Lastly, of fingers, glasses we contrive,
And every fist is made a prospective :

Burton to Gunter cants,* and Burton hears
From Gunter, and th' exchange both tongue and cars
By carriage thus doth mired Guy complain,
His waggon in their letters bears Charles-Wain,
Charles-Wain, to which they say the tayl will reach.
And at this distance they both hear and teach.
Now, for the peace of God and men, advise
(Thou that hast where-withall to make us wise)
Thine own rich studies, and deep Hariot's mine,}
In which there is no dross, but all refine :
O tell us what to trust to, lest we wax
All stiff and stupid with his parallax 1
Say, shall the old philosophy be true?
Or doth he ride above the Moon, think you ?
Is he a meteor forced by the Sun?

Or a first body from creation ?

Hath the same star been object of the wonder
Of our forefathers? Shall the same come under
The sentence of our nephews? Write and send,
Or else this star a quarrel doth portend.

* William Burton is said, by Anthony & Wood, to have been a pretender to astronomy, of which he published an Ephemeris in 1655 --Edmund Gunter, a math matician of greater eminence, was astronomical professor of Gresham College, and eminent for his skill in the sciences; his publications were popular in his day, He died at Gresham College, 1920, G.

↑ Thomas Hariot, styled by Camden “Mathematicus Insignis," was a pensioner and companion of Sir Walter Haleigh in his voy. age to Virginia (1584), of which, upon his return, he published an account. He was held in high estimation by the earl of Northum berland, Sir Thomas Aylesbury, and others, for his mathematical knowledge, but, like his patron, Maleigh, was a deist in religion,-Ob, 1621. See Wood's Athens, vol. i. p. 460. ed. 1721, G.

DR. CORBET'S

JOURNEY INTO FRANCE.

I WENT from England into France,
Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance,
Nor yet to ride or fence;

Nor did I go like one of those
That do returne 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 spur'd him on each side.

And to St. Dennis fast we came,

To see the sights of Nostre Dame,

The man that shows them snaffles:

Where who is apt for to beleeve,
May see our Ladie's right-arm sleeve,
And eke her old pantofles;

* Of this popular song, which is reprinted from Deuteromelia, 1609, in Hawkin's History of Music, and in Ritson's Antient Songs, the following is the introductory stanza:

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're lay in stable
Upon a lock of hay.

No carpenter could by his trade
Gain so much coyn as to have made
A gown of so rich stuff.

Yet they, poor fools, think, for their credit,
They may believe old Joseph did it,
'Cause he deserv'd enough.

There is one of the crosse's nails,
Which who so 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 lanthorn which the Jews,
When Judas led them forth, did use,

It weighs my weight downright:

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 Nostre Dame, Saint Q. Pater,
The steeple bears the bell.

For learning, th' universitie;
And for old clothes, the Frippery;

The house the queen did build. Saint Innocents, whose earth devoures Dead corps in four and twenty hours, And there the king was kill'd:

The Bastile and Saint Dennis-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
Reverenc'd for much wit at 's years,
Nor must you think it much;
For he with little switch doth play,
And make fine dirty pyes 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 parret,
And he had twenty cannons for it
For his new galeon.

O that I ere might have the hap
To get the bird which in the map
Is called the Indian Ruck!
I'de give it him, and hope to be
As rich as Guise, or Livine,

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: