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THE SELF-BANISHED.

Ir is not that I love you less,
Than when before your feet I lay;
But to prevent the sad increase

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,
Already has a fever got,

Too late begins those shafts to shun,
Which Phoebus through his veins has shot.

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,
Defends us ill from Mira's charms:

Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye,
Quit all that Lely's art can take,
And yet a thousand captives make.

Her speech is graced with sweeter sound
Than in another's song is found;
And all her well-placed words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts.
As the bright stars and Milky-way,
Show'd by the night, are hid by day;

So we, in that accomplish'd mind,
Help'd by the night, new graces find,
Which by the splendour of her view,
Dazzled before, we never knew.

While we converse with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark:
Her shining image is a light
Fix'd in our hearts, and conquers night.
Like jewels to advantage set,
Her beauty by the shade does get;
There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our passion might restrain,
Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Presents the fair idea kind.

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,
Only the English make it their abode,
Whose ready sails with every wind can fly,
And make a covenant with th' inconstant sky:
Our oaks secure as if they there took root,
We tread on billows with a steady foot.

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
Or unto short journies, or pilgrimages,
As men to their inns do come sooner or later,
That is, to their ends (to be plain in my matter);
From whence when one dead is, it currently follows,
He has run his race, though his goal be the
gallows;

And this 'tis, I fancy, sets folks so a madding,
And makes men and women so eager of gadding;
Truth is, in my youth I was one of these people
Would have gone a great way to have seen an high
steeple,

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,
And thought there was nothing so pleasant and
brave:

But at forty years old you may (if you please)
Think me wiser than run such errands as these ;
Or, had the same humour still ran in my toes,
A voyage to Ireland I ne'er should have chose;
But to tell you the truth on't, indeed it was neither
Improvement nor pleasure for which I went thither;
I know then you'll presently ask me for what?
Why, faith, it was that makes the old woman trot;
And therefore I think I'm not much to be blamed
If I went to the place whereof Nick was ashamed.
O Coryate! thou traveller famed as Ulysses,
In such a stupendous labour as this is,
Come lend me the aids of thy hands and thy feet,
Though the first be pedantic, the other not sweet,
Yet both are so restless in peregrination,
They'll help both my journey, and eke my relation.

'Twas now the most beautiful time of the year,
The days were now long, and the sky was now clear,
And May, that fair lady of splendid renown,
Had dress'd herself fine, in her flower'd tabby gown,
When about some two hours and an half after noon,
When it grew something late, though I thought it

too soon,

With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart,
I tuned up my pipes to sing "loth to depart;"
The ditty concluded, I call'd for my horse,
And with a good pack did the jument endorse,

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,
Ere the sun had forsaken one half of the Heaven,
We all at fair Congerton took up our inn,
Where the sign of a king kept a king and his queen:
But who do you think came to welcome me there?
No worse a man, marry, than good master mayor,
With his staff of command, yet the man was not
lame,

But he needed it more when he went, than he came;
After three or four hours of friendly potation
We took leave each of other in courteous fashion,
When each one, to keep his brains fast in his head,
Put on a good nightcap, and straightway to bed.

Next morn, having paid for boil'd, roasted, and

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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 ;
But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a bottle."
"Why, faith," quoth I, " friend, if your liquor be
such,

For the best ale in England, it is not too much :
Let's have it, and quickly."-"O sir! you may stay;
A pot in your pate is a mile in your way:
Come, bring out a bottle here presently, wife,
Of the best Cheshire hum he e'er drank in his life."
Straight out comes the mistress in waistcoat of silk,
As clear as a milkmaid, as white as her milk,
With visage as oval and sleek as an egg,
As straight as an arrow, as right as my leg :
A curtsey she made, as demure as a sister,
I could not forbear, but alighted and kiss'd her:
Then ducking another with most modest mien,
The first word she said, was, "Will't please you
walk in ?"

