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Rare as the epistle is, we do not non peccabis : a Poeme of the contempte of consider it necessary to give any co

the World, and an Exhortation to prepare pious extract from it: the following to dye, made by Phillipe Earle of Arundell will show that Lord Arundels trans- after his attaynder." lation is executed in an easy and cor

Lord Arundel's poetry, is, as may rect manner, and that his language be easily imagined, of that serious is not in any way inferior to the best writers of his day.

cast which a person of such recluse

habits and religious state of mind How we ovght to take heed of Enuie. would be expected to compose at all

(Ch. ix. p. 73.) times, more especially when in strict Beware of Envie as much as possibly confinement, and under sentence of thou canst, that by it thou be not brought to death. It would therefore, from the mislike of any man, to speake in derogation nature of the poem, be difficult to of him, to preferre thy selfe before him, to molest and vexe him, and to be also thy- select any passages likely to prove selfe vexed, if he be preferred before thee, interesting to the general reader; but with his vertue, with his honour, with his sufficient will, we hope, be given to commendation, or with his spirituall profit. prove that his lordship is, at least, To ouercome this temptation be more entitled to a place in the second class curteous and lowlie vnto him, my daugh- of our Elizabethan poets. ter, then to another, speake nothing

him

The “ Exhortation to prepare to thyselfe, nor heare him spoken of in his dye,” is addressed to some fictitious absence; neyther let any thing proceed lover of the world and the world's from thee in word, deed, or shew, that may pleasures, whose irregular course of seeme to sauour of Enuie, or to spring from life the author endeavours to arrest, that venemous root.” 2. But in addition to his translation, await his latter moments, and con

by reminding him of the miseries that Lord Arundel claims a place in this trasting them with the brighter proswork, as well as in the catalogue of

pect enjoyed by the pious and believEnglish poets, from a metrical com- ing Christian. After recounting the position of considerable length, which terrors and agitations of a guilty conoccurs amongst the voluminous ma- science, and the agonies experienced nuscript collections of the late Dr.

by the impenitent sinner on the bed Rawlinson, in the Bodleian library, of sickness, the poet supposes the and is entitled, —

hour to have arrived when man is Memorare novissima tua, et in æternum cited before his judge.

a just accompte to shew
How farr thou sought'st thy selfe for to deny ;
How all thy lands and welth thou didst bestow,
And with thy goods thy brother's wants supply.
What care thou had'st thy maker's name to praise,

What paine thou took'st to walke in all his wayes.
The man of pleasure cannot, of course, bear a rigid examination of all his
ways, and Satan is accordingly represented as laying claim to one whose
conduct through life had been directed solely by the precepts of the prince
of darkness. The day of judgment is next described, when, to add to the
horrors of the scene, the inhabitants of the lower regions are depicted as
hailing the approach of a new victim with hideous cries and horrid impreca-
tions, whilst the various torments of the place are carefully enumerated.

The deuills with flouts doe laugh thee now to score,
Thy flesh and bones in sunder they doe teare,
Thy cursed skinne with cruell whipes is torne,
Thy woefull harte is filled full with feare.
With inwarde woe thy soule is sore oppreste

With outward paine thy body finds no reste.
But perhaps the best description in the whole poem is that of the regions
of the blest, which are supposed to be visible to the condemned, thus
rendered doubly wretched in the endurance of their own proper sufferings,
and in the contemplation of that happiness which they have themselves for
ever forfeited.

a

And first behould the beauty of the place,
Where all the saints with Christ in beauty raigne,
Where honoure is not mixed with disgrace,
Where joy is free from tast of any paine.
Where great rewards attend on good deserts,
And all delights possesseth faithfull harts.
O wicked wretch, this citie now beholde,
Which doth surpasse the reach of any thought.
The gates of pearle, the streats of finest gould,
With precious stones the walles are wholy wrought,
Of sunne or moone it neadeth not ye light,
For euer there the lampe is shining bright.
And from his seate a christall riuer flowes,
Where life doth runne, and pleasure allwayes springs;
On either side a tree of comforte growes,
Which sauinge helth to euery nation bringes.
Yt worketh rest, and stinteth worldly strife,
Yt killeth death, and bringeth endlesse life.
This goodly place all beauty doth surmount,
And all the world in largnesse passeth farr:
The earth ytselfe, for bignesse in accounte,
Not equall is vnto the smallest starre.
O worthy place, whose glory doth excell!

Thrise happy they that there obtayne to dwell! After recounting the various delights of Paradise, of which the greatest is the presence of the Deity, we are told, that one of the chief excellencies of our divine nature will be the acquisition of perfect knowledge.

