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books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so low as in many of the Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty as in passages of Browne's
Religio Medici' and · Urn-Burial.' Burton has been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his “Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his · Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, a few stanzas of which we extract.
1 When I go musing all alone,
Thinking of divers things foreknown,
All my joys to this are folly;
Nought so sweet as melancholy.
Recounting what I have ill-done,
All my griefs to this are jolly ;
Nought so sad as melancholy.
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
All my joys besides are folly;
None so sweet as melancholy.
4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan;
All my griefs to this are jolly;
5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
All other joys to this are folly;
6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghosts, goblins, fiends : my fantasy
All my griefs to this are jolly ;
This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier ; and in the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his verses.
Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like George Herbert,
the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, dedicated himself to closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence.
PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.
Think not, 'cause men flattering say,
Starve not yourself, because you may
Most fleeting, when it is most dear; "Tis
gone, while we but say 'tis here. These curious locks so aptly twined, Whose every hair a soul doth bind, Will change their auburn hue, and grow White and cold as winter's snow. That eye which now is Cupid's nest
grave, and all the rest Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; And what will then become of all Those, whom now you servants call? Like swallows, when your summer 's done They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun.
The snake each year fresh skin resumes,
crop in time your beauty's flower: Which will away, and doth together Both bud and fade, both blow and wither.
Give me more love, or more disdain,
The torrid, or the frozen zone
The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danaë in a golden shower,
Disdain, that torrent will devour
TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE.
Mark how yon eddy steals away
Be thou this eddy, and I'll make
My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take