Cities he sacked, and realms (that whilom flowered
In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest)
He overwhelmed, and all their fame devoured,
Consumed, destroyed, wasted, and never ceased,
Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppressed:
His face forehewed with wounds; and by his side
There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide.

Henry, Duke of Buckingham, in the Infernal Regions.

The description of the Duke of Buckingham-the Buckingham, it must be recol lected, of Richard III.'-has been much admired, as an impersonation of extreme wretchedness.

Then first came Henry, Duke of Buckingham,

His cloak of black all pilled, and quite forworn,
Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame,
Which of a duke had made him now her scorn;
With ghastly locks, as one in manner forn,

Oft spread his arms, stretched hands he joins as fast,
With rueful cheer, and vapoured eyes upcast.

His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat ;
His hair all torn, about the place it lay:
My heart so molt to see his grief so great,
As feelingly, methought, it dropped away:
His eyes they whirled about withouten stay:
With stormy sighs the place did so complain,
As if his heart at each had burst in twain.

Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale,
And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice;
At each of which he shrieked so withal,
As though the heavens rived with the noise;
Till at the last, recovering his voice,

Supping the tears that all his breast berained,
On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plained.

JOHN HARRINGTON.

Some pleasing amatory verses-exhibiting a remarkable polish for the time in which they were written, if the date be correct-by JOHN HARRINGTON (1534–1582) have been published in the Nuge Antiquæ.' The poet was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary, for holding correspondence with Elizabeth; and the latter, on her accession to the throne, rewarded him with many favours. He must have been a man of taste and refined feelings, as the following specimen of his poetry will suffice to shew:

Sonnet made on Isabella Markham, when I first thought her Fair, as she stood at the Princess's Window, in goodly Attire, and talked to Divers in the Court-yard. 1564.

E. L. v. 1-6

Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose;
"Twas from cheeks that shame the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:

Whenee comes my woe? as freely own;
Ah me! 'twas from a heart of stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips, befitting words most kind,
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say 'tis Cupid's fire;
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Sith nought does say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek-
Yet not a heart to save my pain;

Venus, take thy gifts again!

Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that 's like your own,

ARTHUR BROOKE.

In 1562 was published 'The Tragical History of Romens and Juliet,' the work from which Shakspeare chiefly took the story of his drama. Though professedly a translation from the Italian of Bandello, this poem by Arthur Brooke is a free paraphrase, remarkable for its easy versification and profusion of imagery. Nothing is known of its author excepting that he died by shipwreck, while passing to Newhaven, in or before the year 1563.

Friar Lawrence. ·

This barefoot friar girt with cord his grayish weed,
For he of Francis order was, a friar as I read;
Not as the most was he a gross unlearned fool,

But doctor of divinity proceeded he ia school.

The secrets eke he knew in nature's works that lark;

By magic's art most men supposed that he could wonders work.

Nor doth it ill beseem divines those skills to know,

If on no harmful deed they do such skilfulness bestow;

For justly of no art can men condemn the use,

But right and reason's lore cry out against the lewd abuse.

The bounty of the friar and wisdom hath so won

The townsfolk's hearts that well-nigh all to Friar Lawrence run,
To shrive themselves-the old, the young, the great and small,
Of all he is beloved well and honoured much of all.

Love of Romeus and Juliet.

Oh, how we can persuade ourself to what we like,

And how we can dissuade our mind, if ought our mind mislike!
Weak arguments are strong our fancies straight to frame

To pleasing things, and eke to shun if we mislike the same.

The maid had scarcely yet ended the weary war

Kept in her heart by striving thoughts, when every shining star
Had paid his borrowed light, and P'heebns spread in skies
Her golden rays, which seemed to say, 'Now time it is to rise.?
And Romeus had by this forsaken his weary bed,
Where restless he a thousand thoughts had forged in his head.

And while, with lingering step. by Juliet's house he passed,
And upwards to her windows high his greedy eyes did cast;
His love that looked for him there gau be straight espy;
With pleasant cheer cash greeted is; she followeth with her eye
His parting steps, and he oft looketh back again,

But not so oft as he desires-warily he doth refrain.

What life were like to love, if dread of jeopardy
Y-soured not the sweet-if love were free from jealousy?

Impatient of her woe, she happed to lean one night

Within her window, and anon the moon did shine so bright,
That she espied her love: her heart, revived, sprang,

And now for joy she claps her hands which erst for woe she wrang
Eke Romeus, when he saw his long desired sight,

His morning cloak of mean cast off, hath clad him with delight.

Yet dare I say of both that she rejoiced more;

His care was great-hers twice as great was all the time before 1

Shakspeare found the outline of his character of Mercutio--so marvellously wrought up by the dramatic poet--and also that of the garrulous old nurse, in Brooke's poem. The following lines from the passage between Romeus and the nurse are characteristic:

Now for the rest let me and Juliet alene;

To get her leave, some feat excuse I will devise anon;
For that her golden locks by sloth have been unkempt,

Or for, unwares, some wanton dream the youthful damsel dream,
Or for in thoughts of love her idle time she spent,

Or otherwise within her heart deserved to be shent.

I know her notiter will in no case say her say:

I warrant you she shall not fail to come on Saturday.

And then she swears to him, the mother loves her well;

And how she gave her suck in youth she leaveth not to tell

A pretty babe, quod she, it was when it was young;
Lord, how it could full prettily have prated with its tongue!
A thousand times and more I laid her on my lap, &c.

