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And if thou getteft but a pedant's fee,
Thy bed, thy board, and courfer livery,
O honour far beyond a brazen shrine,
To fit with Tarleton on an alé poft's figne!
Who had but lived in Auguftus' dayes,
'Thad been fome honour to be crown'd with bayes;
When Lucan ftretched on his marble bed
To think of Cæfar, and great Pompey's deed;
Or when Achelaus fhav'd his mourning head,
Soon as he heard Stefichorus was dead.
At least, would fome good body of the reft
Set a gold pen on their baye-wreathed creft;
Or would their face in ftamped coin expreffe,
As did the Mytelens their poeteffe.
Now as it is, befhrew him if he might,
That would his browes with Cafar's laurell dight.
Though what ail'd me, I might not well as they
Rake up fome furworne tales that smother'd lay
In chimney corners imoak'd with winter fires,
To read and rock asleep our drowsy fires?
No man his threshold better knowes, than I
Brute's first arrival, and first victory;
Saint George's forrell, or his crosse of blood,
Arthur's round board, or Caledonian wood,
Or holy battles of bold Charlemaine,
What were his knights did Salen's fiege maintaine:
How the mad rival of faire Angelice
Was phyfick'd from the new-found paradise.
High ftories they, which with their swelling ftraine
Have riven Frontoe's broad rehearsal plaine..
But fo to fill up books, both backe and fide,
What needs it? Are there not enow befide?
Oage well thriven and well fortunate,
When each man hath a muse apropriate;
And he, like to fome fervile care-bor'd flave
Muft play and fing when and what he'd have!
Would that were all-fmall fault in number lies,
Were not the feare from whence it should arife.
But can it be ought but a spurious feed
That growes fo rife in fuch unlikely speed?
Sith Pontian left his barren wife at home,
And spent two years at Venice and at Rome,
Returned, hears his blefling afk'd of three,
Cries out, O Julian law! adultery!
Though Labeo reaches right (who can deny ?)
The true ftrains of heroick poefy:
For he can tell how fury reft his fenfe,
And Phoebus fill'd him with intelligence.
He can implore the heathen deities
To guide his bold and busy enterprize;

Or filch whole pages at a clap for need
From honeft Petrarch, clad in English weed;
Wile big but ob's! each stanza can begin,
Whose trunk and taile sluttish and heartlesse been.

He knowes the grace of that new elegance,
Which sweet Philifides fetch'd of late from France,
That well befcem'd his high-stil'd Arcady,
Though others marre it with much liberty,
In epithets to joine two wordes in one
Forf oth, for adjectives can't stand alone :
As a great poet could of Bacchus fay,
That he was Semele-femari-gena

Lastly he names the spirit of Aftropheb; des
Now hath not Labeo done wondrous well?
But ere his Mufe her weapon learn to wield,
Or dance a fober pirrhicke in the field,
Or marching wade in blood up to the knees,
Her arma virum goes by two degrees,
The sheepe-cote firft hath beene her uursery
Where the hath worne her idle infancy,
And in high ftartups walk'd the paftur'd plaines,
To tend her talked herd that there remaines,
And winded ftill a pipe of oate or breare,
Striving for wages who the praise fhall beare;
As did whilere the homely Carmelite,
Following Virgil, and he Theocrite;
Or else hath beene in Venus' chamber train'd
To play with Cupid, till the had attain'd
To comment well upon a beauteous face,
Then was the fit for an heroic place;
As witty Pontan in great earnest said,
His mistress' breafts were like two weights of lead,
Another thinks her teeth might liken'd be
To two faire rankes of pales of ivory,
To fence in fure the wild beast of her tongue,
From either going far, or going wrong;
Her grinders like two chalk-ftones in a mill,
Which shall with time and wearing waxe as ill
As old Catillaes, which wont every night
Lay up her holy pegs till next day-light,
And with them grind foft-fimpring all the day,
When, left her laughter fhould her gums bewray,
Her hands muft hide her mouth if the but fimile;
Faine would the feeme all frixe and frolicke still.
Her forehead faire is like a brazen hill
Whose wrinkled furrows which her age doth breed
Are dawbed full of Venice chalke for need:
Her eyes like filver faucers faire befet
With fhining amber, and with shady let,
Her lids like Cupid's bow cafe, where he hides
The weapons that doth wound the wanton ey'd:
Her chin like Pindus, or Parnaffus hill,
Where down defcends th' o'erflowing stream doth
fill

The well of her faire mouth.-Each hath his

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JA

ELEGY ON DR. WHITAKER*.

ye my

BIND browes with mourning cypariffe,
And palifh twigs of deadlie poplar tree,
Or if fome fadder fhades ye can devile,
Thofe fadder fhades vaile my light-loathing eie:
I loath the laurel-bandes I loved beft,
And all that maketh mirth and pleasant rest.

