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VHEN I go musing all alone, Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss,

Thinking of divers things' Me thinks I now embrace my fore-known,

mistriss. When I build castles in the

ayr,

O blessed dayes, O sweet content, Void of sorrow and void of feare, In Paradise iny time is spent. Pleasing myself with phantasms Such thoughts may still my fancy sweet,

move, Methinks the time runs very fleet. So may I ever be in lovę.

All my joye; to ihis are folly, All my joyes to this are folly,

Naught so sweet as melancholy, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lye waking all alone,

When I recount love's many frights, Recounting what I have ill done, My sighs and tears, my waking My thoughts on me then tyrannize, nights, Feare and sorrow me surprise, My jealous fits; O mine hard file Whether I tərry still or go,

I now repent, but 'tis too late. Methinks the time moves very slow. No torment is so bad as love,

All my griefes to this are jolly, So bitter to my soule can prove.

Naught so sad as melancholy. All my griefes to this are jolly, When to myself I act and smile, aught so harsh as melancholy. With pleasing thoughts the time Friends and companions get you beguile,

gone, By a brook side or wood so green, 'Tis my desire to be alone; Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,

Ne'er well but when my thoughts A thousand pleasures do me bless,

and I And crown my soule with happiness. Do domineer in privacie. All my joyes besides are folly, No gemm, no treasure like to this, None so sweet as melancholy.

'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. When I lye, sit, or walk alone,

All my joyes to this are folly, I sigh, I grieve, making great Naught so sweet as melancholy. mone.

'Tis my sole plague to be alone,
In a dark grove, or irksome den, I am a beast, a monster grown,
With discontents and Furies then, I will no light nor company,
A thousand miseries at once

I finde it now my miserie.
Mine heavy heart and soule en-

Thescene is turn’d, iny joyes are gone,

Feare, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefes to this are jolly, All n.y griefes to this are jolly,

None so sowr as melancholy. Naught so tierce as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, I'll not change life with any King, Sweet musick, wondrous melodie, I ravisht am: can the world bring Towns, palaces, and cities fine; More joy,than still to laugh and smile, Here now, then there ; the world is In pleasant toyes time to beguile? mine.

Do not, I do not trouble me, Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, So sweet content I feel and see, What e'er is lovely or divine.

All my joyes to this are folly, All other joyes to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy.

None so sweet as melancholy. I'll change my state with any Methinks I hear, methinks I see

wretch; Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phan- Thou canst from gaole or dunghill tasie

fetch: Presents a thousand ugly shapes, My pain's past cure, another hell, Headless bears, black men, and apes,

I

may not in this torment dwell, Doleful outcryes, and fearful sights, Now desperate I hate my life, My sad and dismall soule affrights. Lend me a halter or a knife;

All iny griefes to this are jolly, All my griefes to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy. Naught so damn'd as melancholy.

Sconce.

7

THE work now restored io public notice has had an er. traordinary fate. At the time of its original publication it obtained a great celebrity, which continued more than half a century. During that period few looks were more read, or more deservedly applauded. It was the delight of the learned, the solace of the indolent, and the refuge of the uninformed. It past through at least eight editions, by which the booksela ler, as WooD records, got an estate ; and, notwithstanding the objections sometimes opposed against it, of a quaint style, and too great un accumulation of authorities, the fascination of its wit, fancy, and sterling sense, have borne down all censures, and exlorted praise from the first writers in the English language. The great Johnson has praised it in the warmest terms, and ile ludicrous STERNE has in. terwoven many parts of it into his own popular performance. Milton did not disduin to build two of his finest poems on it; and a host of inferior writers have emlellished their works with beauties not their own, culled from a performance which they had not the justice even to mention. Change of times, and the frivolity of fashion, suspended, in some degree, that fame which had lasted near a century; and the succeeding generation affected indifference towurds an author, who at length was only looked into by the plunderers of literature, the poachers in obscure volumes. The plagiarisms of Tristram Shandy, so successfully brought to light by Dr. FERRIAR, at length drew the attention of the public towards a writer, who, though then little known, might, without impeachment of modesty, lay claim to every mark of respect; and enquiry proved, beyond a doubt, that the calls of justice had'leen little attended to by others, as well as the fucetious Yorick. Wood observed, more than a century ago, that several authors had unmercifully stolen matter from BURTON without any acknowledgement. The time, however, at length arrived, when the merits of the Anatomy of Melancholy' were to receive their due praise. The book was again sought for and read, and again it became an applauded performance. Its excellencies once more stood confest, in the increased price which every copy offered for sale produced ; and the increased demand pointed out the necessity of a new edition. This is now presented to the public in a manner not disgraceful to the memory of the author; and the undertakers of it rely with confidence, that so valuable a repository of amusement and information will continue to hold the rank it has been restored to, firmly supported by its own merit, and safe from the influence and blight of any future caprices of fashion,

