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The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed
His fall, again you raised him in your seed.
Adam, in 's sleep, again full loss sustain'd,
That for one rib a better half regain'd,
Who, had he not your blest creation seen
In Paradise an anchorite had been.
Why in this work did the creation rest,
But that Eternal Providence thought you best
Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do
Homage to man, but man shall wait on you;
You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch,
A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such
As Parians see in marble; skin more fair,
More glorious head, and far more glorious hair;
Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses
Blush in your cheeks, a milder white composes
Your stately fronts; yourbreath,more sweet than his,
Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. ...

If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell,
You better us, do then our souls excel?
No....

Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we,
You were the first ventured to pluck the tree;
And that more rhetoric in your tongues do
lie,

Let him dispute against that dares deny
Your least commands; and not persuaded be
With Samson's strength and David's piety,
To be your willing captives. . . . .

Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise
Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes,
Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be

sent

So subtle and so strong an argument, Will teach the stoic his affections too, And call the cynic from his tub to woo.

RICHARD CORBET.

[Born, 1582. Died, 1635.]

THE anecdotes of this facetious bishop, quoted by Headley from the Aubrey MSS. would fill several pages of a jest-book. It is more to his honour to be told, that though entirely hostile in his principles to the Puritans, he frequently softened, with his humane and characteristic plea

santry, the furious orders against them which Laud enjoined him to execute. On the whole he does credit to the literary patronage of James, who made him dean of Christ's Church, and successively bishop of Oxford and Norwich.

DR. CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE.
I WENT from England into France,
Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance,
Nor yet to ride nor fence;
Nor did I go like one of those
That do return with half a nose,
They carried from hence.

But I to Paris rode along,

Much like John Dory in the song,
Upon a holy tide;

I on an ambling nag did jet,
(I trust he is not paid for yet,)
And spurr'd him on each side.

And to St. Denis fast we came,
To see the sights of Notre Dame,
(The man that shows them snaffles,)
Where who is apt for to believe,
May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve,
And eke her old pantoffles;

Her breast, her milk, her very gown
That she did wear in Bethlehem town,
When in the inn she lay;

Yet all the world knows that's a fable,
For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable,
Upon a lock of hay.

No carpenter could by his trade

Gain so much coin as to have made

A gown of so rich stuff;

Yet they, poor souls, think for their credit,

That they believe old Joseph did it, 'Cause he deserv'd enough.

There is one of the cross's nails,
Which whoso sees his bonnet vails,
And, if he will, may kneel;
Some say 'twas false, 'twas never so,
Yet, feeling it, thus much I know,
It is as true as steel.

There is a lantern which the Jews,
When Judas led them forth, did use,
It weighs my weight down right;
But to believe it, you must think
The Jews did put a candle in't,
And then 'twas very light.

There's one saint there hath lost his nose,
Another 's head, but not his toes,

His elbow and his thumb;

But when that we had seen the rags,
We went to th' inn and took our nags,
And so away did come.

We came to Paris, on the Seine,
'Tis wondrous fair, 'tis nothing clean,
"Tis Europe's greatest town;

How strong it is I need not tell it,
For all the world may easily smell it,
That walk it up and down.

There many strange things are to see,
The palace and great gallery,

The Place Royal doth excel,

The New Bridge, and the statues there,

At Notre Dame St. Q. Pater,

The steeple bears the bell.

For learning the University,
And for old clothes the Frippery,
The house the queen did build.
St. Innocence, whose earth devours
Dead corpse in four and twenty hours,
And there the king was kill'd.

The Bastile and St. Denis street,
The Shafflenist like London Fleet,
The Arsenal no toy;

But if you'll see the prettiest thing,
Go to the court and see the king,
O'tis a hopeful boy!

He is, of all his dukes and peers,
Reverenced for much wit at 's years,
Nor must you think it much;
For he with little switch doth play,
And make fine dirty pies of clay,
O, never king made such!

A bird that can but kill a fly,

Or prate, doth please his majesty, "Tis known to every one;

The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot,

And he had twenty cannons for it,
For his new galléón.

O that I e'er might have the hap
To get the bird which in the map
Is call'd the Indian ruck!

I'd give it him, and hope to be
As rich as Guise or Liviné,
Or else I had ill-luck.

Birds round about his chamber stand,

And he them feeds with his own hand, "Tis his humility;

And if they do want any thing,
They need but whistle for their king,
And he comes presently.

But now, then, for these parts he must
Be enstiled Lewis the Just,
Great Henry's lawful heir;
When to his stile to add more words,
They'd better call him King of Birds,
Than of the great Navarre.

