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And so is this poem:
“ Now, lovers, in a word to tell
And into melting sweetness turns."
“ What you'll be in time we know
The following character “ Of one who troubles himself with nothing,” will make an excellent study:
“He suffers none but gay and pleasant thoughts to enter his imagination, putting the rest off till to-morrow still; saying, “To-day is too soon :' and then, quite dismissing them, saying, “It is too late.' He is as great a master in the art of consolation, as he who, when he lost his eyes, comforted himself that there was so much saved in candle-light, was but a bungler at it, compared to him. He accounts nothing in this world his own, whence he is never afflicted for the loss of any thing; and, for the world itself, counts it but as a pilgrimage, and himself a pilgrim, that has no other business in it but only to pass through it unto the next, to which since all ways equally conduce, he laveers not by sea, but ever sails before the wind, and makes for the next port, be it where it will; and by land, knows all his easiest passages, and all his turnings to avoid uneasy ones; whilst, to beguile the tediousness of the way, he has still choice of the best company, and at relay. So passes he this vale of miseries, so easily, he scarcely feels its miseries ; neither contracting so much wealth nor guiltiness in living, as may make him apprehend to leave the one behind him in
this world, when he dies, nor find the punishment of the other in the
“ Thou boasts thy money, and if that be all,
And the one “ On Friends and Foes” is well turned :
“ Two painters, friend and foe, once went about
Which t'one to shew, and t’other for to hide,
None, as their friends or foes, depaint them wou'd, ..Being ever half so bad, or half so good.”
The following rural dialogue is spirited and pointed : Chorus. “ Once a nymph and shepherd meeting,
Never past there such a greeting; .
Nor was heard 'twixt such a pair.
He play'd women, and she men;
Thus they meet, and greet, and parted.
Lives a most contented life. Nymph. She her whole contentment loses,
Who a husband ever chooses. Shepherd. I, of women, know too much,
Ere to care for any such. Nymph. I, of men, too much do know,
To care whether you do or no.
Shepherd. Since you are resolv’d, farewell;
Look you lead not apes in hell.
Thither to be led by men.
Be but ruld by what they bid ye.
Would they but be rul'd by you.
Chorus. Thus they parted as they met,
Hard to say who best did get;
When, being parted, either said :
When th' are in thy power! but when
“ The Commutation of Love and Death's Darts" is well worth a place here:
“ Love and Death o'th' way once meeting,
Could not sleep, but whilst Death rested,
But his haste too dearly costs him;
The last extract, for which we can allow space, is also the best, and occurs in the play which was damned:
“ Sacred silence, thou that art
ART. VII.—The Life and Death of Thomas Wolsey, Cardinall :
divided into three parts ; his Aspiring, Triumph, and Death. By Thomas Storer, Student in Christchurch, Oxford. 1599.
We hope, that the very interesting extracts from Cavendish's Life of Wolsey, which graced our last number, have left an impression on the minds of our readers so agreeable, as to
render a recurrence to the subject far from being unacceptable. The private history of every man who, during life, has fixed the eyes of the world upon his public actions, can never fail to attract the notice and rivet the attention of the curious observer of mankind. It is from Cavendish and from similar works, alone, that a true idea of the “ great Cardinal” can be formed; for, during his life and after his life, so various and powerful were the interests which, on either side, distorted every truth respecting him, that it is not surprising that, up to this time, there should be much of error connected with the popular opinions of both himself and his master. This, however, is matter of history, and the number of facts and details to be taken into consideration too numerous to be discussed here. The character of Wolsey is a noble subject for biography, and we regret to say, that it has not been taken up by abler hands than some of those who have already been employed upon it. The bulky life of Fiddes is a dry detail, interspersed with dull and trite remarks. Wolsey has since been much more fortunate in Mr. Galt, who, in 1812, published a quarto volume on The Life and Administration of Wolsey. But our business is at present with Storer. Poetry, in the time of Storer, still retained many marks of its original destination, for, when applied to matters of fact, the poet seems to have thought his duty was rather to record than to embellish; that his verse was rather intended for an assistance to the memory, than a pleasure to the imagination. We are not inclined to quarrel with this adherence to truth, but we have a right to find fault with the poet for chusing a subject, in which such adherence is necessary. To write a life in verse, is merely to say that in rhyme which had much better be said in prose. The real poetry which a man can introduce into such a subject must be small; and we conceive it no recommendation of a fact, to find it wrapped up in smooth lines, which depend upon expletives for their ease; or rugged metre, which mangles the story it would relate. These poems, however, when of ancient date, and nearly contemporary composition, acquire an adscititious value; and though the lover of poetry may turn from their uncouth measures, and coarse and even ludicrous expressions, with disgust, the antiquarian and historian find them valuable assistants. They sometimes convey the feeling of the times, and, at any rate, that of a single contemporary individual; they supply new facts, or confirm old ones; and when the historian bas given them up, the antiquarian hunts them for ancient customs, and the grammarian for obsolete words. We are inclined to treat the little work before us in none of these characters. In this volume, as in many others, equally neglected, we discover indi. cations of poetical feeling, rudiments of noble images, and