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To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you, too, shall adore ; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Lov'd I not honour more.

Birthplace of Randolph. at the age of twenty-nine. A monument was erected to his memory by Sir Christopher Hatton.

To My Picture. When age hath made me what I am not now, And every wrinkle tells me where the plough Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow Through every vein, and all my head be snow; When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, And I, myself, in my own picture seek, Not finding what I am, but what I was; In doubt which to believe, this or my glass ; Yet though I alter, this remains the same As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, And first complexion; here will still be seen, Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. Behold what frailty we in man may see, Whose shadow is less given to change than he.

To Althea, from Prison.
When love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my dirine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates ;
When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Jur careless heads with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames ;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.
When, linnet-like confined, I
With shriller note shall sing

ercy, sweetness, majesty,
And glories of my king;

I shall voice aloud how good
s, how great should be,

arged winds, that curs the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make,

iron bars a cage;

Innocent and quiet, take
That for an hermitage :
pe freedom in my love,

my soul am free ;

lone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

The merc



Thy on


Minds, innocent and

If I ha

And in my soul an Angels aloi

To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass.

Fair lady, when you see the grace
Of beauty in your looking-glass ;
A stately forehead, smooth and high,
And full of princely majesty ;
A sparkling eye no gem so fair,
Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star ;
A glorious cheek, divinely sweet,
Wherein both roses kindly meet ;
A cherry lip that would entice
Even gods to kiss at any price;
You think no beauty is so rare
That with your shadow;
That your reflection is alone
The thing that men most dote upon.
Madam, alas ! your glass doth lie,
And you are much deceived; for I
A beauty know of richer grace,
(Sweet, be not angry) 'tis your face.
Hence, then, O learn more mild to be,
And leave to lay your blame on me:
If me your real substance move,
When you so much your shadow love,
Wise nature would not let your eye
Look on her own bright majesty ;
Which, had you once but gazed upon,
You could, except yourself, love none :
What then you cannot love, let me,
That face I can, you cannot see.

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Now you have what to love, you'll say, he distinguished himself so much in the cause of What then is left for me, I pray ?

the royalists, that he was knighted for his skill and My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; bravery. On the decline of the king's affairs, he That which you can, I cannot see :

returned to France, and wrote part of his Gondibert. So either love shall gain his due,

His next step was to sail for Virginia as a colonial Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you.

projector; but the vessel was captured by one of the parliamentary ships of war, and Davenant was lodged

in prison at Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. In 1650, SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.

he was removed to the Tower, preparatory to his SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT, whose life occupies an

being tried by the High Commission Court. His important space in the history of the stage, preced

life was considered in danger, but he was released ing and after the Restoration, wrote a heroic poem

after two years' imprisonment. Milton is said to entitled Gondibert, and some copies of miscellaneous

have interposed in his behalf; and as Davenant is verses. Davenant was born in 1605, and was the

reported to have interfered in favour of Milton when the royalists were again in the ascendant, after the Restoration, we would gladly believe the statement to be true. Such incidents give a peculiar grace and relief to the sternness and bitterness of party conflicts. "At Talavera, the English and French troops for a moment suspended their conflict, to drink of a stream which flowed between them. The shells were passed across, from enemy to enemy, without apprehension or molestation. We, in the same manner, would rather assist political adversaries to drink of that fountain of intellectual pleasure, which should be the common refreshment of both parties, than disturb and pollute it with the havoc of unseasonable hostilities.'* Milton and Davenant must have felt in this manner, when they waived their political differences in honour of genius and poesy. When the author of Gondibert obtained his enlargement, he set about establishing a theatre, and, to the surprise of all, succeeded in the attempt. After the Restoration, he again basked in royal favour, and continued to write and superintend the performance of plays till his death, April 7, 1668.

