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Of this rude pile we carry, as the soul
Queen. Your conscience comes about, and you in-
Their way, and crystal Heaven return to chaos ;
(Born, 1620. Died, 1666.]
ALEXANDER BROME was an attorney in the which was acted in 1651, at the private house in Lord Mayor's Court. From a verse in one of Drury. There is a playful variety in his metre, his poems, it would seem that he had been sent that probably had a better effect in song than in once in the civil war (by compulsion no doubt), reading. His thoughts on love and the bottle on the parliament side, but had staid only three have at least the merit of being decently jovial, days, and never fought against the king and the though he arrays the trite arguments of convivial cavaliers. He was in truth a strenuous loyalist, invitation in few original images. In studying and the bacchanalian songster of his party. Most the traits and complexion of a past age, amuseof the songs and epigrams that were published ment, if not illustration, will often be found from against the Rump have been ascribed to him. the ordinary effusions of party ridicule. In this He had besides a share in a translation of Horace, view the Diurnal, and other political satires of with Fanshawe, Holiday, Cowley, and others, and Brome, have an extrinsic value as contemporary published a single comedy, the Cunning Lovers, caricatures.
Tell me not of a face that's fair,
Nor lip and cheek that's red,
Nor curls in order laid ;
That like an angel sings ;
I would have all these things.
And it must be a she;
Is, that she will love me.
Of all the rare juices
For this is the thing
This first got a king,
And next the nine Muses ; 'Twas this made old poets so sprightly to sing,
And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't ; They Helicon call'd it, and the Thespian spring, But this was the drink though they knew not
[the name on't.
It makes people windmill-pated,
And your hops, yest, and malt,
Makes our fancies to halt,
That if one would write but a verse for a bellman,
The glories of your ladies be
But metaphors of things,
Each common object brings.
Lilies their whiteness stain :
And may the substance gain !
Let it be one that's kind,
That's with Canary lined.
Dont be proud 'cause we adore you,
We do't only for our pleasure ; And those parts in which you glory
We by fancy weigh and measure. When for deities you go, For angels or for queens, pray know "Tis our own fancy makes you so.
Our drowsy metheglin
The novice that knows not to drink yet,
Have a gunpowder fury,
But they won't long endure you.
Have only this property and virtue that's fit in't, They'll make a man sleep till a preachment be spent,
But we neither can warm our blood nor wit in't.
But 'tis sack makes the sport,
Though an abbess he court,
and leather, He turns it to velvet, and brings up an heir, | In the town in his chain, in the field with his feather.
Don't suppose your Majesty
By tyranny's best signified, And your angelic Natures be
Distinguish'd only by your pride. Tyrants make subjects rebels grow, And pride makes angels devils below, And your pride may make you so !
THE MAD LOVER.
I have been in love, and in debt, and in drink
This many and many a year ; And those three are plagues enough, one would For one poor mortal to bear.
[think, 'Twas drink made me fall into love,
And love made me run into debt ; And though I have struggled, and struggled and I cannot get out of them yet.
There's nothing but money can cure me, And rid me of all my pain ;
"Twill pay all my debts,
And remove all my lets ! And my mistress that cannot endure me,
Will love me, and love me again : Then I'll fall to loving and drinking again.
To his Hesperides, or works human and divine, he added some pieces on religious subjects, where his volatile genius was not in her ele
HERRICK's vein of poetry is very irregular; but where the ore is pure, it is of high value. His song beginning, “ Gather ye rose-buds, while ye may,” is sweetly Anacreontic. Nichols, in his History of Leicestershire, has given the fullest account of his history hitherto published, and reprinted many of his poems, which illustrate his family connexions. He was the son of an emi. nent goldsmith in Cheapside, was born in London, and educated at Cambridge. Being patronised by the Earl of Exeter, he was, in 1629, presented by Charles I. to the vicarage of Dean Prior, in Devonshire, from which he was ejected during the civil war, and then having assumed the habit of a layman, resided in Westminster. After the Restoration he was replaced in his vicarage.
(* What is · Divine' has much of the essence of poetry; that which is human, of the frailty of the flesh. Some are playfully pastoral, some sweetly Anacreontic, some in the higher key of religion, others lasciviously wanton and unclean. The whole collection seems to have passed into oblivion till about the year 1796, and since then we have had a separate volume of selections, and two complete reprints. His several excellences have preserved his many indecencies, the divinity of his verse (poetically speaking) the dunghill of his obscener moods. Southey, admitting the perennial beauty of many of his poems, has styled him, not with too much severity, “a coarseminded and beastly writer.' Jones' Attempts in Verse, p. 85; see also Quar. Rev. vol. iv. p. 171.]
THE COUNTRY LIFE.