He present, past, and future things doth shew,
And therefore rests their understandings there;
There nothing is but they in him doe know,
And to their eyes all plainely doth appeare.
They now obtaine what longe they sought to gett,

And all their thoughts are on him wholye sett.
The conclusion follows:

Then must I call, o worldly man, to thee,
And end wher first I did beginne to wright;
That all these ioyes and paines which thou didst see
May moue thy minde to leade thy life aright.
Thy harte will melt to thinke vpon thy case,
Yf there be left but halfe a sparke of grace.
Thou findest here what thou wilt finde at laste
And that accounte which none can euer shunne ;
Then frame thy life, before thy time be past,
As thou wilt wish that thou in time hadst done
Lest thou in vaine doest waile thy wretched state

When time is past, and wailinge comes to late. To this list of Lord Arundel's works feelings of the Queen, from one who may be added, his Letter to Queen deserved a far better fate than the Elizabeth, when he meditated his escape times in which he lived, and the temfrom England. This occurs in the per and prejudices of his sovereign, Harleian MSS. No. 787, and has permitted him to experience. been printed, at length, in Stow's In 1796, when some alterations Chronicle, by Howes, Lond. 1615. took place in the Tower, for the purfolio. It is well worthy of preserva- pose of converting the building, tion as a manly and honourable ap- known by the name of Beauchamppeal to the justice as well as the tower, into a mess-room, many inscriptions were discovered on the Quanto plus afflictionis pro Christo in walls, which had been written by va- hoc sæculo, tanto plus gloriæ cum Christo rious persons confined in the apart. in futuro.--Arundell. June 22. 1587. ments devoted to state prisoners.

Sicut peccati causa vinciri opprobrium est, Among these * we read the following ita e contra, pro Christo custodiæ vincula by the illustrious subject of the pre- sustinere, maxima gloria est.—Arundell. sent article:

May 28. 1587. • Archæologia, Vol. XIII. Bayley's Hist. of the Tower, Part I. pp. 139, 140.

SCENE FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. The well known fable upon which tence, which she thus obtains. The the Medea of Euripides is founded, contact of these fatal gifts produces may be related as follows: Jason, a raging pestilential disorder, which the leader of the Argonauts, having terminates in her death. Creon, in a arrived at Corinth, attended by his paroxysm of grief, embracing his wife Medea, becomes, after some- daughter, receives the mortal contatime, enamoured of Glauce, the gion and also perishes. As the acme daughter of Creon, king of that city, of vengeance upon her husband's inwhose hand is engaged to him by her fidelity, Medea puts to death with father. In order to facilitate this her own hand her two sons, their muguilty connexion, Medea and her two tual offspring. sons are condemned by Creon to im

It is hardly needful to add, that mediate banishment from Corinth. the following scene exhibits Medea But she, having gained a respite of in the midst of the struggle between one day, sends Glauce a medicated revenge for her wrongs and maternal vest and enchanted crown, under tenderness, which precedes the depretence of seeking by these presents struction of her children. the reversal of her children's sen

Medea, Sons, Attendant.-Chorus.
Attendant. Thy children, lady, from the sentence freed

Of dolorous exile, still shall glad thine heart :
The royal bride has with benignant grace

Received thine offering-hence their liberty.
Medea. Away!
Attendant. Why thus when fav’ring Fortune smiles

Stand'st thou aghast ? Why with averted cheek

Receiv'st the message of thy children's weal?
Medea. Alas! alas !
Attendant.

These feelings surely sort
But ill with tidings of such joyous import.
Medea. Woe! woe! a deeper woe!
Attendant.

Have I disclosed
Unwittingly some sad catastrophe,
And thus

destroyed my hope of eager welcome?
Medea. Thy message duly told, 1 blame not thee.
Attendant. Why then with tears thy downcast eyes bedew ?
Medea. Necessity, old man, this grief compels,

Such deeds of death have the infernal Gods

And I, with dire intent, premeditated.
Attendant. Cheer thee! thy children yet are in thy keeping.
Medea. And ere they go many a hapless soul

Will I to Hades send as their precursors.
Attendant. Not thine alone the bitter lot to suffer

Privation of thy children: man is destined
To stem the tide of sorrow; he must learn then
To bear with patience Heaven's all wise behests.

Medea. Be mine the task to school myself to suff'ring.
But go with duteous care make fit provision

For these poor babes-My children! Oh, my children!
Your's is a home, your's an abiding city,
Where from your hapless mother far remote
Shall be your blissful, your eternal sojourn :
While I, an exile, solitary, drear,

Hence to far distant countries forth am driven,
Ere I could share or see your happiness,

Ere my glad hand has deck'd your bridal bed,
Or waved the brightly beaming torch on high:
O bitter fruit of obstinate self-will!