The poem of Gondibert, though regarded by Davenant's friends and admirers (Cowley and Waller

being of the number) as a great and durable monuSir William Davenant.

ment of genius, is now almost utterly forgotten. The

plot is romantic, but defective in interest; and its son of a vintner at Oxford. There is a scandalous extreme length (about six thousand lines), and the story, that he was the natural son of Shakspeare, I description of versification in which it is writter who was in the habit of stopping at the Crown I long four-lined stanza, with alternate rhymes, copied Tavern (kept by the elder Davenant) on his jour-| by Dryden in his Annus Mirabilis), render the poem neys between London and Stratford. This story languid and tedious. The critics have been strangely was related to Pope by Betterton the player ; but it at variance with each other as to its merits, but to seems to rest on no authority but idle tradition. | general readers the poem may be said to be unknown. Young Davenant must, however, have had a strong Davenant prefixed a long and elaborate preface to and precocious admiration of Shakspeare ; for, when his poem, which is highly creditable to him for judgonly ten years of age, he penned an ode, In Remem ment, taste, and feeling, and may be considered the brance of Master William Shakspeare, which opens

precursor of Dryden's admirable critical introducin the following strain :

tions to his plays. His worship of Shakspeare continued unabated to the last, though he was mainly

instrumental, by his masques and scenery, in driving Beware, delighted poets, when you sing,

the elder bard from the stage. Dryden, in his preTo welcome nature in the early spring, face to the Tempest, states, that he did not set any Your numerous feet not tread

value on what he had written in that play, but out The banks of Avon, for each flower

of gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, (As it ne'er knew a sun or shower)

. who,' he adds, 'did me the honour to join me with Hangs there the pensive head.

him in the alteration of it. It was originally Shaks

peare's—a poet for whom he had particularly a high It is to be regretted (for the sake of Davenant, as veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. well as of the world) that the great dramatist did not live to guide the taste and foster the genius of his youthful admirer, whose life presented some

To the Queen, strange adventures. About the year 1628, Davenant began to write for the stage, and in 1638, on the

Entertained at night by the Countess of Anglesey. death of Ben Jonson, he was appointed laureate. He was afterwards manager of Drury Lane, but, entering

Fair as unshaded light, or as the day into the commotions and intrigues of the civil war,

In its first birth, when all the year was May; he was apprehended and confined in the Tower. He

Sweet as the altar's smoke, or as the new afterwards escaped to France. When the queen sent

Unfolded bud, swell’d by the early dew; over to the Earl of Newcastle a quantity of military stores, Davenant resolved to return to England, and I

* Edinburgh Review, vol. 47.


Smooth as the face of waters first appear’d,

She fashions him she loved of angels' kind; Ere tides began to strive or winds were heard ;

Such as in holy story were employ'd Kind as the willing saints, and calmer far

To the first fathers from the Eternal Mind, Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are.

And in short vision only are enjoy’d.
You that are more than our discreeter fear

As eagles, then, when nearest heaven they fly,
Dares praise, with such full art, what make you here? Of wild impossibles soon weary grow ;
Here, where the summer is so little seen,

Feeling their bodies find no rest so high,
That leaves, her cheapest wealth, scarce reach at green ;

And therefore perch on earthly things below ; You come, as if the silver planet were Misled a while from her much injured sphere;

So now she yields ; him she an angel deem'd And, tease the travels of her beams to-night,

Shall be a man, the name which virgins fear; In this small lanthorn would contract her light.

Yet the most harmless to a maid he seemid,

That ever yet that fatal name did bear.

Soon her opinion of his hurtless heart,

Affection turns to faith; and then love's fire
The lark now leaves his watery nest,

To heaven, though bashfully, she does impart, And climbing shakes his dewy wings;

And to her mother in the heavenly quire. He takes his window for the east,

*If I do love,' said she,' that love, O Heaven ! 1 And to implore your light, he sings,

Your own disciple, Nature, bred in me; Awake, awake, the moon will never rise,

Why should I hide the passion you have given, Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

Or blush to show effects which you decree? The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,

' And you, my alter'd mother, grown above The ploughman from the sun his season takes;

Great Nature, which you read and reverenc'd here, But still the lover wonders what they are,

Chide not such kindness as you once call'd love, Who look for day before his mistress wakes :

When you as mortal as my father were.' Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn ! This said, her soul into her breast retires ; Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn.

With love's vain diligence of heart she dreams Herself into possession of desires,

And trusts unanchor'd hopes in fleeting streams. [Description of the Virgin Birtha.]

She thinks of Eden-life ; and no rough wind (From Gondibert.)

In their pacific sea shall wrinkles make;

That still her lowliness shall keep him kind, To Astragon, heaven for succession gave

Her ears keep him asleep, her voice awake. One only pledge, and Birtha was her name,

She thinks, if ever anger in him sway, Whose mother slept where flowers grew on her grave,

(The youthful warrior's most excus'd disease), And she succeeded her in face and fame.

