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As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made

18. Noise is in a good sense music. So in P's. xlvii. 5. "God is gone up with a merry noise, and the Lord with the sound of the trump." Noise is sometimes literally synonimous with music. As in Shakespeare, "Sneak's noise." And in Chapman's All Fools, 1605. Reed's Old Pl. iv. 187.

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that


And keep in tune with heav'n, till God ere long

To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

-You must get us music too, Calls in a cleanly noise. Compare also the ode on Christ's Nativity, st. ix. 96. and Spenser, F. Q. i. xii. 39. See more instances in Reed's Old Pl. vol. v. 304. vi. 70. vii. 8. x. 277. And in Shakespeare, Johns. Steev. vol. v. p. 489. seq. Perhaps the lady in Comus, 227, does not speak quite contemptuously, though modestly, "such noise as I can "make." Caliban seems, by the context, to mean musical sounds, when he says, the "isle is full of "noises." T. Warton.

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An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester *.

THIS rich marble doth inter

The honour'd wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas too soon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;

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panegyric. It is dated Mar. 15, 1626. He says, he assisted her in learning Spanish: and that nature and the graces exhausted all their treasure and skill in


framing this exact model of "female perfection." He adds, "I return you here the Sonnet


your Grace pleased to send me "lately, rendered into Spanish, " and fitted for the same ayre it "had in English both for ca"dence and feete, &c." Howell's Letters, vol. i. sect. 4. Let. xiv. p. 180. T. Warton.

15. Her high birth, and her
graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;]

The virgin quire for her request
The God that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
greet her of a lovely son,

And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

Her husband was a conspicuous
loyalist in the reign of Charles I.
His magnificent castle of Basing
in Hampshire withstood an ob-
stinate siege of two years against
the rebels, and when taken was
levelled to the ground, because
in every window was flourished
Aymez Loyauté. He died in 1674,
and was buried at Englefield in
Berkshire; where, on his monu-
ment, is an admirable Epitaph
by Dryden. It is remarkable,
that husband and wife should
have severally received the ho-
nour of an epitaph from two
such poets as Dryden and Milton.
Jonson also wrote a pathetic
poem, entitled, An Elegie on the
Lady Anne Pawlett, Marchioness
of Winton; Underw. vol. vii. 17.
But Jane appears in the text of
poem, with the circumstance
of her being the daughter of
Lord Savage. She therefore
must have been our author's
Marchioness. Compare Cart-
wright's poems, p. 193. There




are two old portraits of this lady and her husband at the Duke of Bolton's at Hakewood, Hants. T. Warton.

19. He at their invoking came But with a scarce well-lighted flame;] From Ovid, Met. x. 4.

Adfuit ille quidem; sed nec solemnia verba,

Nec lætos vultus, nec felix attulit


Fax quoque, quam tenuit, lacrimoso stridula fumo

Usque fuit, nullosque invenit motibus ignes.


22. a cypress bud] An emblem of a funeral: and it is called in Virgil feralis, Æn. vi. 216. and in Horace funebris, Epod. v. 18. and in Spenser the cypress funeral. Faery Queen, b. i. cant. i. st. 8.

28. Atropos for Lucina came;] One of the Fates instead of the goddess who brings the birth to light.


And with remorseless cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb,
So have I seen some tender slip,
Sav'd with care from winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flow'r
New shot up from vernal show'r;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hast'ning funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,

41. But the fair blossom hangs the head, &c.] Mr. Bowle compares this and the five following verses with what Antonio Bruni says of the rose, Le Tre Gratie, p. 221.

Ma nata a pena, o filli,
Cade languisce e more:
Le tenere rugiade,
Ch' l' imperlano il seno,
Son ne suoi funerali
Le lagrime dolenti.

T. Warton.






Perhaps Milton recollected Virgil's description of the death of Euryalus, Æn. ix. 434.

-inque humeros cervix collapsa re-
Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus


Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo

Demisere caput, pluvià cum forte gravantur,


49. After this thy travail sore] As she died in child-bed.

That to give the world increase,
Short'ned hast thy own life's lease.
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And some flowers, and some bays
For thy hearse, to strow the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;

Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian shepherdess,
Who after years of barrenness,
The highly favour'd Joseph bore
To him that serv'd for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light:

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