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in law, for despising the continual admonitions of Lot. Then, calling to the thunders, lightning, and fires, he bids them heare the call and command of God, to come and destroy a godlesse nation. He brings them down with some short waruing to other nations to take heed.

k. Moabitides, or Phineas. The epitasis whereof may lie in the contention, first, between the father of Zimri and Eleazer, whether he [ought] to have slain his son without law? Next, the ambassadors of the Moabites, expostulating about Cosbi, a stranger and a noble woman, slain by Phineas.

It may be argued about reformation and punishment illegal, and, as it were, by tumult. After all arguments driven home, then the word of the Lord may be brought, acquitting and approving Phineas.

Ivi. Christus Patiens. The Scene, in the

garden. Beginning, from the comming thither, till Judas betraies, and the officers lead him away. The rest by Message and Chorus.

His agony may receav noble expressions,

Ivii. Christ born.

liii. Herod massacring, or Rachel weeping. Matt, ii.

Ixix. Christ bound.

Ix. Christ crucifi'd.

Ixi. Christ risen.

Ixii. Lazarus. John, xi.


Ixiii. The cloister-king Constans set up by Vortiger. Venutius, husband to Cartismandua.

Ixiv. Vortiger poison'd by Roena,

Ixv. Vortiger immur'd. Vortiger marrying Roena. See Speed. Reproov'd by Vodin, archbishop of London. Speed. The massacre of the Britains by Hengist in thire cups at Salisbury plaine. Malmsbury.

lxvi. Sigher, of the East-Saxons, revolted from the faith, and reclaimed by Jarumang.

lxvii. Ethelbert, of the East-Angles, slain by Offa the Mercian. See Holinsh. L. vi. C. v. Speed, in the life of Offa, and Ethelbert.

Ixviii. Sebert slaine by Penda, after he had left his kingdom. See Holiushed, p. 116. Ixix. Wulfer slaying his tow sons for beeing Christians.

lxx. Osbert, of Northumberland, slain for ra

vishing the wife of Bernbocard, and the Danes brought in. See Stow, Holinsh. L. vi. C. xii. And especially Speed, L. viii. C. ii. Ixxi, Edmund, last king of the East-Angles,

martyr'd by Hinguar the Dane. See Speed, L. viii, C. ii.

lxxii. Sigbert, tyrant of the West-Saxons, slaine by a swinheard.

lxxiii. Edmund, brother of Athelstan, slaine by a theefe at his owne table. Malmesb. lxxiv. Edwin, son to Edward the younger, for lust depriv'd of his kingdom, or rather by faction of monks, whome he hated; toge ther [with] the impostor Dunstan. lxxv. Edward, son of Edgar, murder'd by his step-mother. To which may be inserted the tragedies stirr'd'up betwixt the monks and priests about mariage. lxxvi. Etheldred, son of Edgar, a slothful king; the ruin of his land by the Danes. lxxvii. Ceaulin, king of the West-Saxons, for tyrannie depos'd and banish't; and d ing.

lxxviii. The slaughter of the monks of Bangor by Edelfride, stirr'd up, as is said, by Ethelbert, and ke by Austine the monke; because the Britains would not receave the rites of the Roman church. See Bede, Geffrey Monmouth, and Holinshed, p. 104. Which must begin with the convocation of British Clergie by Austin to determine superfluous points, which by them were refused.

lxxix. Edwin, by vision, promis'd the kingdom of Northumberland on promise of his conver sion; and therein establish't by Rodoald, king of [the] East-Angles.

lxxx. Oswin, king of Deira, slaine by Oswie

his friend, king of Bernitia, through instigation of flatterers. See Holinsh. p.


lxxxi. Sigibert, of the East-Angles, keeping companie with a person excommunicated, slaine by the same man in his house, according as the bishop Cedda had foretold.

lxxxii. Egfride, king of the Northumbers, slaine in battle against the Picts; having before wasted Ireland, and made warre for no reason on men that ever lov'd the English; forewarn'd alo by Cuthbert not to fight with the Ficts.

lxxxiii. Kinewulf, king of the West-Saxons, slaine by Kineard in the house of one of his concubins.

Ixxxiv. Gunthildis, the Danish ladie, with her husband Palingus, and her son, slaine by the appointment of the traitor Edrick, in king Ethelred's days. Holinsh. L. vii. C. v. together with the massacre of the Danes at Oxford. Speed.