A prose version of Romeo and Juliet" was printed in 1567 in 'The Palace of Pleasure," a collection of tales, of which a previous volume had appeared in 1565, the editor of which was WILLIAM Paynter, clerk of the armoury to Queen Elizabeth shortly after she came to the throne. Paynter's novel is greatly inferior to Brooke's poem.

GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

GEORGE GASCOIGE, Son of Sir John Gascoigne of Essex (circa 15351577), is celebrated as one of the earliest contributors to the English drama, and one of our first satirists. Among the poets of the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, he deserves to rank next to Lord Buckhurst. Gascoigne's lite was full of adventure. He first studied law at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited by his father for his prodigality. He then set out for Holland, and served gallantly under the Prince of Orange. Being, however, on one occasion surprised by the Spanish army, he was taken prisoner, and detained four months. At the expiration of his confinement, he returned to England, and settled at Walthamstow, where he collected and published his poems. He experienced a share of royal favour, for he accompanied the Queen 4 Kenilworth, and supplied part of the poetical and scenie entertainment at Dudley's magnificent seat, and also at Woodstock. Three of Gascoigne's works are given in the valuable series of reprints by Edward Arber

(1868)—namely: 'Certayne Notes of Instruction in English Verse,' 1575; The Steele Glass,' 1576; and 'The Complaynt of Philomene,' 1576. The most important of these is the Steele Glass,' the first experiment in English satire in blank verse:

That age is dead, and vanished long ago,

Which thought that steel both trusty was and true,
And needed not a foil of contraries,

But shewed all things, even as they were indeed.
Instead whereof, our curious years can find

The crystal glass, which glimpseth brave and bright,
And shews the thing much better than it is,
Beguiled with foils, of sundry subtle sights,
So that they seem and covet not to be.

The Country Gentlemen and Squires.
The gentleman which might in country keep
A plenteous board, and feed the fatherless

With pig and goose, with mutton, beef, and veal-
Yea, now and then a capon and a chick-
Will break up house and dwell in market-towns

A loitering life, and like an epicure.

But who meanwhile defends the commonwealth?
Who rules the flock when shepherds are so fled?
Who stays the staff which should uphold the state? ¦
Forsooth, good sir, the lawyer leapeth in-
Nay, rather leaps both over hedge and ditch,
And rules the roast-but few men rule by right.

O knights, O squires, O gentle bloods y-born,
You were not born only for yourselves:
Your country claims some part of all your pains;
There should you live, and therein should you toil,
To hold up right, and banish cruel wrong;
To help the poor, and bridle back the rich,
To punish vice, and virtue to advance-

To see God served, and Beelzebub suppressed.
You should not trust lieutenauts in your room,
And let them sway the sceptre of your charge,
Whiles you meanwhile know scarcely what is done,
Nor yet can yield account if you were called.

Satire on the Court Ladies.

Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,
With angels' face and harmful hellish hearts,
With smiling looks, and deep deceitful thoughts,
With tender skins and stony cruel minds,

With stealing steps yet forward feet to fraud.
Behold, behold, they never stand content,

With God, with kind, with any help of art,

But curl their locks with bodkins and with braids,
But dye their hair with sundry subic sleights,

But paint and slick till fairest face be foul,

But bombast, bolster, frizzle, and perfume:

They mar with musk the balm which nature made,
And dig for death in delicatest dishes.

The younger sort come piping on apace,
In whistles made of fine enticing wood,

Till they have caught the birds for whom they birded.
The elder sort go stately stalking on,

And on their backs they bear both land and fee,
Castles and towers, revenues and receipts,
Lordships and manors, fines-yea, farms and all!
What should these be? Speak you, my lovely lord.
They be not men, for why, they have no beards;
They be no boys which wear such sidelong gowns;
They be no gods, for all their gallant gloss;
They be no devils, I trow, that seem so saintish.
What be they? Women masking in men's weeds-
With Dutchkin doublets, and with jerkins jagged,
With Spanish spangs and ruffles fet out of France,
With high-copt hats and feathers flaunt-a-flaunt-
They, to be sure, seem even wo to men, indeed!

Gascoigne has a long poem in the ottava rima measure, extending to 207 stanzas, in which he describes scenes in the Dutch war, mixed up with his own quaint moral reflections and egotistic revelations. He is seldom wanting in sense or spirit, and uses both rhyme and blank verse with greater freedom and mastery than most of his predecessors. Some of his shorter poems are lively and graceful.

The Arraignment of a Lover.

At Beauty's bar as I did stand,
When False Suspect accused me,

'George,' quoth the judge, hold up thy hand,
Thou art arraigned of flattery;

Tell, therefore, how wilt thou be tried,

Whose judgment thou wilt here abide ?'

'My lord,' quod I, this lady here,
Whom I esteem above the rest,
Doth know my guilt, if any were:

Wherefore her doom doth please me best,

Let her be judge and juror both,
To try be guiltless by mine oath.'

Quoth Beauty: No, it fitteth not
A prince herself to judge the cause;
Will is our justice, well ye wot,
Appointed to discuss our laws;
If you will guiltless seem to go,
God and your country quit you so.'

Then Craft the crier called a quest,

Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere;
A pack of pickthanks were the rest,

Which came false witness for to bear;
The jury such, the Judge unjust,

Sentence was said: 'I should be trussed.'

Jealous the jailer bound me fast,

To hear the verdict of the bill;

George,' quoth the judge, 'now thou are cast,

Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill,

And there be hanged all but the head;

God rest thy soul when thou art dead!'

Down fell I then upon my knee,

All flat before dame Beauty's face,
And cried: Good lady, pardon me."