He hath besides a pretty quirk,
Taught him by nature, how to work
In iron with much ease;
Sometimes to the forge he goes,
There he knocks and there he blows,
And makes both locks and keys;

Which puts a doubt in every one,
Whether he be Mars or Vulcan's son.
Some few believe his mother;

But let them all say what they will,
I came resolved, and so think still,
As much th' one as th' other.

The people too dislike the youth,
Alleging reasons, for, in truth,
Mothers should honour'd be;
Yet others say, he loves her rather
As well as ere she loved his father,
And that's notoriously-

His queen, a pretty little wench,
Was born in Spain, speaks little French,
She's ne'er like to be mother;

For her incestuous house could not
Have children which were not begot
By uncle or by brother.

Nor why should Lewis, being so just,
Content himself to take his lust
With his Lucina's mate,

And suffer his little pretty queen,
From all her race that yet hath been,
So to degenerate ?

"Twere charity for to be known
To love others' children as his own,
And why? it is no shame,
Unless that he would greater be
Than was his father Henery,

Who, men thought, did the same.

THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL. FAREWELL, rewards and Fairies! Good housewives now you may say; For now foul sluts in dairies,

Do fare as well as they :

And though they sweep their hearths no less
Than maids were wont to do,

Yet who of late for cleanliness
Finds sixpence in her shoe?

Lament, lament, old abbeys,
The fairies lost command;

They did but change priests' babies,
But some have changed your land:
And all your children stol'n from thence
Are now grown Puritans,

Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your domains.

At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleep and sloth,
These pretty ladies had.

When Tom came home from labour,
Or Ciss to milking rose,

Then merrily went their tabor,
And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain;
Were footed in Queen Mary's days
On many a grassy plain.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in;
They never danced on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.
By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession:
Their songs were Ave Maries,
Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease. . ...

[* Anne of Austria.-C.]

THOMAS MIDDLETON.

[Born, 1570. Buried, 4th July, 1627?]

THE dates of this author's birth and death are both unknown, though his living reputation, as the literary associate of Jonson, Fletcher, Massinger, Dekker, and Rowley, must have been considerable. If Oldys be correct, he was alive after November, 1627. Middleton was appointed chronologer to the city of London† in 1620, and in 1624 was cited before the privy-council, as author of The Game of Chess. The verses of Sir W. Lower, quoted by Oldys, allude to the poet's white locks, so that he was probably born as early as the middle of the sixteenth century.‡ His tragicomedy, "The Witch," according to Mr. Malone, was written anterior to Macbeth, and suggested to Shakspeare the witchcraft scenery in

LEANTIO APPROACHING HIS HOME.
FROM THE TRAGEDY OF "WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN."

How near I am now to a happiness
That earth exceeds not! not another like it.
The treasures of the deep are not so precious
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man
Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air
Of blessings, when I come but near the house.
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth,
The violet bed's not sweeter! Honest wedlock

Is like a banqueting house built in a garden,
On which the spring's chaste flowers take delight
To cast their modest odours; when base lust,
With all her powders, paintings, and best pride,
Is but a fair house built by a ditch side.
Now for a welcome

Able to draw men's envies upon man;
A kiss, now, that will hang upon my lip
As sweet as morning dew upon a rose,
And full as long.

LEANTIO'S AGONY FOR THE DESERTION OF HIS WIFE.

FROM THE SAME.

Leantio, a man of humble fortune, has married a beautiful wife, who is basely seduced by the Duke of Florence. The duke, with refined cruelty, invites them both to a feast, where he lavishes his undisguised admiration on his mistress. The scene displays the feelings of Leantio, restrained by ceremony and fear, under the insulting hospitality, at the conclusion of which he is left alone with Livia, a lady of the court, who has fallen in love with him, and wishes to attach his affections.

Leantio. (Without noticing Livia.) O HAST thou left me then, Bianca, utterly?

O Bianca, now I miss thee! Oh! return,
And save the faith of woman. I ne'er felt
The loss of thee till now: 'tis an affliction
Of greater weight than youth was made to bear;
As if a punishment of after life

*MS. notes on Langbaine.

[† Or city poet. Jonson and Quarles filled the office after Middleton, which expired with Elkanah Settle, 1723-4.-C.] [ The verses in question I believe to be a forgery of Chetwood.-DYCE's Middleton, vol. i. p. xiii.-C.]

the latter play. The songs beginning "Come away," &c., and "Black Spirits," &c., of which only the first two words are printed in Macbeth, are found in the Witch. Independent of having afforded a hint to Shakspeare, Middleton's reputation cannot be rated highly for the pieces to which his name is exclusively attached. His principal efforts were in comedy, where he deals profusely in grossness and buffoonery. The cheats and debaucheries of the town are his favourite sources of comic intrigue. With a singular effort at the union of the sublime and familiar, he introduces, in one of his coarse drafts of London vice, an infernal spirit prompting a country gentleman to the seduction of a citizen's wife.§

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Canst thou forget

Lean. (Without noticing her.) The dear pains my love took? how it has watch'd Whole nights together, in all weathers, for thee, Yet stood in heart more merry than the tempest That sung about mine ears,like dangerous flatterers, That can set all their mischiefs to sweet tunes, And then received thee from thy father's window, Into these arms, at midnight; when we embraced As if we had been statues only made for't, To show art's life, so silent were our comforts; And kiss'd as if our lips had grown together. Liv. This makes me madder to enjoy him now. Lean. (Without noticing her.) Canst thou forget all this, and better joys

That we met after this, which then new kisses Took pride to praise ?

