And lest too great a heat procure my pain,

The lungs fan wind to cool those parts again.
Within the inner closet of my brain

Attend the nobler members of

my train.

Invention, master of my mint grows there,
And memory, my faithful treasurer.

And though in others 'tis a treacherous part,
My tongue is secretary to my heart.
And then the pages of my soul and sense,
Love, anger, pleasure, grief, concupiscence,
And all affections else, are taught t' obey
Like subjects, not like favourites to sway,
This is my manor-house, and men shall see
There I live master of my family.

Say then, thou man of wealth; in what degree
May thy proud fortunes over-balance me?
Thy many barks plough the rough ocean back;
And I am never frighted with a wrack.
Thy flocks of sheep are numberless to tell,
And with one fleece I can be cloth'd as well.
Thou hast a thousand several farms to let,
And I do feed on ne'er a tenant's sweat.
Thou hast the commons to inclosure brought;
And I have fixt a bound to my vast thought.
Variety is sought for to delight

Thy witty and ambitious appetite,
Three elements at least dis-peopled be,
To satisfy judicious gluttony.

And yet for this I love my commons here,
Above the choicest of thy dainty cheer.
No widow's curse caters a dish of mine,
I drink no tears of orphans in my wine.
Thou may'st perchance to some great office come,
And I can rule a commonwealth at home,
And that pre-eminence enjoy more free,
Than thou, puft up with vain authority.
What boots it him a large command to have,
Whose every part is some poor vice's slave?
Which over him as proudly lords it there,
As o'er the rustic he can domineer.

Whilst he poor swains doth threat, in his own eyes

Lust and concupiscence do tyrannize.

Ambition racks his heart with jealous fear,

And bastard flatt'ry captivates his ear.

He on posterity may fix his care,
And I can study on the times that were.
He stands upon a pinnacle, to show
His dangerous height, whilst I sit safe below,
Thy father hoards up gold for thee to spend,
When death will play the office of a friend,
And take him hence, which yet he thinks too late :
My nothing to inherit is a fate

Above thy birth-right, should it double be;
No longing expectation tortures me.

I can my father's reverend head survey,
And yet not wish that every hair were gray.
My constant genius says, I happier stand
And richer in his life, than in his land,
And when thou hast an heir that for thy gold
Will think each day makes thee a year too old;
And ever gaping to possess thy store,
Conceives thy age to be above fourscore
'Cause his is one and twenty, and will pray
The too slow hours to haste, and every day
Bespeaks thy coffin, cursing every bell
That he hears toll, 'cause 'tis another's knell :
(And justly at thy life he may repine,

For his is but a wardship during thine.)

Mine shall have no such thoughts, if I have one,

He shall be more a pupil than a son;

And at my grave weep truth, and say death's hand,
That bountifully unto thine gave land,

But robb'd him of a tutor; cursed store!
There is no piety but amongst the poor.
Go then confess which of us fathers be
The happier made in our posterity;
I in my orphan that hath nought beside
His virtue, thou in thy rich parricide.

*

But you will say,

the comfort of a life

Is in the partner of your joys, a wife.

You have made choice of brides, you need not woo

The rich, the fair; they both are profer'd you:
But what fond virgin will my love prefer,
That only in Parnassus jointure her?
Yet thy base match I scorn, an honest pride
I harbour here, that scorns a market bride.
Neglected beauty now is priz'd by gold;

And sacred love is basely bought and sold:
Wives are grown traffick, marriage is a trade,
And when a nuptial of two hearts is made,
There must of monies too a wedding be,
That coin as well as men may multiply.

O human blindness! had we eyes to see,
There is no wealth to valiant poetry!

And yet what want I, heaven or earth can yield?
Methinks I now possess th' Elysian field.
Into my chest the yellow Tagus flows,

While my plate-fleet in bright Pactolus rows;
Th' Hesperian Orchard is mine; mine, is all:
Thus am I rich in wealth poetical.

Why strive you then, my friends, to circumvent
My soul, and rob me of my best content?
Why, out of ignorant love, counsel you me
To leave my muses and my poetry?
Which should I leave and never follow more,
I might perchance get riches and be poor."

We then pass over a number of pieces, original and translated, of various degrees of merit and decency, till we are arrested by the Elegy on the Lady Venetia Digby, the commencement of which is worthy of quotation, for the singularity and beauty of its conceit.

