had to write it; and then to use the liberty of a true friend, in not sparing to ask you the question in any point whereof I shall stand in doubt: as, on the other part, I will willingly give a due commendation to such places as, in my opinion, shall deserve it. In the mean time, I can with comfort assure you, that you could not have made choice of a subject more befitting your place, and your universal and methodical knowledge and, in the general, I have already observed that you jump with me in keeping the midway between the two extremes; as also, in some particulars, I have found that you agree fully with my opinion. And so praying God to give your work as good success as your heart can wish, and your labours deserve, I bid you farewell.

Oct. 16, 1620.

JAMES R.

JAMES I. TO PRINCE CHARLES AND THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM*.

MY SWEET BOYS, YOUR letter by Cottington hath stricken me dead; I fear it will very much shorten my days, and I am the more perplexed that I do not know how to satisfy the people's expectation here, neither do I know what to say to our council, for the fleet that stayed upon a wind this fortnight. Rutland and all aboard might now be stayed, and I know not what reason I shall pretend for the doing of it; but as for my advice and directions

* The prince and duke were then in Spain, treating for the marriage of the prince with the infanta.

that ye crave, in case they will not alter their decree, it is, in a word, to come speedily away, if you can get leave, and give over all treaty. And this I speak without respect of any security they can offer you, except ye never look to see your old dad again, whom I fear ye shall never see, if ye see him not before winter. Alas! I now repent me sore that I ever suffered ye to go away. I care for match nor nothing so I may once more have you in my arms again; God grant it, God grant it, God grant it; Amen, amen, amen! I protest ye shall be as heartily welcome as if ye had done all things ye went for; so that I may once have you in my arms again; and God bless you both, my only sweet son, and my only best sweet servant, and let me hear from you quickly with all speed, as ye love my life; and so God send you a happy and joyful meeting in the arms of your dear dad.

From Greenwich, the 24th of June, 1623.

LADY MOUNTNORRIS TO THE EARL OF

MY LORD,

STRAFFORD.

I BESEECH your lordship, for the tender mercy of God, take off your heavy hand from my dear lord; and for her sake* who is with God, be pleased not to make me and my poor infants miserable,

Lady Mountnorris alludes to the first wife of Strafford, to whom she was nearly related. The arbitrary Strafford, who was then lord lieutenant of Ireland, had caused her husband to be sentenced to death, on a frivolous pretext. Mountnorris, indeed, escaped, but not through the mercy of Strafford.

as we must of necessity be by the hurt you do to him. God knows, my lord, I am a distressed poor woman, and know not what to say more, than to beg upon my knees, with my homely prayers and tears, that it will please the Almighty to incline your lordship's heart to mildness towards him for if your lordship continue my lord in restraint, and lay disgraces upon him, I have too much cause to fear your lordship will bring a speedy end to his life and troubles, and make me and all mine ever miserable. Good my lord, pardon these woful lines of a disconsolate creature, and be pleased, for Christ Jesus' sake, to take this my humble suit into your favourable consideration, and to have mercy upon me and mine; and God will, I hope, reward it into the bosom of you, and your sweet children by my kinswoman; and for the memory of her, I beseech your lordship to compassionate the distressed condition of me, your lordship's most humble and disconsolate servant,

JANE MOUNTNORRIS.

JAMES HOWELL, ESQ. TO BEN JONSON.

To my honoured friend and father, Mr. B. Jonson.

FATHER BEN,

BEING lately in France, and returning in a coach from Paris to Rouen, I lighted upon the society of a knowing gentleman, who related to me a choice story, which peradventure you may make use of in your way.

Some hundred and odd years since, there was in France one Captain Coucy, a gallant gentleman of ancient extraction, and keeper of Coucy Castle, which is yet standing in good repair. He fell in love with a young gentlewoman, and courted her for his wife: there was reciprocal love between them, but her parents understanding of it, by way of prevention, they shuffled up a forced match betwixt her and one Monsieur Fayel, who was a great heir. Captain Coucy hereupon quitted France in great discontent, and went to the wars in Hungary, against the Turks, where he received a mortal wound not far from Buda. Being carried to his lodgings, he languished some days; but a little before his death he spoke to an ancient servant of his that he had many proofs of his fidelity and truth, but now he had a great business to intrust him with, which he conjured him by all means to do; which was, that after his death he should get his body to be opened, and then to take his heart out of his breast, and put it in an earthen pot, to be baked to powder; then to put the powder into a handsome box, with a bracelet of hair he had worn long about his left wrist, which was a lock of Madame Fayel's hair, and put it among the powder, together with a little note he had written with his own blood to her; and after he had given him the rites of burial, to make all the speed he could to France, and deliver the said box to Madame Fayel. The old servant did as his master had commanded him, and so went to France; and coming one day to Monsieur Fayel's house, he suddenly met

him with one of his servants, and examined him, because he knew he was Captain Coucy's servant; and finding him timorous, and faltering in his speech, he searched him, and found the said box in his pocket, with the note which expressed what was therein: he dismissed the bearer, with menaces that he should come no more near his house. Monsieur going in sent for his cook, and delivered him the powder, charging him to make a little well-relished dish of it, without losing a jot of it, for it was a very costly thing; and commanded him to bring it in himself, after the last course at supper. The cook bringing in the dish accordingly, Monsieur Fayel commanded all to avoid the room; and began a serious discourse with his wife, how since he had married her he observed she was always melancholy, and feared she was inclined to a consumption, therefore he had provided her a very precious cordial, which he was well assured would cure her: thereupon he made her eat up the whole dish; and afterwards, much importuning him what it was, he told her at last she had eaten Coucy's heart, and so drew the box out of his pocket, and showed her the note and the bracelet. In a sudden exultation of joy, she, with a far-fetched sigh, said, "This is a precious cordial indeed!" and so licked the dish, saying, "It is so precious that it is a pity to put ever any meat upon it." So she went to bed, and in the morning she was found stone dead.

This gentleman told me that this sad story is painted in Coucy Castle, and remains fresh to this day.