Obrazy na stronie

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 warning to other nations to take heed. lv. Moabitides, or Phineas. The epitasis whereof may lie in the contention, first, between the father of Zimri and Eleazer, whether he sought] 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 of.

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lxiii. The cloister-king Constans set up by Vortiger. Venutius, husband to Cartismandua. Ixiv. Vortiger poison'd by Roena. lxv. 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. lxviii. Sebert slaine by Penda, after he had left his kingdom. See Holinshed, p. 116. lxix. Wulfer slaying his tow sons for beeing Christians. lxx. Osbert, of Northumberland, slain for ravishing the wife of Bernbocard, and the Danes brought in. See Stow, Holinsh. L. vi. C. xii. And especially Speed, L. viii. C. ii. boxi, Edmund, last king of the East-Angles,

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martyr'd by Hinguar the Dane. See Speed, L. viii, C. ii. Sigbert, tyrant of the West-Saxons, slaine by a swinheard. Edmund,brotherof Athelstan, slaine by a theefe at his owne table. Malmesb. Edwin, son to Edward the younger, for lust depriv'd of his kingdom, or rather by Jaction of monks, whome he hated; together [with] the impostor Dunstan. 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. Etheldred, son of Edgar, a slothful king; the ruin of his land by the Danes. Ceaulin, king of the West-Saxons, for tyrannie depos'd and banish't; and do ang. The slaughter of the monks of Bangor by Edelfride, stirr'd up, as is said, by Ethelbert, and he 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. Edwin, by vision, promis'd the kingdom of Northumberland on promise of his conversion; and therein establish't by Rodoald, king of [the] East-Angles. Oswin, king of Deira, slaine by Oswie his friend, king of Bernitia, through instigation of flatterers. See Holinsh. p. 115. Sigibert, of the East-Angles, keeping companie with a person excommunicated, slaine by the same man in his house, ac:* as the bishop Cedda had foretold. 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 Picts. Kinewulf, king of the West-Saxons, slaine by Kineard in the house of one of his concubins. 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. 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. 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. Athelstan exposing his brother Edwin to the sea, and repenting.

oxxviii, Edgar slaying Ethelwold Jor 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 hus-
band. [Peck proposes, and justly,
Ithink, to read cloke instead of close.]
* beseidging London, and Ethiod
repuls’t by the Londoners.
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.
Edmund Ironside defeating the Danes
*Brentford; with his combat with co-
Edmund Ironside murder'd by Edrick the
traitos, and reveng'd by Canute.
Gunilda, daughter to-king Canute and
Emma, wife to Henry III. emperour,
**, of inchastitie; defended by her
English page in combat against a giant-
*adversary; who by him at to
**laine, &c. Speed in the life of ca.
Hardiknute dying in his crops: an exam-
ple to riot.
'. Edward the Confessor's divorsing and im-
prisoning his noble wife Editha, God-
* daughter. Wherin is showed his
*-affection to strangers, the cause
of Godwin's insurrection.” wherji,
Godwin's forbearance of battel, prais'd;
*nd the English moderation on both
sides, magnifi'd. His [Edward's] slack-
*e to redresse the corrupt clergie,
and superstitious Praetence of chas-

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SCO7 (H. Stories, on R.MTHER BRI.

xcvi. Athirco slain *y Natholochus, whose
daughters he had ravish', 5 and this Na-
thosocus, usurping therson to kingdom,
seeks to slay the kindred of Athirco, who
* him and conspire against him. He
sends a witch to know the event. The
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.
Duffe and Donnai. A strange story
of witchcraft and murder discover'd and
reveng’d. Scotch story, 149 &c.
Haie, the Plowman, who, with his tovo
* that were at plot, running to the bat-
fell that was between the Scots and Danes
in the nert field, stain the fight of his
countrymen, renew'd the battell, and

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"...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,
**, 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
*; his brother sir Robert King, knight;
and his sisters, Anne wife of sir George Caul-
field lord Claremont, and Margaret, above-
mentioned, wife of sir George Loder, chief
justice of Ireland; Edward King bishop of
Elphin, by whom he was baptized ; and Wil-
liam Chappel, then dean of Cashel, and pro-
* of Dublin college, who had been his tor
at Christ's college Cambridge, and was after-
war's bishop of Cork and Ross, and in this pas-
toral 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
“”y vessel, a fatal and perfidious bark, struo.
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 twenty-
five years old. He was perhaps a native of Ire-

