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In a rich jewell, and therein entrayl'd
The ends of all the knots, that none might see
How they within their fouldings close enwrapped bee.

Like two faire marble pillours they were seene,
Which doe the temple of the Gods support,
Whom all the people decke with girlands greene,
And honour in their festivall resort;
Those same with stately grace and princely port
She taught to tread, when she herselfe would grace;
But with the woody Nymphes when she did play,
Or when the flying libbard she did chace,

She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace.

And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held,
And at her backe a bow and quiver gay,
Stuft with steel-headed dartes, wherewith she quel'd
The salvage beastes in her victorious play,
Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay
Athwart her snowy brest,

Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,
And when the winde emongst them did inspyre,
They waved like a penon wyde dispred,
And low behinde her backe were scattered:
And, whether art it were or heedelesse hap,
As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,
In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap,
And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap."

What a piece of " dulcet and harmonious music" is this! it is the murmuring of the golden stream of Pactolus of old; but we cannot find words to express the extent of our delight, and we must leave it to the fancy of our readers to frame fit epithets of admiration. Let the reader compare this description with that of Parthenia, and particularly the lines in italics with Fletcher's imitations of them.

It is but fair, however, to select something, in which our author has improved Spenser—his description of Envy, for instance, which, although it betrays the place from which it came, is superior to Spenser's—it is more dignified; Spenser's is more wild;—the latter has also given a description of the physical qualities; Fletcher has only delineated those of the mind.

Envy the next, Envy with squinted eyes;

Sick of a strange disease, his neighbour's health;
Best lives he then, -when any better dies;
Is never poor, but in another's wealth:
On best men's harms and griefs he feeds his fill;
Else his own maw doth eat with spiteful will:
111 must the temper be, where diet is so ill.

Each eye through divers optics slily leers,

Which both his sight and object's self bely;
So greatest virtue as a moat appears,

And molehill faults to mountains multiply.

When needs he must, yet faintly, then he praises;
Somewhat the deed, much more the means he raises:
So marreth what he makes, and praising, most dispraises.

The poem is supposed to be sung by a Shepherd, which gives the poet an opportunity of introducing several interesting descriptions of rural scenery.

The following stanzas are pretty and fanciful.

The flow'rs that, frighten'd with sharp winter's dread,

Retire into their mother Tellus' womb,
Yet in the spring in troops new mustered
Peep out again from their unfrozen tomb:
The early violet will fresh arise,
Spreading his flower'd purple to the skies;
Boldly the little elf the winter's spite defies.

The hedge, green satin pink'd and cut, arrays;

The heliotrope to cloth of gold aspires;
In hundred-colour'd silks the tulip plays;

Th' imperial flow'r, his neck with pearl attires;
The lily, high her silver grogram rears;
The pansy, her wrought velvet garment bears;
The red-rose, scarlet, and the provence, damask wears.

The introduction to the ninth canto is poetical, and worth quoting.

The bridegroom Sun, who late the earth espous'd,

Leaves his star-chamber; early in the east
He shook his sparkling locks, head lively rous'd,
While Morn his couch with blushing roses drest;
His shines the Earth soon latch'd to gild her flow'rs:
Phosphor his gold-fleec'd drove folds in their bow'rs,
Which all the night had graz'd about th' Olympic tow'rs.

The cheerful lark, mounting from early bed,

With sweet salutes awakes the drowsy light;
The Earth she left, and up to Heav'n is fled;
There chants her Maker's praises out of sight.
Earth seems a mole-hill, men but ants to be;
Teaching the proud, that soar to high degree,
The further up they climb, the less they seem and see.

The lines which succeed on the decay of human greatness, and the ruin of principalities and powers, are some of the finest and most spirited in the poem, and for which the author has our unqualified praise.

"Fond man, that looks on Earth for happiness,
And here long seeks what here is never found!
For all our good we hold from Heav'n by lease,
With many forfeits and conditions bound;
Nor can we pay the fine, and rentage due:
Though now but writ, and seal'd, and giv'n anew,
Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew.

Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good.

At ev'ry loss 'gainst heav'n's face repining 1
Do but behold where glorious cities stood,
With gilded tops and silver turrets shining;
There now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds,
And loving pelican in fancy breeds:
There screeching satyrs fill the people's empty stedes.*

Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide,

That all the east once grasp'd in lordly paw?
Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride
The lion's self tore out with rav'nous jaw?
Or he which 'twixt a lion and a pard,
Through all the world with nimble pinions far'd,
And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shar'd.