Such chance her tears shall calm, as showers allay Her beauty princes durst not hope to use,

The accidental rage of winds and seas.
ļ l'nless, like poets, for their morning theme;
And her mind's beauty they would rather choose,
Which did the light in beauty's lanthorn seem.

She ne'er saw courts, yet courts could have undone JOHN CLEVELAND (1613-1658) was equally con-
With untaught looks, and an unpractised heart;

spicuous for political loyalty and poetical conceit, Her nets, the most prepar'd could never shun,

and he carried both to the utmost verge. CleveFor nature spread them in the scorn of art.'

land's father was rector of a parish in Leicestershire. She never had in busy cities been,

After completing his studies at Cambridge, the poet Ne'er warm'd with hopes, nor ere allay'd with fears;

officiated as a college tutor, but joined the royal Not seeing punishment, could guess no sin ;

army when the civil war broke out. He was the And sin not seeing, ne'er had use of tears.

loudest and most strenuous poet of the cause, and

distinguished himself by a fierce satire on the Scots But here her father's precepte gave her skill,

in 1647. Two lines of this truculent party tirade Which with incessant business fill'd the hours ; present a conceit at which our countrymen may 'In spring she gather'd blossoms for the still ;

now smileIn autumn, berries ; and in summer, flowers.

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his . And as kind nature, with calm diligence,

doom ; Her own free virtue silently employs,

Not forced him wander, but confined him home. Whilst she unheard, does ripening growth dispense, So were her virtues busy without noise.

In 1655, the poet was seized at Norwich, and put Whilst her great mistress, Nature, thus she tends,

in prison, being 'a person of great abilities, and so

able to do the greater disservice.' Cleveland petiThe busy household waits no less on her ; By secret law, each to her beauty bends,

tioned the Protector, stating that he was induced to

believe that, next to his adherence to the royal Though all her lowly mind to that prefer.

party, the cause of his confinement was the narrowGracious and free she breaks upon them all

ness of his estate; for none stood committed whose With morning looks ; and they, when she does rise, estate could bail them. “I am the only prisoner,' Devoutly at her dawn in homage fall,

he says, 'who have no acres to be my hostage;' and And droop like flowers when evening shuts her eyes. he ingeniously argues that poverty, if it is a fault, is

its own punishment. Cromwell released the poor Beneath a myrtle covert she does spend,

poet, who died three years afterwards in London. In maid's weak wishes, ber whole stock of thought ; Independently of his strong and biting satires, which Fond maids ! who love with mind's fine stuff would were the cause of his popularity while living, and mend,

| which Butler partly imitated in Hudibras, CleveWhich nature purposely of bodies wrought. I land wrote some love verses containing morsels of genuine poetry, amidst a mass of affected metaphors and fancies. He carried gallantry to an extent

Death's Final Conquest. bordering on the ludicrous, making all nature-sun The glories of our birth and state, and shade--do homage to his mistress,

Are shadows, not substantial things ;
There is no armour against fate:

Death lays his icy hands on kings;
On Phillis, Walking before Sunrise.

Sceptre and crown,
The sluggish morn as yet undressid,

Must tumble down, My Phillis brake from out her rest,

And in the dust be equal made As if she'd made a match to run

With the poor crooked scythe and spade. With Venus, usher to the sun,

Some men with swords may reap the field, The trees (like yeomen of her guard

And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; Serving more for pomp than ward,

But their strong nerves at last must yield, Rank'd on each side with loyal duty),

They tame but one another still ; Wave branches to enclose her beauty.

Early or late, The plants, whose luxury was lopp'd,

They stoop to fate, Or age with crutches underpropp'd,

And must give up their murmuring breath,
Whose wooden carcasses are grown

When they, pale captives, creep to death.
To be but coffins of their own,
Revive, and at her general dole,

The garlands wither on your brow,
Each receives his ancient soul.

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; The winged choristers began

Upon Death's purple altar, now, To chirp their matins ; and the fan

See where the victor victim bleeds : Of whistling winds, like organs play'd

All heads must come L’nto their voluntaries, made

To the cold tomb, The waken'd earth in odours rise

Only the actions of the just
To be her morning sacrifice;

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
The flowers, callid out of their beds,
Start and raise up their drowsy heads;

Upon his Mistress Sad.
And he that for their colour seeks,
May find it vaulting in her cheeks,

Melancholy, hence, and get
Where roses mix; no civil war

Some piece of earth to be thy seat, Between her York and Lancaster.

