; And had she Pity to conjoin with those, Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, With dark forgetting of my care, return. And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth ; Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torments of the night's untrath. Ccase, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of to-morrow; Never let the rising sun prove you liars, To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain.
[Early Love.] Ah, I remember well (and how can I But evermore remember well) when first Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was The flame we felt ; when as we sat and sigh'd And look'd upon each other, and conceiv'd Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, And yet were well, and yet we were not well, And what was our disease we could not tell. Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look : and thus In that first garden of our simpleness We spent our childhood. But when years began To reap the fruit of knowledge ; ah, how then Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, Check my presumption and my forwardness ! Yet still would give me flowers, still would show What she would have me, yet not have me know.
MICHAEL DRAYTON, born, it is supposed, at Atherston, in Warwickshire, about the year 1563, and the son of a butcher, discovered in his earliest years such proofs of a superior mind, that, at the age of ten, he was made page to a person of quality-a situation which was not in that age thought too humble for the sons of gentlemen. He is said, upon dubious authority, to have been for some time a student at Oxford. It is certain that, in early life, he was highly esteemed and strongly patronised by several persons of consequence ; particularly by Sir Henry Goodere, Sir Walter Aston, and the Countess of Bedford : to the first he was indebted for great part of his education, and for recommending him to the countess; the second supported him for several years. In 1593, Drayton published a collection of his pastorals, and soon after gave to the world his more elaborate poems of The Baron's Wars and England's Heroical Epistles. In these latter productions, as in the History of the Civil War by Daniel, we see symptoms of that taste for poetised history (as it may be called) which marked the age
-which is first seen in Sackville's design of the Mirrour for Magistrates, and was now developing itself strongly in the historical plays of Shakspeare, Marlow, and others. On the accession of James I.
in 1603, Drayton acted as an esquire to his patron, Sir Walter Aston, in the ceremony of his installa
[Morning in Warwickshire—Description of a tion as a Knight of the Bath. The poet expected
Stag-Hunt.] some patronage from the new sovereign, but was
When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's disappointed. He published the first part of his
wave, most elaborate work, the Polyolbion, in 1612, and the No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, second in 1622, the whole forming a poetical de. At such time as the year brings on the pleasant scription of England, in thirty songs, or bcoks.
east Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's
And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) The Polyolbion is a work entirely unlike any Fach bird to her own kind this season doth invite, other in English poetry, both in its subject and the They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, manner in which it is written. It is full of topo- |(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would graphical and antiquarian details, with innumerable spare, allusions to remarkable events and persons, as con- That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, nected with various localities; yet such is the As man to set in parts at first had learn’d of her.
To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer ; poetical genius of the author, so happily does he idealise almost everything he touches on, and so And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we lively is the flow of his verse, that we do not readily The red-sparrow, the nope, the red-breast, and the wren. tire in perusing this vast niass of information. He The yellow-pate ; which though she hurt the blooming seems to have followed the manner of Spenser in his
tree, unceasing personifications of natural objects, such as hills, rivers, and woods. The information contained Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. in this work is in general so accurate, that it is And of these chaunting fowls, the goldfi.ich not be
hind, quoted as an authority by Hearne and Wood. In 1627, Drayton published a volume containing The tydy for her notes as delicate as they,
That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. The Battle of Agincourt, The Court of Faerie, and The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay; other poems. Three years later appeared another The softer with the shrill (some hid among
the leaves, volume, entitled The Muses' Elysium, from which it Some in the taller trees, sorne in the lower greaves) appears that he had found a final shelter in the Thus sing
away the morn, until the mounting sun, family of the Earl of Dorset. On his death in 1631, Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath
run, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, where a And through the twisted tops of our close covert monument, containing an inscription in letters of
creeps gold, was raised to his memory by the wife of that To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly nobleman, the justly celebrated Lady Anne Clifford,
sleeps. subsequently Countess of Pembroke and Mont
And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful gomery.
herds, Drayton, throughout the whole of his writings, Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, voluminous as they are, shows the fancy and
feeling Feed fairly on the lawns ; both sorts of seasoned deer : of the true poet.' According to Mr Headley, He Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there : possessed a very considerable fertility of mind, which The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strewd, enabled him to distinguish himself in almost every As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. species of poetry, from a trifling sonnet to a long Of all the beasts which we for our venerial2 name, topographical poem. If he anywhere sinks below The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: himself, it is in his attempts at satire. In a most pedantic era, he was unaffected, and seldom exhibits
1 Of all birds, only the blackbird whistleth. his learning at the expense of his judgment.'
Of hunting, or chase.
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, ť 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 inclosed.
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 disheveld 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,
He who the moumer is to his own dying corse, Brave huntress ; but no beast shall prove thy quarries Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets falli
To forests that belongs.
[Part of the Twenty-eighth Song of the Polyolbion.] hounds The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarhed 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 Trent 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 his high-palm'd head up- All flourishing in flowers, and rich embroideries 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 seav; 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 swect refreshing To me this name of Trent, did from that number give!
What reck I 1 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, kecp.
Fetch her descent from Wales, from that proud mounBut when as all his shifts his safety still denies, Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries; 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,
bear, T'assail him with his goad : so with his hook in hand, Bright Sabrin, whom she holds as her undoubted heir, The shepherd hím pursues, and to his dog doth hallow: Let these imperious floods draw down their long de When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow ;
From these so famous stocks, and only say of Trent,
I The track of the foot.
1 The hart weepeth at his dying; his tears are held to be prem cious in medicino.