14-I IVOTTON. - DONNE.

An ambassador is an honest man sent to lie abroad

for the commonwealth* Religuiw Wvlroninmz.

The itch of disputing will prove the scab of churches.” A Panegyric to King Charles.

I do believe and take it.
Divine Poems. On the Sacrament.

8

BARNFIELD.— DA VIES. 145

RICHARD BARNFIELD. Born circa 1570.

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.

Address to the Nightingale.1

SIR JOHN DAVIES. 1570-1626.

Much like a subtle spider which doth sit,
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;
If aught do touch the utmost thread of it,
She feels it instantly on every side.2

The Immortality of the Soul.

Wedlock, indeed, hath oft compared been
To public feasts, where meet a public rout,
Where they that are without would fain go in,
And they that are within would fain go out.3

Contention betwixt a Wife, &c.

1 This song, often attributed to Shakespeare, is now confidently assigned to Bamfield; it is found in his collection of Poems in Divert Humours, published in 1598. — Ellis's Specimens, Vol. ii. p. 316.

2 Our souls sit close and silently within,

And their own web from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.

Dryden, Marriage a la Mode, Act ii. Sc. 1.
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine 1
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

Pope, Epistle i. Line 217. * See Webster. Page 167.

146 Daniel. —DRAYTON. —HALL.

SAMUEL DANIEL. 1562-1619.

Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!

To the Countess of Cumberland. Stanza 12.

MICHAEL DRAYTON. 1563-1631.

Had in him those brave translunary things,
That the first poets had.

(Of Marlowe.) To Henry Reynolds, of Poets and Poesy.

For that fine madness still he did retain,

which rightly should possess a poet's brain. ihid.

BISHOP HALL. 1574-1656. Moderation is the silken string running through the

pearl chain of all virtues. Christian Moderation. 1ntroelue.

Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands

in the grave.1 Epistles. Dee. iii. Ep. 2.

There is many a rich stone laid up in the bowels of the earth, many a fair pearl laid up in the bosom of the sea, that never was seen, nor never shall he.2

Contemplations. Booh iv. The Veil of Moses.

1 And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun.

Young, Night Thoughts, v. Line 718. 3 Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear.

Gray's Elegy, Stanza 14. BEN JONSON.1 1574-1637.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.' The Forest. ToCelia.

Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast.''

The Silent Woman. Act i. Se. 1.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace.
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;
Sueh sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. lhid.

In small proportion we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.

Good Life, Long Life.

Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing itself beyond expression. The Masque of Hymen.

Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold.
And almost every vice, almighty gold.4

Epistle to Elizabeth.

Underneath this stone doth lie

As much beauty as could die;

Which in life did harhour give

To more virtue than doth live. Epitaph on Elizabeth.

1 O rare Ben Jonson.— Epitaph hy Sir John Young.

1 'Euoi Si nuvois pa rots Slipatriv Ei 8J Boi\n,

Tots x'^'V' *po<riplpovira, rKfipov (pi\tlixaTuv To tKirupa, xal ofr»» SlSou. Philostrutus, Letter xxiv.

'A translation from Boanefonius.

* Almighty dollar. — Irving, The Creole Village.

Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death! ere thou hast slain another,
Learn'd and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.

Epitaph on the Countess of Pemhroke.'1

What gentle ghost, hesprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew ?a

Elegy on the Lady Jane Pawlet.

Soul of the age!
The applause ! delight! the wonder of our stage!
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room.'

To the Memory of Shakespeare.

Small Latin, and less Greek. Ibid.

He was not of an age, but for all time. Ibid.

Sweet swan of Avon! lhid.

Marlowe's mighty line. Ibid.

For a good poet's made as well as horn. feid.

1 This epitaph is generally ascribed to Ben Jonson. lt appears in the editions of his works; but in a MS. eollection of Browne's poems preserved amongst the Lansdowne MS. No. 777, in the British Museum, it is ascribed to Browne, and awarded to him by Sir Egerton Brydges in his edition of Browne's poems.

- What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps and points to yonder glade?

Pope, To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. z Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb

Basse, On Shakespeare.