I thank'd her; but told her, I then could not stay,
For the haste of my bus'ness did call me away.
She said, she was sorry it fell out so odd,
But if, when again I should travel that road,
I would stay there a night, she assured me the
nation

Should nowhere afford better accommodation:
Meanwhile my spruce landlord has broken the cork,
And call'd for a bodkin, though he had a fork;
But I show'd him a screw, which I told my brisk
gull

A trepan was for bottles had broken their scull;
Which, as it was true, he believed without doubt,
But 'twas I that apply'd it, and pull'd the cork out.
Bounce, quoth the bottle, the work being done,
It roar'd, and it smoked, like a new-fired gun;
But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been
routed,

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;
I defy Leek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich, to boot."
By my troth, he said true, for I speak it with tears,
Though I have been a toss-pot these twenty good

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,
Let him lie with a drab, and be pox'd for his pains.

And here I must stop the career of my Muse,
The poor jade is weary, 'las! how should she choose?
And if I should farther here spur on my course,
I should, questionless, tire both my wits and my

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;
But riding, and drinking hard, were two such spells,
I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of bells,
Which, ringing to matins all over the town,
Made me leap out of bed, and put on my gown,
With intent (so God mend me) I have gone to the
choir,

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;
For I had no more mind to look on my psalter,
Than (saving your presence) I had to a halter;
But, like a most wicked and obstinate sinner,
Then sat in my chamber till folks came to dinner :
I dined with good stomach, and very good cheer,
With a very fine woman, and good ale and beer;
When myself having stuff'd than a bagpipe more
full,

I fell to my smoking until I grew dull;
And, therefore, to take a fine nap thought it best,
For when belly full is, bones would be at rest:
I tumbled me down on my bed like a swad,
Where, O! the delicious dream that I had!
Till the bells, that had been my morning molesters,
Now waked me again, chiming all in to vespers ;
With that starting up, for my man I did whistle,
And comb'd out and powder'd my locks that were
grizzle ;

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,
Neat and cleanly without, but scarce cleanly within;
For why, Heaven knows it, I long time had been
A most humble obedient servant to sin :
And now in devotion was even so proud,

I scorned (forsooth) to join pray'r with the crowd;
For though courted by all the bells as I went,
I was deaf, and regarded not the compliment,
But to the cathedral still held on my pace,

As 't were, scorning to kneel but in the best place.
I there made myself sure of good music at least,
But was something deceived, for 'twas none of the
best:

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,
I out of my stall, and fell into his rear;
For why, 'tis much safer appearing, no doubt,
In authority's tail, than the head of a rout.

In this rev'rend order we marched from pray'r;
The mace before me borne as well as the may'r;
Who looking behind him, and seeing most plain
A glorious gold belt in the rear of his train,
Made such a low congé, forgetting his place,
I was never so honour'd before in my days:
But then off went my scalp-case, and down went
my fist,

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;
Which also so wonderful kindly he took,
(As I well perceived both b' his gesture and look,)
That to have me dogg'd home he straightway ap-
pointed,

Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted.
I was scarce in my quarters, and set down on

crupper,

But his man was there too, to invite me to supper:
I start up, and after most respective fashion
Gave his worship' much thanks for his kind in-
vitation ;

But begg'd his excuse, for my stomach was small,
And I never did eat any supper at all;

But that after supper I would kiss his hands,
And would come to receive his worship's commands.
Sure no one will say, but a patron of slander,
That this was not pretty well for a Moorlander:
And since on such reasons to sup I refused,
I nothing did doubt to be holden excused;
But my quaint repartee had his worship possess'd
With so wonderful good a conceit of the rest,
That with mere impatience he hop'd in his breech e
To see the fine fellow that made such fine speeches:
"Go, sirrah!" quoth he, "get you to him again,
And will and require, in his majesty's name,
That he come; and tell him, obey he were best, or
I'll teach him to know that he's now in West-
Chester."

The man, upon this, comes me running again,
But yet minced his message, and was not so plain;
Saying to me only, "Good sir, I am sorry
To tell you my master has sent again for you;
And has such a longing to have you his guest,
That I, with these ears, heard him swear and

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Where lights being brought me, I mounted the stairs,

The worst I e'er saw in my life at a mayor's:
But every thing else must be highly commended.
I there found his worship most nobly attended,
Besides such a supper as well did convince,
A may'r in his province to be a great prince;
As he sat in his chair, he did not much vary,
In state nor in face, from our eighth English Harry;
But whether his face was swell'd up with fat,
Or puff'd up with glory, I cannot tell that.
Being enter'd the chamber half length of a pike,
And cutting of faces exceedingly like [Indies,
One of those little gentlemen brought from the
And screwing myself into congés and cringes,

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