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Pretender, the Scotch, French, and Popery, Fielding supposes the Scotch and the Pretender in possession of London, and himself about to be hanged for loyalty, when, just as the rope is round his neck, he says—My little girl entered
bedchamber, and put an end to my dream by pulling open my eyes, and telling me that the tailor had just brought home my clothes for his Majesty's birthday. In his Temple Beau,' the beauis
' dunned for a birthday suit of velvet, 40l. Be sure that Mr. Harry Fielding was dunned too."
In the third year of the reign of Victoria, and the first of her marriage, Leigh Hunt addressed these lines
TO THE QUEEN.
within the heavens is found :
A poet thus (if love and later fame
The song was lamed, was hated, yet the bird
These courtly tributes to royalty may be supplemented—first, by a mention of one birthday present—of the giver's portrait set in diamonds-from a king of France to a favourite lady of his court, who, having vowed that she would never receive a
any cost from him, took the gems from their setting, ground them to powder, and sprinkled them as sand over the ink with which she wrote her refusal of the royal gift; and, secondly, with two brief sad records, translated from the Latin, in which they were written by trembling hands which had borne sceptres. The ill-fated Edward II., while in captivity, wrote :
Stern Fortune pours.
Sage and discerning,
Famed for his learning;
And beauty vanishes.
And this was the last prayer of Mary Queen of Scots:
Oh! my God and my Lord,
I have trusted in Thee ;
Now liberate me.
I languish for Thee.
In sorrowing, weeping,
And bending the knee,
To liberate me!
In middle life-that is, from the age
of twentyone to fifty—have been performed most of those deeds of arms which fame has trumpeted forth over the world so loudly and perseveringly.
Too many of those whose names have thus been blazoned have had to lament in the manner of Dryden's Mark Antony =
They tell me 'tis my birthday! and I'll keep it With double
of sadness; 'Tis what the day deserves that gave me breath. Why was I raised, the meteor of the world, Hang in the skies, and blazing as I travell’d, Till all my fires were spent, and then cast down To be trod out by Cæsar?
It was not thus with Sir Kenelm Digby, a naval hero and a patriot of the reign of Charles I. He fitted out at his own expense a squadron against the combined French and Venetian fleets. He was then remarkable for his gigantic stature and wonderful strength, and was altogether a most admirable and attractive person. He died on his birthday, after a naval engagement.
Born on the day he died, the eleventh of June; And that day bravely fought at Scanderoon. How rare that one and the same day should be His day of birth, of death, and victory!
A favourite song of King Charles the Second was this dirge on kings and warriors :
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ;
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb.
SHIRLEY. Throughout the course of middle life, as Professor Wilson observes, the greater part of time, strength, thought, desire, must be given up to avocations which demand the surrender of self for the good of others; in which it must forego its own delight, or rather must find its delight in service which abstracts it from itself wholly, and chains it to this weary world. In this high service, “ under the Great Taskmaster's eye,” Milton sacrificed his sight, which was suddenly lost to him on a day, the third anni