Liv. I shall grow madder yet:-Sir! Lean. (Without noticing her.) This cannot be but of some close bawd's working :Cry mercy, lady! What would you say to me? My sorrow makes me so unmannerly, So comfort bless me, I had quite forgot you.

Liv. Nothing, but e'en in pity to that passion Would give your grief good counsel. Lean. Marry, and welcome, lady,

It never could come better.

Liv. Then first, sir,

To make away all your good thoughts at once of her, Know, most assuredly, she is a strumpet.

[? Middleton's dramatic works, since this was written, have been collected by Rev. A. Dyce, whose contributions to English literary history are frequently quoted in this volume.-G.]

"

Lean. Ha! most assuredly? Speak not a thing
So vile so certainly, leave it more doubtful.
Liv. Then I must leave all truth, and spare my
knowledge,

A sin which I too lately found and wept for.
Lean. Found you it?

Lir. Ay, with wet eyes.

Lean. Oh, perjurious friendship!

Liv. You miss'd your fortunes when you met with her, sir.

Young gentlemen, that only love for beauty,
They love not wisely; such a marriage rather
Proves the destruction of affection;

It brings on want, and want's the key of whoredom.
I think you'd small means with her?
Lean. Oh, not any, lady.

[sir,

Liv. Alas, poor gentleman! what mean'st thou, Quite to undo thyself with thine own kind heart? Thou art too good and pitiful to woman: Marry, sir, thank thy stars for this bless'd fortune, That rids the summer of thy youth so well From many beggars, that had lain a sunning In thy beams only else, till thou hadst wasted The whole days of thy life in heat and labour. What would you say now to a creature found As pitiful to you, and as it were

E'en sent on purpose from the whole sex general, To requite all that kindness you have shown to't? Lean. What's that, madam?

Liv. Nay, a gentlewoman, and one able To reward good things; ay, and bears a conscience to't:

Couldst thou love such a one,that (blow all fortunes)
Would never see thee want?

Nay more, maintain thee to thine enemy's envy,
And shalt not spend a care for't, stir a thought,
Nor break a sleep? unless love's music waked thee,
Nor storm of fortune should: look upon me,
And know that woman.

Lean. Oh, my life's wealth, Bianca!

[out?

Liv. Still with her name? will nothing wear it
That deep sigh went but for a strumpet, sir.
Lean. It can go for no other that loves me.
Liv. (Aside) He's vex'd in mind; I came too
soon to him:

Where's my discretion now, my skill,my judgment?
I'm cunning in all arts but my own, love.
"Tis as unseasonable to tempt him now
So soon, as [for] a widow to be courted
Following her husband's corse; or to make bargain
By the grave side, and take a young man there:
Her strange departure stands like a hearse yet
Before his eyes; which time will take down shortly.
[Exit.
Lean. Is she my wife till death, yet no more
mine?
[for?
That's a hard measure: then what's marriage good
Methinks by right I should not now be living,
And then 'twere all well. What a happiness
Had I been made of had I never seen her;
For nothing makes man's loss grievous to him,
But knowledge of the worth of what he loses;
For what he never had, he never misses:
She's gone for ever, utterly; there is
As much redemption of a soul from hell,

As a fair woman's body from his palace.
Why should my love last longer than her truth?
What is there good in woman to be loved,
When only that which makes her so has left her?
I cannot love her now, but I must like
Her sin, and my own shame too, and be guilty
Of law's breach with her, and mine own abusing;
All which were monstrous! then my safest course
For health of mind and body, is to turn
My heart, and hate her, most extremely hate her;
I have no other way: those virtuous powers
Which were chaste witnesses of both our troths,
Can witness she breaks first!

SCENE FROM "THE ROARING GIRL."

Mrs. Gallipot, the apothecary's wife, having received a letter from her friend Laxton that he is in want of money, thus bethinks her how to raise it.

ALAS, poor gentleman! troth, I pity him.
How shall I raise this money? thirty pound?
'Tis 30, sure, a 3 before an 0;

I know his 3's too well. My childbed linen,
Shall I pawn that for him? then, if my mark
Be known, I am undone; it may be thought
My husband's bankrupt: which way shall I turn?
Laxton, betwixt my own fears and thy wants
I'm like a needle 'twixt two adamants.