Hardly the place of such antiquity,

Or note of these great monarchies we find:
Only a fading verbal memory,

And empty name in writ is left behind:
But when this second life and glory fades,
And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades,
A second fall succeeds, and double death invades.

* i. c. places.

That monstrous beast, which, nurs'd in Tiber's fen,

Did all the world with hideous shape affray;
That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den,
And trode down all the rest to dust and clay:
His batt'ring horns, pull'd out by civil hands
And iron teeth, lie scatter'd on the sands;
Back'd, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands.

And that black* vulture, which with deathful wing
O'ershadows half the Earth, whose dismal sight
Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring,
Already stoops, and flags with weary flight:
Who then shall look for happiness beneath?
Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death,
And life itself's as flit as is the air we breathe.

Fletcher's description of fear is as follows:—

Still did he look for some ensuing cross,
Fearing such hap as never man befel:
No mean he knows, but dreads each little loss
(With tyranny of fear distraught) as Hell.

His sense, he dare not trust (nor eyes, nor ears);
And when no other cause of fright appears,
Himself he much suspects, and fears his causeless fears.

Harness'd with massy steel, for fence not fight;

His sword unseemly long he ready drew:
At sudden shine of his own armour bright.
He st irted oft, and star'd with ghastly hue:
His shrieks, at ev'ry danger that appears,
Shaming the knight-like arms he goodly bears:
His word: 'Safer, that all, than he that nothing fears.'

Compare this with Spenser's description.

Next him was Feare, all arm'd from top to toe,
Yet thought himselfe not safe enough thereby,
But fear'd each shadow moving to or froe;
And, his owne armes when glittering he did spy
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,
As ashes pale of hew, and winged heel'd;
And evermore on Daunger fixt his eye,
Gainst whom he alwayes bent a brasen shield,
Which his right hand unarmed fearefully did wield, t

* The Turk. f Faery Queen, b. iii. c. xii. st xii.

the English forces in Holland,* and was subsequently one of those gallant adventurers, who, in 1596, went to annoy the Spaniards in their West India settlements. With a brave, but small, band of two hundred and eighty men, he took the town of St. Jago, of which he kept possession two days and nights, against three thousand Portuguese, in which service eighty of his men were wounded. On his return to England, Sir Anthony received the honour of knighthood. As the model of his civil life, Sir Anthony selected his friend and patron, the famous Earl of Essex, who, in the true nobleness of his nature, gave him literally the best treasures of his mind in counselling him, and his care and fortune to help him forward. Early in the year 1599, Sir Anthony Sherley left England with twenty-five followers, most of them gentlemen, for the purpose of joining the Duke of Ferrara in his wars with the Pope; but, learning on his arrival at Augusta, that the wars were terminated, he proceeded to Venice, and, from that place, communicated his disappointment to the Earl, by whose advice the enterprize had been undertaken. It seems, that some expectation had been formed of the exploits of this small band of gentlemen, and it suited neither the inclination of the Earl, nor Sir Anthony, that it should end in nothing. It was therefore concerted between them, that Sir Anthony should undertake a journey into Persia, the object of which was, in the first place, to endeavour to prevail upon the king to unite with the Christian princes against the Turks; or, if this should fail, to establish a commercial intercourse betwixt this country and the East; with these grand objects, Sir Anthony mixed some private designs of his own for the improvement of his fortune. Such were the inducements to this undertaking, as avowed by Sherley in the History of his Travels, penned by himself—a publication in which statesman-like views and acute reflexions are mingled with pompous argumentation, and tedious ethical declamation— and in which he has purposely omitted what, though of less interest to him, is of most to posterity. Manwaring's discourse, on the contrary, possesses considerable interest—he describes not what he thought, but what he saw—and that in the most naive and engaging manner. He relates many traits of the character of Sir Anthony, and the sovereign whom he visited, that are not to be found in Sherley's publication, which was, in all probabi

* It may be worth while to mention, that Sir Anthony and Sir Nicholas Clifford were created, by the French king, knights of the order of St. Michael; but Queen Elizabeth took it so ill, that they should accept it without her leave, that she deprived them of it. Sandford's Geneal. Hist, of the Kings and Queens of England.

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