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to have disliked Jonson's indulgence in that con He “whom the morning saw so great and hight,” viviality which Ben had shared with his Fletcher was now so humble as to speak of his “faint and and Shakspeare at the Mermaid. In consequence faultering tongue, and of his brain set round with of those anecdotes, Jonson's memory has been pain." An allusion to the king and queen in the damned for brutality, and Drummond's for per same epilogue awoke the slumbering kindness of fidy. Jonson drank freely at Hawthornden, and Charles, who instantly sent him 1001. and, in talked big-things neither incredible nor unpar-compliance with the poet's request, also converted donable. Drummond's perfidy amounted to the 100 marks of his salary into pounds, and writing a letter, beginning “Sir," with one very added, of his own accord, a yearly tierce of kind sentence in it, to the man whom he had canary, Jonson’s favourite wine. His majesty's described unfavourably in a private memo injunctions for the preparation of masques for the randum, which he never meant for publication. court were also renewed till they were disconAs to Drummond's decoying Jonson under his tinued at the suggestion of Inigo Jones, who preroof with any premeditated design on his reputation, ferred the assistance of one Aurelian Townsend no one can seriously believe it*.
to that of Jonson, in the furnishing of those enBy the continued kindness of King James, our tertainments. His means of subsistence were poet was, some years after (Sept. 1621,) pre now, perhaps, both precariously supplied and imsented with the reversionary grant of the master prudently expended. The city in 1631, from ship of the revels, but from which he derived no whom he had always received a yearly allowance advantage, as the incumbent, Sir John Astley, of 100 nobles, by way of securing his assistance survived him. It fell, however, to the poet's son, in their pageants, withdrew their pensions. He by the permission of Charles I.+ King James, was compelled by poverty to supplicate the Lord in the contemplation of his laureat's speedy ac Treasurer Weston for relief. On the rumour of cession to this office, was desirous of conferring his necessities, assistance came to him from various on him the rank of knighthood; but Jonson was quarters, and from none more liberally than from unwilling to accept the distinction, and prevailed the Earl of Newcastle. On these and other timely on some of his friends about the court to dissuade bounties his sickly existence was propped up to acthe monarch from his purpose. After the death complish two more comedies, the Magnetic Lady, of his patron James, necessity brought him again which appeared in 1632, and the Tale of a Tub, upon the theatre, and he produced the Staple of which came out in the following year. In the News, a comedy of no ordinary merit. Two evils last of these, the last, indeed, of his dramatic were at this time rapidly gaining on him,
career, he endeavoured to introduce some ridicule “ Disease and poverty, fell pair."
on Inigo Jones, through the machinery of a
páppet-show. Jones had distinguished himself He was attacked by the palsy in 1625, and had at the representation of the Magnetic Lady, by also a tendency to dropsy, together with a scor his boisterous derision. The attempt at retaliabutic affection inherent from his youth, which tion was more natural than dignified ; but the pressed upon the decaying powers of his constitu court prevented it, and witnessed the represention. From the first stroke of the palsy he tation of the play at Whitehall with coldness.
gradually recovered so far as to be able to write, Whatever humour its manners contain, was such i in the following year, the antimasque of Sophiel. as courtiers were not likely to understand.
For the three succeeding years his biographer In the spring of 1633 Charles visited Scotland, suspects that the court had ceased to call upon him and on the road was entertained by the Earl of for his customary contributions, a circumstance Newcastle with all the luxury and pageantry of which must have aggravated his poverty; and his loyal hospitality. To grace the entertainment, salary, it appears, was irregularly paid. Mean Jonson sent, in grateful obedience to his benewhile his infirmities increased, and he was unable factor the Earl, a little interlude, entitled, Love's
to leave his room. In these circumstances he Welcome at Welbeck, and another of the same ll produced his New Inn, a comedy that was driven kind for the king and queen’s reception at
from the stage with violent hostility. The epi Bolsover. In despatching the former of these to logue to this piece forms a melancholy contrast to his noble patron, the poet alludes to his past
the tone of his former addresses to the audience. bounties, which had “fallen, like the dew of 11 (*“ The furious invective of Gifford against Drummond
Heaven, on his necessities.'' for having written private memoranda of his conversa In his unfinished pastoral drama of the Sad tions with Ben Jonson, which he did not publish, and Shepherd, his biographer traces one bright and which, for aught we know, were perfectly faithful, is absurd. Anyone else would have been thankful for so
sunny ray that broke through the gloom of his much literary anecdote."—Hallam, Lit. Hist.vol.iii. p. 505.) setting days. Amongst bis papers were found
(† This is not quite correct: the son died in 1635, Ben the plot and opening of a domestic tragedy on the himself in 1637, and Astley a year or so after. Astley
# Sejanus. thus survived the father, to whom the reversion had been
$ ["Yesterday the barbarous Court of Aldermen have granted, and the son, to whom the transfer had been
withdrawn their chandlerly pension for verjuice and made. See GIFFORD, p. cxliv. and COLLIER'S Annals, vol. mustard, £33. 6. 8."-Jonson to the Earl of Newcastle, 20 il p. 89. Sir Henry Kerbert was Astley's successor.] Dec. 1631. It was, however, soon restored.)
story of Mortimer Earl of March, together with years, but which, it is probable that he must the Discoveries, and Grammar of the English have continued to write till he was near his disTongue ; works containing, no doubt, the philo- solution. That event took place on the 6th of logical and critical reflections of more vigorous | August, 1637.
SONG OF HESPERUS.