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Mrs. G. Oh! he-he's born to be my undoer! This hand, which thou call'st thine,to himwas given; To him was I made sure i' the sight of heaven. Mr. G. I never heard this-thunder! Mrs. G. Yes, yes-before

I was to thee contracted, to him I swore.

Since last I saw him twelve months three times old
The moon hath drawn through her light silver bow;
But o'er the seas he went, and it was said-
But rumours lies-that he in France was dead:
But he's alive-oh, he's alive!-he sent
That letter to me, which in rage I rent,
Swearing, with oaths most damnably, to have me,
Or tear me from this bosom.-Oh, heavens save me!
Mr. G. My heart will break-Shamed and un-
done for ever!

Mrs. G. So black a day, poor wretch, went o'er thee never.

Mr. G. If thou shouldst wrestle with him at the law,

Thou'rt sure to fall; no odd slight, no prevention. I'll tell him th' art with child.

Mrs. G. Umph.

Mr. G. Or give out, that one of my men was ta'en abed with thee.

Mrs. G. Worse and worse still;

You embrace a mischief to prevent an ill.

Mr. G. I'll buy thee of him-stop his mouth with goldThink'st thou 'twill do?

Mrs. G. Oh me! heavens grant it would! Yet now my senses are set more in tune; He writ, as I remember in his letter, That he, in riding up and down, had spent, Ere he could find me, thirty pound.-Send that; Stand not on thirty with him.

Mr. G. Forty, Prue-say thou the word 'tis done. We venture lives for wealth, but must do more To keep our wives.-Thirty or forty, Prue?

Mrs. G. Thirty, good sweet!

Of an ill bargain let's save what we can;
I'll pay it him with tears.
He was a man,
When first I knew him, of a meek spirit;
All goodness is not yet dried up, I hope. [all;
Mr. G. He shall have thirty pound, let that stop
Love's sweets taste best when we have drunk
down gall.

FATHERS COMPARING SONS. BENEFIT OF IMPRISONMENT TO A WILD YOUTH. FROM THE SAME.

Persons.-SIR DAVY DAPPER, SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, and SIR ADAM APPLETON.

Sir Dav. My son Jack Dapper, then, shall run All in one pasture. [with him, Sir Alex. Proves your son bad too, sir? [tian Sir Dav. As villany can make him: your SebasDotes but on one drab, mine on a thousand. A noise of fiddlers, tobacco, wine, and a A mercer, that will let him take up moreDice, and a water-spaniel with a duck.—Oh, Bring him a bed with these when his purse gingles Roaring boys follow at his tail, fencers and ningles, (Beasts Adam ne'er gave name to ;) these horseleeches suck

My son, till he being drawn dry, they all live on
Sir Alex. Tobacco ?
[smoke.

Sir Dav. Right sir; but I have in my brain
A windmill going that shall grind to dust
The follies of my son, and make him wise
Or a stark fool.-Pray lend me your advice.
Both. That shall you, good Sir Davy.
Sir Dav. Here's the springe

That's set to catch this woodcock in-An action,
In a false name, unknown to him, is enter'd
I' the Counter to arrest Jack Dapper.
Both. Ha, ha, he!

[him? Sir Dav. Think you the Counter cannot break Sir Alex. Break him? yes, and break his heart too, if he lie there long.

Sir Dav. I'll make him sing a counter-tenor, sure. Sir Alex. No way to tame him like it: there shall he learn

What money is indeed, and how to spend it.

Sir Dav. He's bridled there.

Sir Alex. Ay, yet knows not how to mend it. Bedlam cures not more madmen in a year Than one of the Counters does. Men pay more dear There for their wit than anywhere. A Counter! Why, 'tis an university.-Who not sees? As scholars there, so here men take degrees, And follow the same studies, all alike. Scholars learn first logic and rhetoric, So does a prisoner; with fine honied speech At his first coming in, he doth persuade, beseech He may be lodged-.

....

To lie in a clean chamber. . . .
But when he has no money, then does he try,
By subtle logic and quaint sophistry,

To make the keepers trust him.

Sir Adam. Say they do.

Sir Alex. Then he's a graduate.
Sir Dav. Say they trust him not.

Sir Alex. Then is he held a freshman and a sot,
And never shall commence, but being still barr'd,
Be expulsed from the master's side to the Two-
Or else i' the Holebeg placed. [penny ward,
Sir Ad. When then, I pray, proceeds a prisoner?
Sir Alex. When, money being the theme,
He can dispute with his hard creditors' hearts,
And get out clear, he's then a master of arts.
Sir Davy, send your son to Wood-street college;
A gentleman can nowhere get more knowledge.

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