At Cambridge, he was distinguished for his piety,
and proficiency in polite literature. He has
no inelegant copy of Latin iambies 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, Can-
tab. 1633, 12mo. From which I select these
lines, as °ontaining a judicious satire on the
false taste, and the customary mechanical or
unnatural expedients, of the drama that then

Non hic cothurni sanguine insonti rubent,
Nec flagra Megaerae ferrea horrendum into-
nant ;
Noverca mulla savior Erebo furit;
Yemena nulla, prieterilia dulcia
Amoris; atque his vim abstulere noxiam
Casti lepores, innocua festivitas,
Nativa suavitas, Proba elegantia, &c.”

He also *PPears 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 Rer Redur, Ibid. 1633. 4to. p. 14. See also ornaalA, from Cambridge, Ibid. 1637, 4to. Signat. C. 3..]

Yeronce 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 10 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, Sattening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Mst till the star, that rose, at evening bright, 30 ‘oward Heaven's descent had slop'd his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, "emper'd to the oaten flute; tough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel 'rom the glad sound would not be absent long; ind old Damo-tas lov'd to hear our song. But, Othebeavy change, now thou art gone, ow thou art gone, and never must return hee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'erwn, nd all their echoes mourn: he willows, and the hazel copses green, hall now no more be seen unning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. skilling as the canker to the rose, rtaint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, r frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, hen first the white-thorn blows; ch, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep os'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 51 r neither wereye playing on the steep, here your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, ron the shaggy top of Mona high, r yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: me! I fondly dream! [done? d ye been there-for what could that have


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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 Hebrusto 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 Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That lastinfirmity of noble mind) 71. 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 praise,” Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears; “Fame is no plant that growson mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies: Butlives 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 Iheard 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 hathdoom'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, 100 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 rest “(quoth hey” my dearest Last came, and last did go, pledge?” 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 climbinto 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'daught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 121 What recks it them? What need they? They

are sped;

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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 130
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 gushingbrooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks;
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes,
That on thegreen 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 wanthat hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 150
To strew the laureatherse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Letour 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, 160
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, [more,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 169
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 outwith sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,

With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay: 191
At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue-
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.


From Milton's MS, in his own hand.

Ver, 10. Who would not sing for Lycidas, he well knew. Ver, 22..To bid faire peace, &c. Ver, 26. Under the glimmering eye-lids, &c. Ver. 30, Oft till the even-starre bright Towards Heaven's descent had sloapt his burnisht wheel. Wer, 47. Or frost to flowres that their gay out. tons wear. Herc bear had been written, and erased, before teetorVer, 58, What could the golden-hor’d Calliope For her inchaunting son, When she beheld (the gods far-sighted bee) His goarie scal rowle downe the Thrscian lee. Here, after inchaunting son, occurs in the margin Whome universal Nature mightlament, And Heaven and Hel deplore, When his divine head downethestreame was sent. The line And Heaven, &c. is erased: divise head is also altered to divine visage, and af. terwards to goary visage. Ver., 69. Hid in the tangles, &c. Ver. 85. Oh fountain Arethuse, and,thousouth flood, Soft-sliding Mincius. Smooth is then altered to fam’d, and next to honour’d: And soft-sliding to smooth-sliding. Ver. 105. Scraul’d ore with figures dim. Inwrought is in the margin. Wer. 129. Daily devours apace, and little sed. Nothing is erased. Ver, 138. On whose fresh lap the swart starstiusly looks. At first sparely, as at present. Ver. 139. Bring hither, &c. Ver. 142. Bring the rathe primrose that mored. ded dies, Colouring the pale cheek of uninjoydkre; And that sad floure that strate To write his own woes on the rero graine: Next, adde Narcissus to at still weeps to vaine; The woodbine, and the pancie freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The cowslip wan that hangs his pensive head, And every bud thatsorrow's liverie weares; Letdaffadillies fill their cupswith tears, Bid amaranthus all his beautieshed. Here also the well-attir'd woodbine appears asso present, altered from garish columbine; and sud embroidery, an alteration of sad escocheon, instead of sorrow's liverie. Ver. 153. Letour sadthought, &c. Ver. 154. Aymee, 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 Midnightborn,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
*Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness sads his jealous
And the night-raven sings;
There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd
As ragged as thy locks, [rocks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In Heaven yelep'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 mether 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 tripit, 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;

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,

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