66

Death, who 'ld not change prerogatives with thee
That doth such rapes, yet must not question'd be ?
Here cease thy wanton lust, be satisfi'd,
Hope not a second, and so fair a bride.

Where was her Mars, whose valliant arms did hold
This Venus once, that thou durst be so bold;
By thy too nimble theft I know 'twas fear,

Lest he should come, that would have rescu'd her.
Monster confess, didst thou not blushing stand,
And thy pale cheek turn'd red to touch her hand?
Did she not lightning-like strike sudden heat
Through thy cold limbs, and thaw thy frost to sweat?
Well, since thou hast her, use her gently, Death,
And in requital of such precious breath

Watch sentinel to guard her, do not see

The worms thy rivals, for the gods will be."

Randolph, like Herrick, had the misfortune to lose a finger, and like him has turned his loss to profit, by making it

a subject of verse. In this volume, we have two poems dedicated to the memory of the unfortunate limb, and more than two allusions to it. The following is worthy of the occasion :

"Arithmetic, nine digits and no more

Admits of, then I still have all my store,

For what mischance hath taken from my left hand,
It seems did only for a cypher stand.

But this I'll say for thee, departed joint,

Thou wert not given to steal, or pick, or point
At any in disgrace, but thou didst go
Untimely to thy death, only to show

The other members what they once must do,
Hand, arm, leg, thigh, and all must follow too.
Oft didst thou scan my verse, where if I miss,
Henceforth I will impute the cause to this;
A finger's loss (I speak it not in sport)
Will make a verse sometimes a foot too short:
Farewell, dear finger, much I grieve to see

How soon mischance hath made a hand of thee."

Out of thirty-seven " precepts of wisdom," we think two are written with much force and spirit, though we fear the first is slightly tainted with the coarseness of expression which prevails over some of his poems. Like part of the first extract, it smacks of the spirit of Juvenal.

"Fly, drunkenness, whose vile incontinence
Takes both away the reason and the sense,
Till with Circæan cups thy mind's possest,
Leaves to be man, and wholly turns a beast.
Think whilst thou swallowest the capacious bowl,
Thou let'st in seas to wreck and drown the soul.
That hell is open, to remembrance call,
And think how subject drunkards are to fall.
Consider how it soon destroys the grace
Of human shape, spoiling the beauteous face:
Puffing the cheeks, blearing the curious eye,
Studding the face with vitious heraldry.
What pearls and rubies doth the wine disclose,
Making the
purse poor to enrich the nose?
How does it nurse disease, infect the heart,
Drawing some sickness into every part!

The veins do fill, glutted with vicious food,
And quickly fevers the distemper'd blood.

The belly swells, the foot can hardly stand
Lam'd with the gout; the palsy shakes the hand.
And through the flesh sick waters sinking in,
Do, bladder-like, puff up the dropsy'd skin.
It weaks the brain, it spoils the memory,
Hasting on age, and wilful poverty.

It drowns thy better parts, making thy name
To foes a laughter, to thy friends a shame.
"Tis virtue's poison, and the bane of trust,
The match of wrath, the fuel unto lust.
Quite leave this vice, and turn not to't again,
Upon presumption of a stronger brain.
For he that holds more wine than others can,
I rather count a hogshead than a man.”

The other is on imprudent marriages.

"Let not thy impotent lust so powerful be,
Over thy reason, soul, and liberty,
As to enforce thee to a married life,
E're thou art able to maintain a wife.
Thou canst not feed upon her lips and face,
She cannot clothe thee with a poor embrace.
Thy self being yet alone, and but one still,
With patience couldst endure the worst of ill.
When fortune frowns, one to the wars may go
To fight against his foes and fortunes too.
But, oh! the grief were treble for to see
Thy wretched bride half pin'd with poverty.
To see thy infants make their dumb complaint,
And thou not able to relieve their want.
The poorest beggar when he's dead and gone,
As rich as he that sits upon the throne.

But he who having no estate whilst wed,

Starves in his grave, being wretched when he's dead."

Next follows" a platonick elegy," which contains parts of great purity and beauty.

"Love, give me leave to serve thee, and be wise

To keep thy torch in, but restore blind eyes.

I will a flame into thy bosom take,

That martyrs court when they embrace the stake:
Not dull and smoky fires, but heat divine,
That burns not to consume, but to refine.