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TEN

'EN distinct Squares

here seen

6. Beneath them kneeling on his a part,

knee, Are joyn'd in one by Cutter's art. A superstitious man you see: 1. Old Democritus under a tree,

He fasts, prays, on his idol fixt, Sits on a stone with book on knee;

Tormented hope and feare betwixt; About him hang there many fea

For hell perhaps he takes more pain,

Than thou dost Heaven itself to iures, Of cats, dogs and such like crea

gain.

Alas poor soule, I pitty thee, tures, Of which he makes anatomy,

What stars incline thee so to be? The seat of black choler to see. 7. But see the madman rage Over his head appears the skie,

downright And Saturn Lord of melancholy. With furious looks, a ghastly sight! 2. To the left a landscape of Jea- Naked in chains bound doth he lye Jousie,

And rores amain he knows not why! Presents itself unto thine eye.

Observe him; for as in a glass, A kingfisher, a swan, an hern, Thine angry portraiture it was. Two fighting-cocks you may dis- Ilis picture keep still in thy precern,

sence ; Two roring bulls each other hie, Twixt him and thee, there's no dif To assauli concerning venery.

ference. Symboles are these; I say no more,

8. 9. Borage and hellebor fill two Conceive the rest by that's afore.

scenes, 3. The next of solitariness,

Soveraign plants to purge the veins A portraiture doth well express, Of melancholy, and chear the heart, By sleeping dog, cat; buck and doe, Of those black fumes which make Hares, conies in the desart go:

it smart; Bats, owls the shady bowers over, To clear the brain of misty fogs, In melancholy darkness bover. Which dull our senses, and soule Mark well: IP't be not as't should be, clogs. Blame the bad Cutter, and not me, The best medicine that ere God 4. lth' under column there doth

made stand

For this malady, if well assaid. Inamorato with folded hand;

10. Now last of all to fill a place, Down hangs his head, terse and po- Presented is the Author's face ; lite,

And in that habit which he wears, Some dittie sure he doth indite.

His image to the world appears, His lute and bookes about him lye, His minde no art can well express, As symptomes of his vanity.

That by his writings you may guess: If this do not enough disclose,

It was not pride, nor yet vain glory, To paint him, take thyself by th'

(Though others do it commonly)

Made him do this: if you must 5. Hypochondriacus leans on his arm, know, Winde in his side doth him much The Printer would needs have it so. harm,

Then do not frown or scoffe at it, And troubles him full sore, God Deride not, or detract a whit, knows,

For surely as thou dost by him, Much pain he hath and mapy woes.

He will do the same again. About him pots and glasses lie, Then look upon't, behold and see, Newly brought from's Apothecary. As thou lik’st it, so it likes thee. This Saturn's aspects signifie,

And I for it will stand in view, You see them portraid in the skie. Thine to command, Reader, adiew.

nose.

These verses refer to the old folio Frontispiece, which was divided into ten compartments, that are here severally explained. Though it was impossible to reduce that Frontispiece to an octavo size for this edition, the lines are too curious to be lost. The author's portrait mentioned in the 10th stanza is copied in our xvth page.

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