Hor, ch'l ciel, e la terra e'l vento tace,
E le fere, e gli augelli il sonno affrena,
Notte'l carro stellato in giro mena,

E nel suo letto il mar senz' onda giace, &c.
Wherein he imitated Virgill, speaking of Dido, thus:

Nox erat, et tacitum carpebant fessa soporem
Corpora, &c.

And this author presumeth upon the paines he hath taken,
in faithfully translating it, to place it amongst these his
owne passions, for a signe of his great sufferance in loue.
Dum cœlum, dum terra tacet, ventusque silescit,
Dumque feras, volucresque quies complectitur alta,
Noxque agit in gyrum stellantes sydere currus,
Inque suo lecto recubat sine flumine Pontus,
Multa ego contemplor; studeo; conflagro; gemisco;
Et, mea quæ dulcis pœna est, mihi semper oberrat.
In me bella gero plenusque doloris et iræ,
Paxque mihi modica est Lauræ solius in umbra.
Oritur ex uno charo mihi fonte et acerbum,

Et quod dulce sapit; quorum depascor utroque. Unica meque manus lædit, læsoque medetur, Martyriumque meum nullo quia limite clausum est, Mille neces pacior, vitas totidemque resumo Quoque die; superestque mihi spes nulla salutis.

LXXV.

In this passion the Authour borroweth from certaine Latine verses of his owne, made long agoe vpon the loue abuses of Juppiter in a certaine peece of worke written in the commen. dation of women kinde; which he hath not yet wholie perfected to the print. Some of the verses may be thus cited to the explaning of this passion, although but lamelie.

Accipe ut ignaram candentis imagine Tauri
Luserit Europam ficta, &c.

Quam nimio Semelen fuerit complexus amore, &c.
Qualis et Asterien aquilinis presserit alis :

Quoque dolo lædam ficto sub olore fefellit.
Adde quod Antiopam Satyri sub imagine, &c.
Et fuit Amphytrio, cum te Tiryntheia, &c.
Eginæque duos ignis sub imagine natos, &c.
Parrhasiam fictæ pharetra Vultuque Dianæ,
Mnemosynen Pastor, serpens Deoida lusit, &c.
Ovid writeth somewhat in like manner, Metam. lib. 6.

Not

Not she, whom Ioue transported into Crete;
Nor Semele, to whom he vow'd in hast;
Nor she whose flanckes he fild with fayned heate;
Nor whome with Egles winges he oft embrast;
Nor Danaë beguyl'd by golden rape;

Nor she, for whome he tooke Dianaes shape;
Nor faire Antiopa, whose fruitefull loue

He gayned Satyr like; nor she, whose sonne
To wanton Hebe was conioyn'd aboue;
Nor sweete Mnemosyne, whose loue he wunne
In shepheardes weede; no such are like the Saint,
Whose eyes enforce my feeble heart to faint.
And Ioue himselfe may storme, if so he please,
To heare me thus compare my Loue with his ;
No forked fire, nor thunder can disease
This heart of mine, where stronger torment is:
But O how this surpasseth all the rest,

That she, which hurtes me most, I loue her best.

LXXIX.

The authour in this Passion seemeth vppon mislike of his wearisome estate in loue to enter into a deepe discourse with himselfe touching the particular miseries which befall him that loueth: And for his sense in this place, hee is very like vnto himselfe, where in a Theame diducted out of the bowelles of Antigone in Sophocles (which he lately translated into Latine, and published in print) he writeth in very like manner as followeth;

Mali quando Cupidinis

Venas æstus edax occupat intimas,
Artes ingenium labitur in malas;
Iactatur variè, nec cereris subit

Nec Bacchi studium; peruigiles trahit

Noctes; cura animum sollicita atterit, &c.

And it may appeare by the tenour of this passion that the
Authour prepareth him selfe to fall from Loue and all his Lawes
as will well appeare by the sequell of his other Passions that
followe, which are all made vpon this Posie, My loue is Past.
Where heate of Loue doth once possesse the heart,
There cares oppresse the minde with wondrous ill,
Wit runns awrye, not fearing future smarte,
And foud desire doth ouermaster will:

The belly neither cares for meate nor drinke,
Nor ouerwatched eyes desire to winke :

Footsteps

Footsteps are false, and wau'ring too and froe;
The brightsome flow'r of beauty fades away:
Reason retyres, and pleasure brings in woe;
And wisedome yeldeth place to black decay:
Counsell, and fame, and friendship are contemn'd:
And bashfull shame, and Gods themselues condemn'd.
Watchfull Suspect is linked with despaire :

Inconstant Hope is often drown'd in feares:
What Folly hurtes not Fortune can repayre ;
And Misery doth swimme in seas of teares:
Long vse of life is but a lingring foe,
And gentle death is only end of woe.

The next Sonnet LXXX begins the title of

MY LOVE IS PAST."

LXXXIII.

In this Sonnet the Author hath imitated one of Ronsarde's Odes, which beginneth thus:

"Les Muses herent un iour
De chaisnes de roses Amour,
Et pour le garder, le donnerent
Aus Graces et á la Beauté :
Qui voyans sa desloyauté,

Sur Parnase l'emprisonnerent," &c.

The Muses not long since intrapping Loue
In chaines of roases linked all araye,

Gaue Beawtie charge to watch in their behoue
With Graces three, lest he should wend awaye :
Who fearing yet he would escape at last,

On high Parnassus toppe they clapt him fast.
When Venus vnderstoode her sonne was thrall,
She made post haste to haue God Vulcan's ayde, t
Solde him her gemmes, and ceston therewithall,
To ransome home her Sonne that was betraide ;
But all in vaine. The Muses made no stoare
Of gold, but bound him faster then before.
Therefore all you, whom Loue did ere abuse,
Come clappe your handes with me, to see him thrall,
Whose former deedes no reason can excuse

Au liure de ses meslanges.

+ Ut Martis revocetur amor, summique Tonantis A te Juno petit ceston, et ipsa Venus.

Martialis.

For

For killing those which hurt him not at all:
Myselfe by him was lately led awrye,

Though now at last I force my loue to dye.
LXXXV.

The chiefest substance of this Sonnet is borrowed out of certeine Latin verses of Strozza, a nobleman of Italy, and one of the best Poets in all his age, who in describing metaphorically to his friend Antonius the true forme of his amorous estate, writeth thus:

"Unda hic sunt Lachrimæ, Venti suspiria, Remi

Vota, error velum, Mens malesana Ratis; Spes temo, curæ comites, constantia amoris

Est malus, Dolor est anchora, Nauita amor, &c. The souldiar worne with warres, delightes in peace; The pilgrime in his ease when toyles are past; The ship to gayne the porte, when stormes doe cease; And I reioyce, from loue discharg'd at last;

Whome while I seru'd, peace, rest, and land I lost, With grieusome wars, with toyles, with storms betost. Sweete liberty nowe giues me leaue to sing,

What worlde it was, where Loue the rule did beare; Howe foolish Chaunce by lottes rul'd euery thing; Howe Error was maine saile; each waue a Teare; The Master Loue himselfe ; deepe sighes were windes, Cares row'd with vowes the ship vamery minde. False hope as healme oft turud the boat about; Inconstant faith stood vp for middle maste; Despaire the cable.twisted all with doubt; Held Griping griefe the pyked Anchor fast; Beautie was all the rockes. But I at last Am now twise free, and all my loue is past.

Now are these, or are they not more elegant sonnets than Shakspeare's? Surely not. They want his moral cast; his unsophisticated materials; his pure and natural train of thought. Only let us contrast them by one single specimen taken at randoın.

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET LIV.

O how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament, which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair; but fairer we it deem
For that sweet colour, which doth in it live.

The

The canker blooms have full as deep a dye,
As the perfumed tincture of the roses;
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

When summer's breath their masked buds discloses ;
But for their virtue only is their shew,

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade ;
Die in themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,*

When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

Drayton's sonnets are somewhat of the same class; but flowing from a colder vein. Daniel's are better than Drayton's. But I am in doubt where to place Sydney's. Those prefixed to Spenser's Fairy Queen are the best of that poet; and better than Warton will allow them to be. Ellis in his Specimens has given one or two by Barnaby Barnes from his Divine Centurie of Spiritual Sonnets, 1595, which are excellent. Drummond's of Hawthornden, which are many of them beautiful, both for sentiment and description, are not classed with them, because they are of half a century later. Perhaps there are not above 100 sonnets in the whole language, which are perfectly good, if we confine them to the strictness of the Petrarchian form. Among them are one or two of Edwards's, one or two of Tom. Warton; one or two of John Bampfylde; one or two of Mrs. Smith and Miss Seward; and above all two or three of Kirke White. I speak not of the living; from whom I could produce a few admirable specimens. Nor have I thought it necessary to point out those majestic ones of Milton, which are on the lips of every cultivated reader.

Mr. Weber has, among other Metrical Romances, edited that entitled "Sir Cleges" from a copy which,

It seems as if this was one of those Sonnets intended in the character of Venus to Adonis.

VOL. IV.

+ LI, 373.

C