And have then all my cares been vainly lavish'd,

Worn out and feeble with maternal toils,

Rack'd with the throes of labour, spent with tendance
On wayward infancy,--is this my guerdon?
Yet I had hoped, fond wretch, in their embrace
To have found the solace of my wasting years,
Those thousand cares, those nameless sympathies,
Anticipating speech, and look, and thought,
Which the last weary stage of life beguile,
And smooth its passage downward to the grave;
Then, after life was fled, I vainly deem'd
(Thought ever grateful to the human breast)

How 'neath your kindred hands these eyes might close,
And my sad corse be laid with kindred clay.
But ah! how sadly are these pleasing hopes
For ever blasted! What awaits me now
But, reft of you, a life of ceaseless anguish!
To other realms of kindlier æther flown,

No more shall those dear eyes this form behold.

Alas! alas! why do ye gaze upon me?

Why with that last smile light your guiltless brows.

Ah me! what shall I do? my heart is bursting.

(To the Chorus.) Oh, friends! that look has quell'd my resolution,

I cannot do it: murderous counsels, hence,

Avaunt! my children shall partake mine exile.

Why should I, impious Jason's heart to tear,

In sunder rive my own? Far, far from me

Such foul unnatural sin !-I will not harm them-
But oh! my wrongs-that deep, deep-seated wound!
Shall I then stand a butt for mockery,

A laughing stock for heartless fools to jeer at,
And let my foes raise palaces of bliss

Unpunish'd on the ruins of my peace?

It must not be-dare, dare thou coward hand-
Down womanhood! these female weaknesses
Make me despise myself. Hence, get ye in,
My children; (Exeunt Sons;) and Ō, ye celestial ones,
Whose pure, unsullied spirit may not view
These gory rites, avaunt! But shall I stain
This kindred hand? O never, never! Thou
At least, O wretched mother! shouldst abjure
The hated crime; release them then, and spare
Thy proper offspring: they the lonesome hours
Of tedious exile shall with converse sweet
Enliven, and console thy drooping heart.
But no! by all the infernal powers I vow
Ne'er will I leave their helpless infancy
To the deep vengeance of mine enemies;
Their fate is fix'd, and since they're doom'd to die,

From that same source which gave them life shall they
Receive the stroke of death-so runs their doom-
Fix'd, settled, and unalterably seal'd.

E'en now, her temples by th' enchanted crown
Impress'd, the royal bride with anguish writhes,
And from her subtly medicated vest

The mortal venom drinks at every pore.
Whilst I, alas! myself to evil doom'd,
Must first these babes to wearier exile send.
But let me feign them present, and thus speak
As though they heard my voice: "Come, innocents,
Give me those little hands, and kiss your mother;
Dear precious hands, and lips more precious still,
And forms of matchless symmetry, and brows
Whence simple truth and sweetness jointly beam;
Eternal blessings crown your opening charms
And budding virtues ;-but not here your bliss
Is not of earthly but ethereal mould.
All that on earth you might have revell'd in
Your cruel father hath cut short, and left you
Nought but your fair inheritance in heaven.
Dear twining arms, and skin of downy softness,
And breath more balmy than the breeze of morn,-
Farewell-a long farewell"-begone! begone!
I dare not look upon you more-my wrongs
O'erwhelm me-deeply, deeply do I feel
The awful guilt and horror that await me:
But passion, deadliest foe to human kind,
Resistless drives me to this deed of vengeance!

K.

AMICUS REDIVIVUS.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep.
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ?

I Do not know when I have experienced a stranger sensation, than on seeing my old friend G. D., who had been paying me a morning visit a few Sundays back, at my cottage, near Islington, upon taking leave, instead of turning down the right hand path by which he had entered -with staff in hand, and at noon day, deliberately march right forwards into the midst of the stream that runs by us, and totally disappear.

A spectacle like this at dusk would have been appalling enough; but, in the broad open daylight, to witness such an unreserved motion towards self-destruction in a valued friend, took from me all power of speculation.

spirit, not my own, whirled me to the spot. I remember nothing but the silvery apparition of a good white head emerging; nigh which a staff (the hand unseen that wielded it) pointed upwards, as feeling for the skies. In a moment (if time was in that time) he was on my shoulders, and I-freighted with a load more precious than his who bore Anchises.

.

And here I cannot but do justice to the officious zeal of sundry passers by, who, albeit arriving a little too late to participate in the honours of the rescue, in philanthropic shoals came thronging to communicate their advice as to the recovery; prescribing variously the application, or non-application, of salt, &c. to the person of the patient. Life meantime was ebbing fast away, amidst the stifle of conflicting judgments,

How I found my feet, I know not. Consciousness was quite gone. Some

* The topography of my cottage, and its relation to the river, will explain this; as I have been at some cost to have the whole engraved (in time, I hope, for our next number), as well for the satisfaction of the reader, as to commemorate so signal a deliverance.

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