If ever breath diffolv'd the world to teares,
Or hollow cries made heaven's vault refound:
If ever fhrieks were founded out fo cleare,
That all the worlds waft might heare around: [cries,
Be mine the breath, the teares, the shrikes, the
Yet ftill my griefe unfeene, unfounded lies.

Thou flattering Sun, that ledft this loathed light,
Why didst thou in thy faffron-robes arife?
Or foldst not up the day in drearie night?
And wakft the wefterne worldes amazed eies?
And never more rife from the ocean,

To make the morn, or chase night-shades again.

Heare we no bird of day, or dawning morne,
To greet the fun, or glad the waking care:
Sing out ye fcrich-owles lowder then afarne,
And ravens blacke of night; of death of driere:
And all ye barking foules yet never seene,
That fill the moonleffe night with hideous din.
Now fhall the wanton Devils daunce in rings
In everie mede, and everie heath hore:
The Elvish Faeries, and the Gobelins:
The hoofed Satyres filent heretofore:

Religion Vertue, Mufes, holic mirth
Have now forfworne the late forfaken earth.

The Prince of Darkneffe gins to tyrannize,
And reare up cruel trophees of his rage:
Faint earth through her defpairing cowardice
Yields up herfelfe to endleffe vaffalage:

[Hell, What Champion now fhall tame the power of And the unrulie fpirits overquell?

The world's praife, the pride of Nature's proofe, Amaze of times, hope of our faded age:

King's profeffor, and matter of St. John's College, Cambridge; he died in 1595. This elegy was annexed to the "Carmen Funebre Caroli Horni, 1596," and is now reprinted from Nichols's "Select Collectiop of Poems," 8 vols. 12mo. Lond. 1789.

Religions hold, Earth's choice, and Heaven's love,
Patterne of Vertue, patron of Mufes fage:
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 fpoild the careleffe world of woonted joy:
Whiles each repin'd at others pleasing state,
And all agreed to work the world's annoy:
Heaven ftrove with Earth, Destiny gave the
doome,

That Death should Earth and Nature overcome,

Earth takes one part, when forced Nature fendes
The foul, to flit into the yeelding skie :
Sorted by death into their fatal ends,
Forefeene, forefett from all eternitie:

Deftinie by Death fpoyl'd feeble Natures frame,
Earth was defpoyl'd when Heaven overcame.
Ah, coward Nature, and more cruell Death,
Envying Heaven, and unworthy mold,
Unweildy carkaffe and unconftant breath,
That did fo lightly leave your living hold:

How ha. ye all confpir'd our hopeleffe fpight, And wrapt us up in Griefes eternall night.

Bafe Nature yeeldes, imperious Death commaundes.

Heaven defires, durft lowly duft denie?
The Fates decreed, no mortall might withstand,
The fpirit leaves his load, and lets it lie.

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

Now ginne your triumphes, Death and Destinies, And let the trembling world witnesse your waft: Now let blacke Orphney raise his gaftly neighes, And trample high, and hellish fome outcast:

Shake he the earth and teare the hollow skies,
That all may feele and feare your victories.

And after your triumphant chariot,
Drag the pale corpes that thus you did to die,
To fhew what goodly conquefts ye have got,
To fright the world, and fill the woondring cie:
Millions of lives, of deaths no conquest were,
Compared with one onely Whitakere.

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To the Right Honourable the Earl of Ormond and Offory, To the Right Honourable the Lord Ch. Howard, Lord High Admiral of England, Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, and one of her Majeftec's Privie Counfel, &c. To the Right Honourable the Lord of Hunfdon, High Chamberlaine to her 'Maiefty, To the Moft Renowned and Valiant Lord, the Lord Grey of Wilton, Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, &c. To the Right Honourable the Lord of Buckhurit, one of her Maieftie's Privie Counfell, ib. To the Right Honourable Sir Fr. Walfingham, Knight, principall Secretary to her Maiefty, and of her Honourable Privy Counfell,

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Canto XI.

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Canto XII.

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