THE SELF-BANISHED. Ir is not that I love you less, Of hopeless love, I keep away. In vain, alas! for everything Which I have known belong to you Your form does to my fancy bring, And makes my old wounds bleed anew. Who in the spring, from the new sun, Too late begins those shafts to shun, Too late he would the pain assuage, And to thick shadows does retire ; About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire. But vow'd I have, and never must Your banish'd servant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made to love you too. THE NIGHT-PIECE, OR A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK. DARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms, Mira can lay her beauty by, Her speech is graced with sweeter sound So we, in that accomplish'd mind, While we converse with her, we mark Yet friended by the night, we dare Only in whispers tell our care: He that on her his bold hand lays, With Cupid's pointed arrows plays; They with a touch (they are so keen!) Wound us unshot, and she unseen. All near approaches threaten death; We may be shipwreck'd by her breath: Love favour'd once with that sweet gale, Doubles his haste, and fills his sail, Till be arrive where she must prove The haven or the rock of love. So we th' Arabian coast do know At distance, when the spices blow; By the rich odour taught to steer, Though neither day nor stars appear. THE NAVAL GLORY OF ENGLAND. FROM VERSES ON A WAR WITH SPAIN. OTHERS may use the ocean as their road, CHARLES COTTON. [Born, 1630. Died, 1687.] THERE is a careless and happy humour in this poet's Voyage to Ireland, which seems to anticicipate the manner of Anstey, in the Bath Guide. The tasteless indelicacy of his parody of the Eneid has found but too many admirers. His imitations of Lucian betray the grossest misconception of humorous effect when he attempts to burlesque that which is ludicrous already. He was acquainted with French and Italian; and, among several works from the former language, translated"The Horace " of Corneille, and Montaigne's Essays. The father of Cotton is described by Lord Clarendon as an accomplished and honourable man, who was driven by domestic afflictions to habits which rendered his age less reverenced than his youth, and made his best friends wish that he had not lived so long. From him our poet inherited an encumbered estate, with a disposition to extravagance little calculated to improve it. After having studied at Cambridge, and returned from his travels abroad, he married the daughter of Sir Thomas Owthorp, in Nottinghamshire. He went to Ireland as a captain in the army, but of his military progress nothing is recorded. Having embraced the soldier's life merely as a shift in distress, he was not likely to pursue it with much ambition. It was probably in Ireland that he met with his second wife, Mary Countess Dowager of Ardglass, the widow of Lord Cornwall. She had a jointure | of 15007. a year, secured from his imprudent management. He died insolvent at Westminster. One of his favourite recreations was angling; and his house, which was situated on the Dove, a fine trout stream which divides the counties of Derby and Stafford, was the frequent resort of his friend Isaak Walton. There he built a fishing-house, "Piscatoribus sacrum," with the initials of honest Isaak's name and his own united in ciphers over the door. The walls were painted with fishing scenes, and the portraits of Cotton and Walton were upon the beaufet. A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN BURLESQUE. CANTO I. THE lives of frail men are compared by the sages And this 'tis, I fancy, sets folks so a madding, And though I was bred 'mongst the wonders o' th' Peak, Would have thrown away money, and ventured my neck To have seen a great hill, a rock, or a cave, But at forty years old you may (if you please) 'Twas now the most beautiful time of the year, too soon, With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart, Till he groan'd and he f―d under the burden, For sorrow had made me a cumbersome lurden : And now farewell Dove, where I've caught such brave dishes Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scaled fishes; Thy trout and thy grailing may now feed securely, I've left none behind me can take 'em so surely; Feed on then, and breed on, until the next year, But if I return I expect my arrear. By pacing and trotting betimes in the even, But he needed it more when he went, than he came; Next morn, having paid for boil'd, roasted, and Hold, hold, my spruce host! for i' th' morning We found it so good, and we drank so profoundly, so early, That four good round shillings were whipt away I never drink liquor but what's made of barley." Which words were scarce out, but, which made me admire, My lordship was presently turn'd into 'squire: "Ale, 'squire, you mean?" quoth he nimbly again, "What, must it be purl'd ?"-" No, I love it best plain." "Why, if you'll drink ale, sir, pray take my advice, Here's the best ale i' th' land, if you'll go to the price; Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple ; For the best ale in England, it is not too much : I thank'd her; but told her, I then could not stay, Should nowhere afford better accommodation: A trepan was for bottles had broken their scull; Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it. Mine host pour'd and fill'd, till he could fill no fuller: "Look here, sir," quoth he, "both for nap and for colour, Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do't; years, And have drank so much liquor has made me a debtor, In my days, that I know of, I never drank better: roundly; And then I conceived it was time to be jogging, For our work had been done, had we stay'd t' other noggin. From thence we set forth with more mettle and spright, Our horses were empty, our coxcombs were light; O'er Dellamore forest we, tantivy, posted, Till our horses were basted as if they were roasted: In truth, we pursued might have been by our haste, And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop so fast, Till about two o'clock after noon, God be blest, We came, safe and sound, all to Chester i' th' west. And now in high time 'twas to call for some meat, Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat; And i' faith we had victuals both plenty and good, Where we all laid about us as if we were wood : Go thy ways, mistress Anderton, for a good woman, Thy guests shall by thee ne'er be turn'd to a common; And whoever of thy entertainment complains, And here I must stop the career of my Muse, horse: To-night let us rest, for 'tis good Sunday's even, To-morrow to church, and ask pardon of Heaven. Thus far we our time spent, as here I have penn'd it, An odd kind of life, and 'tis well if we mend it: But to-morrow (God willing) we'll have t' other bout, And better or worse be't, for murder will out, Our future adventures we'll lay down before ye, For my Muse is deep sworn to use truth of the story. CANTO II. AFTER seven hours' sleep, to commute for pains taken, A man of himself, one would think, might awaken; When straight I perceived myself all on a fire; For the two fore-named things had so heated my blood, That a little phlebotomy would do me good: I sent for chirurgion, who came in a trice, And swift to shed blood, needed not be called twice, But tilted stiletto quite thorough the vein, From whence issued out the ill humours amain; When having twelve ounces, he bound up my arm, And I gave him two Georges, which did him no harm : But after my bleeding, I soon understood It had cool'd my devotion as well as my blood; I fell to my smoking until I grew dull; Had my clothes neatly brush'd, and then put on my sword, Resolved now to go and attend on the word. Thus trick'd, and thus trim, to set forth I begin, I scorned (forsooth) to join pray'r with the crowd; As 't were, scorning to kneel but in the best place. But however, I stay'd at the church's commanding Till we came to the "Peace passes all understanding," Which no sooner was ended, but whir and away, Like boys in a school when they 've leave got to play; All save master mayor, who still gravely stays Till the rest had left room for his worship and 's mace: Then he and his brethren in order appear, In this rev'rend order we marched from pray'r; Till the pavement, too hard, by my knuckles was kiss'd; By which, though thick-skull'd, he must understand this, That I was a most humble servant of his; Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted. crupper, But his man was there too, to invite me to supper: But begg'd his excuse, for my stomach was small, But that after supper I would kiss his hands, The man, upon this, comes me running again, Where lights being brought me, I mounted the stairs, The worst I e'er saw in my life at a mayor's: |