Ixxxv. Brightrick, [king] of [the] West-Saxons, poyson'd by his wife Ethelburge, Offa's daughter; who dyes miserably also, in beggery, after adultery, in a nunnery. Speed in Bithrick.

lxxxvi. Alfred, in disguise of a minstrel, discovers the Danes' negligence; sets on [them] with a mightie slaughter. About the same tyme the Devonshire men rout Hubba, and slay him.

lxxxvii. Athelstan exposing his brother Edwin to the sea, and repenting.

lxxxviii, Edgar slaying Ethelwold for false play

in wooing. Wherein may be set out his pride, and lust, which he thought to close by favouring monks and building monasteries. Also the disposition of woman in Elfrida towards her husband. [Peck proposes, and justly, I think, to read cloke instead of close.] Ixxxix. Swane beseidging London, and Ethelred repuls't by the Londoners.

xc. Harold slaine in battel, by William the
Norman. The first scene may begin
with the ghost of Alfred, the second son
of Ethelred, slaine in cruel manner by
Godwin, Harold's father; his mother
and brother dissuading him.
xci. Edmund Ironside defeating the Danes
at Brentford; with his combat with Ca-

xcii. Edmund Ironside murder'd by Edrick the
traitor, and reveng'd by Canute.
xciii. Gunilda, daughter to king Canute and

Emma, wife to Henry III. emperour,
accus'd of inchastitie; defended by her
English page in combat against a giant-
like adversary; who by him at two blows
is slaine, &c. Speed in the life of Ca-


xciv. Hardiknute dying in his cups: an example to riot.

xcv. Edward the Confessor's divorsing and im

prisoning his noble wife Editha, Godwin's daughter. Wherin is showed his over-affection to strangers, the cause of Godwin's insurrection. Wherein Godwin's forbearance of battel, prais'd; and the English moderation on both sides, magnifi'd. His [Edward's] slacknesse to redresse the corrupt clergie, and superstitious prætence of chastitie.



xcvi. Athirco slain by Natholochus, whose daughters he had ravish'!; and this Natholocus, usurping thereon the kingdom, seeks to slay the kindred of Athirco, who scape him and conspire against him. He sends a witch to know the event. witch tells the messenger, that he is the man, that shall slay Natholocus, He detests it; but, in his journie home, changes his mind, and performs it. Scotch Chron. English. p. 68, 69. xcvii, Dufe and Donwald. A strange story of witchcraft and murder discover'd and reveng'd. Scotch story, 149 &c. xcviii. Haie, the plowman, who, with his two sons that were at plow, running to the battell that was between the Scots and Danes in the next field, staid the flight of his countrymen, renew'd the battell, and

caus'd the victorie, &c. Scotch story, p. 155 &c.

xcix. Kenneth, who, having privily poison'd Malcolm Duffe that his own son might Scotch succeed, is slain by Fenella. Hist. p. 157, 158, &c.

c. Macbeth. Beginning at the arrivall of Malcolm at Mackduffe. The matter of Duncan may be express't by the appearing of his ghost,


In this MONODY, the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637. And by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height.

[Edward King, the subject of this Monody, was the son of sir John King, knight, secretary for Ireland, under queen Elizabeth, James the first, and Charles the first. He was sailing from Chester to Ireland, on a visit to his friends and relations in that country: these were, his brother sir Robert King, knight; and his sisters, Anne wife of sir George Caulfield lord Claremont, and Margaret, abovementioned, wife of sir George Loder, chief justice of Ireland; Edward King bishop of Elphin, by whom he was baptized; and William Chappel, then dean of Cashel, and provost of Dublin college, who had been his tutor at Christ's college Cambridge, and was afterwards bishop of Cork and Ross, and in this pastoral is probably the same person that is styled old Damoetas, v. 36. When, in calm weather, not far from the English coast, the ship, a very crazy vessel, a fatal and perfidious bark, struck on a rock, and suddenly sunk to the bottom with all that were on board, not one escaping, Aug. 10, 1637. King was now only twentyfive years old. He was perhaps a native of Ireland.