Here the air and nimble fire The marigold, whose courtier's face

Would shoot up to meet desire : Echoes the sun, and doth unlace

Sullen humour leave her blood, Her at his rise, at his full stop

Mix not with the purer flood, Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop,

But let pleasures swelling here, Mistakes her cue, and doth display ;

Make a spring-tide all the year.
Thus Phillis antedates the day.

Love a thousand sweets distilling,
These miracles had cramp'd the sun,

And with pleasure bosoms filling,
Who, thinking that his kingdom's won,

Charm all eyes that none may find ur, Powders with light his frizzled locks,

Be above, before, behind us ; To see what saint his lustre mocks.

And while we thy raptures taste, The trembling leaves through which he play'd,

Compel time itself to stay, Dappling the walk with light and shade,

Or by forelock hold him fast, (Like lattice windows), give the spy

Lest occasion slip away.
Room but to peep with half an eye,
Lest her full orb his sight should dim,

Echo and Narcissus.
And bid us all good night in him :
Till she would spend a gentle ray,

[From Narcissus.] To force us a new-fashion'd day.

Fair Echo, rise! sick-thoughted nymph, awake,
But what new-fashioned palsy's this,

Leave thy green couch, and canopy of trees !
Which makes the boughs divest their bliss ? Long since the choristers of the wood did shake
And that they might her footsteps straw,

Their wings, and sing to the bright sun's uprise : 1 Drop their leaves with shivering awe ;

Day hath wept o'er thy couch, and, progressed, Phillis perceives, and (lest her stay

Blusheth to see fair Echo still in bed. Should wed October unto May,

If not the birds, who 'bout the coverts fly, And as her beauty caus'd a spring,

And with their warbles charm the neighouring air ; || Devotion might an autumn bring),

If not the sun, whose new embroidery Withdrew her beams, yet made no night,

Makes rich the leaves that in thy arbours are, But left the sun her curate light.

Can'make thee rise ; yet, love-sick nymph, away,

The young Narcissus is abroad to-day.

Pursue him, timorous maid : he moves apace; JAMES SHIRLEY, distinguished for his talents as Favonius waits to play with thy loose hair, a dramatist, published, in 1646, a volume of mis | And help thy flight; see how the drooping grass cellaneous poems, which, without exhibiting any Courts thy soft tread, thou child of sound and alr ; strongly-marked features or commanding intellect. | Attempt, and overtake him ; though he be are elegant and fanciful. His muse was not de Coy to all other nymphs, he'll stoop to thee. based by the licentiousness of the age. The finest If thy face move not, let thy eyes express production of Shirley, Death's Final Conquest, oc- Some rhetoric of thy tears to make him stay ; curs in one of his dramas. This piece is said to He must be a rock that will not melt at these, have been greatly admired by Charles II. The Dropping these native diamonds in his way; thoughts are elevated, and the expression highly Mistaken he may stoop at them, and this, -. poetical.

| Who knows how soon / may help thee to a kiss.

I die

If neither love, thy beauty, nor thy tears,

Invent some other way to make him know
He need not hunt, that can have such a deer:

The Queen of Love did once Adonis woo,
But, hard of soul, with no persuasions won,

RICHARD CRASHAW, a religious poet, whose devoHe felt the curse of his disdain too soon.

tional strains and lyric raptures' evince the highest In vain I counsel her to put on wing;

genius, was the son of a preacher at the Temple Echo hath left her solitary grove;

church, London. The date of his birth is not And in the vale, the palace of the spring,

known, but in 1644 he was a fellow of Peterhouse Sits silently attending to her love;

college, Cambridge. Crashaw was, at all periods But round about, to catch his voice with care, of his life, of an enthusiastic disposition. He lived In every shade and tree she hid a snare.

for the greater part of several years in St Mary's

church, near Peterhouse, engaged chiefly in reliNow do the huntsmen fill the air with noise,

gious offices and writing devotional poetry; and, as And their shrill horns chafe her delighted ear,

the preface to his works informs us, like a primitive Which, with loud accents, give the woods a voice

saint, offering more prayers by night, than others Proclaiming parley to the fearful deer: She hears the jolly tunes ; but every strain,

usually offer in the day. He is said to have been As high and musical, she returns again.