IN CYNTHIA'S REVELS,
Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair,
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Bless us then with wished sight,
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
If all the air my Flora drew,
The acclamations, at your crown.-
IN THE SILENT WOMAN.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
Give me a look, give me a face,
SONG OF NIGHT.
IN THE MASQUE OF THE VISION OF DELIGHT.
If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, The other let it sleep with death : Fitter, where it died, to tell, Than that it lived at all. Farewell !
BREAK, Phant’sie, from thy cave of cloud,
And spread thy purple wings ; Now all thy figures are allow'd,
And various shapes of things ;
To all the senses here,
Or music in their ear.
FROM "THE FOREST."
IN THE SAME.
In curious knots and mazes so,
And thence did Venus learn to lead
The Idalian brawls, and so to tread As if the wind, not she, did walk ; Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a stalk.
Kiss me, sweet ! the wary lover
ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.
FROM HIS EPIGRAMS.
FROM THE SAME.
Tus morning, timely rapt with holy fire,
I thought to form unto my zealous Muse,
To honour, serve, and love; as poets use.
Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great; I meant the day-star should not brighter rise,
Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat. I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,
Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride; I meant each softest virtue there should meet,
Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned, and a manly soul
I purposed her; that should, with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the sheers control
Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wish'd to see, My Muse bade, Bedford write, and that was she !
Follow a shadow, it still flies you;
Seem to fly it, it will pursue : So court a mistress, she denies you ;
Let her alone, she will court you. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men?
EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. Η.
At morn and even shades are longest ;
At noon they are or short, or none :
But grant us perfect, they're not known.
“Pembrok and his Lady discoursing, the Earl said, The woemen were men's shadowes, and she maintained them. Both appealing to Jonson, be affirmed it true, for which my Lady gave a pennance to prove it in verse; hence his epigram."-DRUMMOND'S Informations, Arch. Scot. iv. 95.)
World'st thou hear what man can say In a little ? reader, stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die : Which in life did harbour give To more virtue than doth live.
SONG TO CELIA.
FROM THE SAME.
DRINK to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine :
I would not change for thine.
In a body should be there.
Valiant he should be as fire,
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
It could not wither'd be.
And sent'st it back to me :
Not of itself, but thee.
Such a man, with every part, I could give my very heart ; But of one if short he came, I can rest me where I am.
FROM THE CELEBRATION OF CHARIS.
Ou do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing ; Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.
O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me ; Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me.
O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me ; Nor. spread them as distract with fears ;
Mine own enough betray me.
Or your trouble, Ben, to ease me, I will tell what man would please me. I would have him, if I could, Noble ; or of greater blood : Titles, I confess, do take me, And a woman God did make me ; French to boot, at least in fashion, And his manners of that nation.
Young I'd have him too, and fair, Yet a man ; with crisped hair, Cast in thousand snares and rings, For love's fingers, and his wings: Chesnut colour, or more slack, Gold, upon a ground of black. Venus and Minerva's eyes, For he must look wanton-wise.
Eyebrows bent, like Cupid's bow,
He should have a hand as soft
'Twere too long to speak of all : What we harmony do call,
A NYMPH'S PASSION,
I love, and he loves me again,
Yet dare I not tell who ; For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too ;
Yet if he be not known,
The pleasure is as good as none, For that's a narrow joy is but our own.
I'll tell, that if they be not glad,
They yet may envy me;
It were a plague 'bove scorn :
And yet it cannot be forborn, Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn.
FROM THE FOX,
He is, if they can find him, fair,
And fresh and fragrant too, As summer's sky, or purged air, And looks as lilies do
That are this morning blown ;
Yet, yet I doubt he is not known, And fear much more, that more of him be
But he hath eyes so round, and bright,
As make away my doubt,
But then, t' increase my fears,
What nymph soe'er his voice but hears, Will be my rival, though she have but ears.
I'll tell no more, and yet I love,
And he loves me ; yet no
But so exempt from blame,
As it would be to each a fame, If love or fear would let me tell his name.
EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.
UNDERNEATH this sable herse
VOLPONE, aided by his servant Mosca, cheating the visitants who bring him presents, each in the hope of being his heir. Volp. Good morning to the day; and next, my
gold ! Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.
[Mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers
piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c. Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his ; That lying here, amongst my other hoards, Show'st like a flame by night, or like the day Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, With adoration, thee, and every relic Of sacred treasure in this blessed room. Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, Title that age which they would have the best ; Thou being the best of things, and far transcending All style of joy, in children, parents, friends, Or any other waking dream on earth : Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe, [pids; They should have given her twenty thousand CuSuch are thy beauties and our loves ! Dear saint, Riches, the dumb god, that givest all men tongues, That canst do nought, and yet makest men do all
things ; The price of souls ; even hell, with thee to boot, Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame, Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee, He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise
Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in forA greater good than wisdom is in nature. (tune
Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, Than in the glad possession, since I gain No common way; I use no trade, no venture : I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat no beasts, To feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron, Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder : I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea : I turn no monies in the public bank, Nor usure private.
Mos. No, sir, nor devour Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it ; Tear forth the fathers of poor families Out of their beds, and coffin them alive In some kind clasping prison, where their bones May be forth-coming, when the flesh is rotten : But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses : You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance.
Volp. Right, Mosca ; I do lothe it.
THE PICTURE OF THE BODY.
SITTING, and ready to be drawn,
Send these suspected helps to aid Some form defective, or decay'd ; This beauty, without falsehood fair, Needs nought to clothe it but the air.
Yet something to the painter's view,
Draw first a cloud, all save her neck,