Hor, ch'l ciel, e la terra e'l vento tace, E nel suo letto il mar senz' onda giace, &c. Nox erat, et tacitum carpebant fessa soporem And this author presumeth upon the paines he hath taken, Et quod dulce sapit; quorum depascor utroque. Unica meque manus lædit, læsoque medetur, Martyriumque meum nullo quia limite clausum est, Mille neces pacior, vitas totidemque resumo Quoque die; superestque mihi spes nulla salutis. LXXV. In this passion the Authour borroweth from certaine Latine verses of his owne, made long agoe vpon the loue abuses of Juppiter in a certaine peece of worke written in the commen. dation of women kinde; which he hath not yet wholie perfected to the print. Some of the verses may be thus cited to the explaning of this passion, although but lamelie. Accipe ut ignaram candentis imagine Tauri Quam nimio Semelen fuerit complexus amore, &c. Quoque dolo lædam ficto sub olore fefellit. Not Not she, whom Ioue transported into Crete; Nor she, for whome he tooke Dianaes shape; He gayned Satyr like; nor she, whose sonne That she, which hurtes me most, I loue her best. LXXIX. The authour in this Passion seemeth vppon mislike of his wearisome estate in loue to enter into a deepe discourse with himselfe touching the particular miseries which befall him that loueth: And for his sense in this place, hee is very like vnto himselfe, where in a Theame diducted out of the bowelles of Antigone in Sophocles (which he lately translated into Latine, and published in print) he writeth in very like manner as followeth; Mali quando Cupidinis Venas æstus edax occupat intimas, Nec Bacchi studium; peruigiles trahit Noctes; cura animum sollicita atterit, &c. And it may appeare by the tenour of this passion that the The belly neither cares for meate nor drinke, Footsteps Footsteps are false, and wau'ring too and froe; Inconstant Hope is often drown'd in feares: The next Sonnet LXXX begins the title of MY LOVE IS PAST." LXXXIII. In this Sonnet the Author hath imitated one of Ronsarde's Odes, which beginneth thus: "Les Muses herent un iour Sur Parnase l'emprisonnerent," &c. The Muses not long since intrapping Loue Gaue Beawtie charge to watch in their behoue On high Parnassus toppe they clapt him fast. Au liure de ses meslanges. + Ut Martis revocetur amor, summique Tonantis A te Juno petit ceston, et ipsa Venus. Martialis. For For killing those which hurt him not at all: Though now at last I force my loue to dye. The chiefest substance of this Sonnet is borrowed out of certeine Latin verses of Strozza, a nobleman of Italy, and one of the best Poets in all his age, who in describing metaphorically to his friend Antonius the true forme of his amorous estate, writeth thus: "Unda hic sunt Lachrimæ, Venti suspiria, Remi Vota, error velum, Mens malesana Ratis; Spes temo, curæ comites, constantia amoris Est malus, Dolor est anchora, Nauita amor, &c. The souldiar worne with warres, delightes in peace; The pilgrime in his ease when toyles are past; The ship to gayne the porte, when stormes doe cease; And I reioyce, from loue discharg'd at last; Whome while I seru'd, peace, rest, and land I lost, With grieusome wars, with toyles, with storms betost. Sweete liberty nowe giues me leaue to sing, What worlde it was, where Loue the rule did beare; Howe foolish Chaunce by lottes rul'd euery thing; Howe Error was maine saile; each waue a Teare; The Master Loue himselfe ; deepe sighes were windes, Cares row'd with vowes the ship vamery minde. False hope as healme oft turud the boat about; Inconstant faith stood vp for middle maste; Despaire the cable.twisted all with doubt; Held Griping griefe the pyked Anchor fast; Beautie was all the rockes. But I at last Am now twise free, and all my loue is past. Now are these, or are they not more elegant sonnets than Shakspeare's? Surely not. They want his moral cast; his unsophisticated materials; his pure and natural train of thought. Only let us contrast them by one single specimen taken at randoın. SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET LIV. O how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem The The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses ; They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade ; When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth. Drayton's sonnets are somewhat of the same class; but flowing from a colder vein. Daniel's are better than Drayton's. But I am in doubt where to place Sydney's. Those prefixed to Spenser's Fairy Queen are the best of that poet; and better than Warton will allow them to be. Ellis in his Specimens has given one or two by Barnaby Barnes from his Divine Centurie of Spiritual Sonnets, 1595, which are excellent. Drummond's of Hawthornden, which are many of them beautiful, both for sentiment and description, are not classed with them, because they are of half a century later. Perhaps there are not above 100 sonnets in the whole language, which are perfectly good, if we confine them to the strictness of the Petrarchian form. Among them are one or two of Edwards's, one or two of Tom. Warton; one or two of John Bampfylde; one or two of Mrs. Smith and Miss Seward; and above all two or three of Kirke White. I speak not of the living; from whom I could produce a few admirable specimens. Nor have I thought it necessary to point out those majestic ones of Milton, which are on the lips of every cultivated reader. Mr. Weber has, among other Metrical Romances, edited that entitled "Sir Cleges" from a copy which, It seems as if this was one of those Sonnets intended in the character of Venus to Adonis. VOL. IV. + LI, 373. C |