SWEET country life, to such unknown
: thy ambition's master-piece
And, as thou look’st, the wanton steer, The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, To make a pleasing pastime there. These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox; And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool ; And leavest them as they feed and fill; A shepherd piping on a hill. For sports, for pageantry, and plays, Thou hast thy eves and holidays; On which the young men and maids meet, To exercise their dancing feet; Tripping the comely country round, With daffodils and daisies crown'd. Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast ; Thy may-poles too, with garlands graced ; Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, Thy shearing feast, which never fail ; Thy harvest-home, thy wassail-bowl, That's tost up after fox i'th' hole ; Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-night kings And queens, thy Christmas revellings ; Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit; And no man pays too dear for it. To these thou hast thy times to go, And trace the hare in the treacherous snow ; Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The lark into the trammel net; Thou hast thy cockrood, and thy glade To take the precious pheasant made ; Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pit-falls, then To catch the pilfering birds, not men.
O happy life, if that their good The husbandmen but understood ! Who all the day themselves do please, And younglings, with such sports as these ; And, lying down, have nought to affright Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night.
(Born, 1618. Died, 1667.)
ABRAHAM COWLEY was the posthumous son of a grocer in London. His mother, though left a poor widow, found means to get him educated at Westminster School, and he obtained a scholarship at Cambridge. Before leaving the former seminary, he published his Poetical Blossoms. He wrote verses while yet a child ; and amidst his best poetry as well as his worst, in his touching and tender as well as extravagant passages, there is always something that reminds us of childhood in Cowley. From Cambridge he was ejected, in 1643, for his loyalty; after a short retirement, he was induced by his principles to follow the queen to Paris, as secretary to the Earl of St. Albans, and, during an absence of
from his native country, was employed in confidential journeys for his party, and in deciphering the royal correspondence. The object of his return to England, in 1656, I am disposed to think, is misrepresented by his biographers : they tell us that he came over, under pretence of privacy, to give notice of the posture of affairs. Cowley came home indeed, and published an edition of his poems, in the preface to which he decidedly declares himself a quietist under the existing government, abjures the idea of all political hostility, and tells us that he had not only abstained from printing, but had burnt the very copies of his verses that alluded to the civil wars. “The enmities of fellow-citizens,” he continues, "should
be like those of lovers, the redintegration of their government, though without having published amity.” If Cowley employed this language to make a word even in his amiable and pacific preface, his privacy the deeper pretence for giving secret that committed his principles. But an absurd intelligence, his office may be worthily named that idea prevailed that his Cutter of Coleman-street of a spy; but the manliness and placidity of his was a satire on his party, and he had published character render it much more probable that he an ode to Brutus ! It is impossible to contrast was sincere in those declarations; nor were his this injured honesty of Cowley with the successstudious pursuits, which were chiefly botanical, ful profligacy of Waller and Dryden, and not to well calculated for political intrigue. He took a be struck with the all-prevailing power of impudoctor's degree, but never practised, and was one dence. In such circumstances it is little to be of the earliest members of the philosophical society. wondered at that Cowley should have sighed for While Butler's satire was unworthily employed in retirement, and been ready to accept of it even ridiculing the infancy of that institution, Cowley's in the deserts of America. Misanthropy, as far as wit took a more than ordinary stretch of perversion so gentle a nature could cherish it, naturally in the good intention of commending it. Speaking strengthened his love of retirement, and inof Bacon, he calls him
creased that passion for a country life which the mighty man,
breathes in the fancy of his poetry, and in the Whom a wise king and nature chose
eloquence of his prose. By the influence of
Buckingham and St. Albans, he at last obtained At his first arrival in England he had been a competence of about 3001. a year from a lease imprisoned, and obliged to find bail to a great of the queen's lands, which enabled him to retire, amount. On the death of Cromwell, he con first to Barnes Elms, and afterwards to Chertsey, sidered himself at liberty, and went to France, on the Thames. But his health was now dewhere he stopt till the Restoration. At that clining, and he did not long experience either event, when men who had fought under Crom the sweets or inconveniences of rustication. He well were rewarded for coming over to Charles | died, according to Dr. Sprat, in consequence of II., Cowley was denied the mastership of the exposing himself to cold one evening that he Savoy on pretence of his disloyalty, and the staid late among his labourers. Another account Lord Chancellor told him that his pardon was ascribes his death to being benighted in the his reward. The sum of his offences was, that fields, after having spent too convivial an evening he had lived peaceably under the usurping with the same Dr. Sprat.
To be the chancellor of both their laws.
THE CHRONICLE, A BALLAD*.
MARGARITA first possess'd,
Mary then, and gentle Anne,
Martha soon did it resign
Another Mary then arose,
Eliza till this hour might reign,
And cast away her yoke
When fair Rebecca set me free,