an eloquent and powerful preacher. Being ejected

from his fellowship for non-compliance with the Rous’d is the game; pursuit doth put on wings;

rules of the parliamentary army, he removed to The sun doth shine, and gild them out their way;

France, and became a proselyte to the Roman The deer into an o'ergrown thicket springs,

Catholic faith. Through the friendship of Cowley, _ Through which he quaintly steals his shine away ; Crashaw obtained the notice of Henrietta Maria, The hunters ses nters scatter ; but the boy, o'erthrown

then at Paris, and was recommended by her majesty 0 a dark part of the wood, complains alone. to the dignitaries of the church in Italy. He beHim, Echo, led by her affections, found,

came secretary to one of the cardinals, and a canon op , you may guess, to reach him with her eye ; of the church of Loretto. In this situation, Crashaw But more, to see him rise without a wound

died about the year 1650. Cowley honoured his Who yet obscures herself behind some tree; memory with Hie, rexed, exclaims, and asking, Where am I? The unseen virgin answers, ' Here am I?

The meed of a melodious tear. "Some guide from hence! Will no man hear? he cries: The poet was an accomplished scholar, and his She answers, in her passion, 'Oh man, hear ! translations from the Latin and Italian possess great ne, say both; and thus she tries,

freedom, force, and beauty. He translated part of With frequent answers, to entice his ear

the Sospetto d'Herode, from the Italian of Marino; And person to her court, more fit for love ;

and passages of Crashaw's version are not unworthy He tracks the sound, and finds her odorous grove. of Milton, who had evidently seen the work. He The way he trod was paved with violets,

thus describes the abode of Satan Whose azure leaves do warm their naked stalks ; In their white double ruffs the daisies jet,

Below the bottom of the great abyss,
And primroses are scattered in the walks,

There, where one centre reconciles all things,
Y mixture in the ground declares

The world's profound heart pants; there placed is moter galaxy embossed with stars.

Mischief's old master; close about him clings of elms ran with proportioned grace,

A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kiss li Like natu re's arras, to adorn the sides ;

His corresponding cheeks : these loathsome strings The fr vines their loved barks embrace,

Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties

Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies. ing-tops the chequered ground-work hides;

tired sun himself would rest, Riding his glorious circuit to the west.

Fain would he have forgot what fatal strings om hence delight conveys him unawares

Eternally bind each rebellious limb; lcious green, whose either side

He shook himself, and spread his spacious wings, guard, whilst with his trees, like hairs,

Which like two bosom'd sails, embrace the dim The clouds w busy binding up his head ;

Air with a dismal shade, but all in vain; were smile upon him as he treads,

Of sturdy adamant is his strong chain. en he looks up, hang down their heads.

While thus Heaven's highest counsels, by the low n hence, near an harmonious brook, Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well, arbour of conspiring trees,

He toss'd his troubled eyes--embers that glow er boughs into the stream did look, Now with new rage, and wax too hot for hell ; hore suitable to her distress,

With his foul claws he fenc'd his furrow'd brow, cting that her love was gone,

And gave a ghastly shriek, whose horrid yell h a careless posture thrown.

Ran trembling through the hollow vault of night. Pon his wings had brought the boy is lodging of the airy queen,

While resident in Cambridge, Crashaw published

a volume of Latin poems and epigrams, in one of a su nall window of eglantine ;

which occurs the well-known conceit relative to the e might be worthy his embrace,

sacred miracle of water being turned into wineto new-dress her blubber'd face.

The conscious water saw its God and blush'd. ce she sometimes would go out, 'y meet Narcissus in the way ;

In 1646 appeared his English poems, Steps to the F fears present her with new doubt,

Temple, The Delights of the Muses, and Carmen Deo her over-rash resolve away.

Nosiro. The greater part of the volume consists of th overcharge of love must break; religious poetry, in which Crashaw occasionally adwill not let poor Echo speak.

dresses the Saviour, the Virgin Mary, and Mary Magdalen, with all the passionate earnestness and fer

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Into a spacious green, A hill did guard, whilst

The flowers here smile upon hi

Not far fer

Within an arbour of cou Whose wilder boughs into the

A place m ore suitable to Echo, suspectin that her 10 Herself had in a careless post But Time upon his wings h

To see thi

Whom the dejected nym

And that she might be worth

With confidend

And boldly
But then her fears present her

And chide her over-rash r
Her heart with overcharge o

Great Juno

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