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Ye muses all which chaste affects allow,
And have to Thyrsis shewed your secret skill,
And so in him and her your gifts distil
May please all eyes, and spotless may endure.
Since Thyrsis music oft doth yield your praise, Grant us the thing which we for Thyrsis cravé,
Let one time but long since close up their days,
When they though divers, do together meet,
Whose care is cause that they in number grow, Have much more care of them that them do keep,
Since from these good the other's good doth flow,
Of younglings which thyself with caré hast reared,
Be thou the knot of this their open vow; That still he be her head, she be his heart;
He lean to her, she up to him do bow:
Each other still allow;
Her strength from him, his praise from her do grow;
Be thou far hence with thy empoison'd dart, Which though of glittering gold shall here take rust,
Where simple love, which chasteness doth impart,
Such minds with sweet affections for to fill,
All privateness, self-seeking, inward spite,
All strife for toys, and claiming master's right.
'Gainst neighbour's good for womanish debate,
Longing to be with loss of substance gay,
the house betide,
The sink of filth, be counted housewifery :
Hymen long their coupled joys maintain,
But above all, away vile jealousy
The evil of evils, just cause to be unjust, How can he love, suspecting teachery?
How can she love, where love cannot win trust? Go,msnake, hide thee in dust,, Nor dare once shew thy face, Where open hearts do hold so constant place, That they thy sting restrain : O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain. The earth is deck'd with flowers, the heavens display'd,
Muses grant gifts, nymphs long and joined life, Pan store of babes, virtue their thoughts well staid,
Cupid's lust gone, and gone is bitter strie,
Nor yet shall yield to loathsome sluttishness,
By just exchange one for another given ;
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his, because in me it bides ;
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
MARY, COUNTESS OF PEM,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother!
Of the family of this illustrious lady, Sidney's sister, enough has been said. Of the place and time of her birth, the writer is reluctantly obliged to confess his ignorance,-several volumes having been referred to in vain. Mr. Park, one of the most accurate of our antiquarian writers, in his additions to the “ Royal and Noble Authors,” says merely, that she was born about the middle of the sixteenth century. If so, it is most probable that Penshurst, in Kent, then the residence of her father, may lay claim to the honour of her birthplace.
She received a learned education, under the direction of her excellent mother, of whom honourable mention has been already made, and about the year 1576, married Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, very much to the satisfaction of her family. Of her private history, little more is known, than that she survived her husband more than twenty years, and died at an adyanced period of life, in Aldersgaté Street, London, September the 25th, 1621.
Mary, Countess of Pembroke, ranks deservedly high in the catalogue of learned British ladies; and affords probably the first example of that small but illustrious band of female worthies which has been distinguished of late years by the whimsical appellation of “ Blue Stockings," (bas-bleus.) She was learned, and she patronized learning, Surrounding herself with men of genius, she received the incense of their praise while living, and has secured herself an honourable immortality in the literary monuments of the age in which she lived. Spenser, and Daniel, and Jonson, and Donne, her own illustrious brother, and a host of inferior names, have united in celebrating the beauty of her person, and the accomplishments of her mind.
The works of this learned lady, are not of easy attainment, several of them appear yet to exist only in manuscript, and those which have been committed to the press are valuable from their rarity. It would be uncandid from the few specimens we have seen to offer any opinion of their merits, they shall speak for themselves, and make their own appeal to the judgment of our readers.
The following specimen of her prose composition is selected by Mr. Park from a volume which he describes as “no less estimable than rare," entitled “ A Dis course of Life and Death, written in French by Phil. Mornay.- Done in English by the Countess of Pembroke. London: Printed for W. Ponsonby, 1600, 12 mo,”—from the exordium.
“ It seemeth to me strange, and a thing much to be marvelled, that the labourer to repose himself hasteneth as it were the course of the sun; that the mariner rows