At Cambridge, he was distinguished for his piety, and proficiency in polite literature. He has no inelegant copy of Latin iambics prefixed to a Latin comedy called Senile Odium, acted at Queen's college, Cambridge, by the youth of that society, and written by P. Hausted, Cantab. 1633, 12mo. From which I select these lines, as containing a judicious satire on the false taste, and the customary mechanical or unnatural expedients, of the drama that then subsisted,

Non hic cothurni sanguine insonti rubent, Nec flagra Megæræ ferrea horrendum intonant ;

Noverca nulla sævior Erebo furit ;
Venena nulla, præter illa dulcia
Amoris; atque his vim abstulere noxiam
Casti lepores, innocua festivitas,

Nativa suavitas, proba elegantia, &c.”

He also appears with credit in the Cambridge

Public Verses of his time. He has a copy of | Latin iambics, in the Anthologia on the King's Recovery, Cantab. 1632. 4to. p. 43. Of Latin elegiacs, in the Genethliacum Acad. Cantabrig. Ibid. 1631. 4to. p. 39. Of Latin iambics in Rex Redux, Ibid. 1633. 4to. p. 14. See also MYNNAIA, from Cambridge, Ibid. 1637. 4to. Signat. C. 3.]

YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude:
And, with forc'd fingers rude,

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year:
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due :
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse :
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destin❜d urn;
And, as he passes, turn,

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.



For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill.
Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd
Under the opening eye-lids of the Morn,
We drove afield, and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star, that rose, at evening bright, 30
Toward Heaven's descent had slop'd his wester-
ing wheel.

Mean while the rural ditties were not mute,
Temper'd to the oaten flute;

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long;
And old Damotas lov'd to hear our song.

But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,

And all their echoes mourn :

The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,


Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorse-
less deep


Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:
Ay me! I fondly dream!


Had ye been there for what could that have


What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal Nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the


Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears; "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil


Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed."
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds!
That strain I heard was of a higher mood:
But now my oat proceeds,

And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea ;


He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain?
And question'd every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory :
They knew not of his story;

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.



Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe. "Ah! who hath reft "(quoth he)" my dearest Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spar'd for thee young swain,


Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how
to hold

A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 121
What recks it them? What need they? They
are sped;

And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they


Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing sed:
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks;
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes,
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 142
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,


Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.




Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walk'd the


Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing in their glory, move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; 180
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and


While the still Morn went out with sandals gray; He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,

[blocks in formation]

Smooth is then altered to fam'd, and next to ho, nour'd: And soft-sliding to smooth-sliding, Ver. 105. Scraul'd ore with figures dim. Inwrought is in the margin.

Ver. 129. Daily devours apace, and little sed.
Nothing is erased.

Ver. 138. On whose fresh lap the swart star stintly looks.

At first sparely, as at present. Ver. 139. Bring hither, &c.

Ver. 142. Bring the rathe primrose that unwedded dies,

Colouring the pale cheek of uninjoy'd love;
And that sad floure that strove

To write his own woes on the vermeil

Next, adde Narcissus t'at still weeps in vaine;

The woodbine, and the pancie freak't with jet,

The glowing violet,

The cowslip wan that hangs his pensive head,

And every bud that sorrow's liverię weares; Let daffadillies fill their cupswith teares Bid amaranthus all his beautie shed. Here also the well-attir'd woodbine appears as at

present, altered from garish columbine; and sud embroidery, an alteration of sail escocheon, instead of sorrow's liverie.

Ver. 153. Let our sad thought, &c.

Ver. 154. Ay mee, whilst thee the floods and sounding seas.

Ver. 160. Sleep'st by the fable of Corineus old. But Bellerus is a correction.

Ver. 176. Listening the unexpressive nuptial song.


HENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn,


Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill :
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern-gate
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his sithe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landscape round it measures;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights Where the nibbling flocks do stray;


Find out some uncouth cell,

Mountains, on whose barren breast,
The labouring clouds do often rest;

Where brooding Darkness sads his jealous Meadows trim with daisies pide,


And the night-raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In Heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as some sager sing)

The frolic wind, that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-maying;
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.


Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin.
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide:
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smoaks,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met,
Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,

To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sun-shine holy-day,
Till the live-long day-light fail:
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How faery Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she sed;
And he, by friars lantern led,

Tells how the drudging goblin swet,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep.
Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize

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