XXX.

VERSES ADDRESSED TO KING JAMES I.1

(By Sir Arthur Gorges. Jan. 1, 1609-(10).)

F many now that sound with hope's

consort

Your wisdom, bounty, and peaceblessed reign,

My skill is least; but of the most import,

Because not schooled by favours, gifts, or gain: And, that which more approves my truthful lays, To sweet my tunes I strain not flattery's string, But hold that temper in your royal praise

That long I did, before you were my king; As one that virtue for itself regards,

And loves his king more than his king's rewards.

XXXI.

EPITAPHS ON PRINCE HENRY.2

(Died Nov. 6, 1612.)

I.

AIR Britain's Prince, in the April of his years,

The heaven, enamoured with his

springing grace,

1 Printed from the original MS. in the British Museum, in "Restituta," vol. iv. p. 509.

2" Mausoleum, or the choicest flowers of the Epitaphs' on Prince Henry; Edinburgh, 1613; reprinted by Mr. D. Laing, 1825.

Reft to herself for to enrich the spheres,
And shine next Cynthia in the starry chase.
And well enjoy he might so high a place;
For frowning Neptune's liquid field of fears,
And this poor mote of dust that all upbears,

To his great mind seemed too-too small a space.
Yet it his corse doth keep; dear pledge! o'er which
Affection's flames huge pyramids doth raise,
All graven with golden letters of his praise.
But, ah! deprived of a gem so rich,

Great Britain now but great to all appears
In her great loss, and oceans of tears.

IGNOTO.

II.

ZHY, pilgrim, dost thou stray
By Asia's floods renowned;

W

Or where great Atlas, crowned With clouds, him reaches 'bove heaven's milky way,

Strange wonders to behold?

By Isis' streams if thou'lt but deign to stay, One thou shalt find surpassing all the told; For there's in little room

The prince of men['s], and man of princes', tomb.

IGNOTO.

III.

ERE lies the world's delight,

Dead to our sight, but in eternal light.
These nine who by him moan,

The Muses were, alas!

But, through his fatal case,

Are changed like wailing Niobe in stone.
She, clad in sable robes,

Who, in a deadly sleep,

Such pearly streams pours from her crystal globes,
Is Virtue, that complains

She wanteth Argus' hundred eyes to weep,
Or Iris' silver rains.

That winged Penthesileia in the air

Fame is, his praise who rolls

"Twixt both the starry poles.

With earnest eyes to skies, and bay-crowned hair,
Installed on Virtue's throne,

This ghostly sire that tramples pale Despair,
Brave Honour's called, who scorns to give a groan;
For in the programme of his life he reads,
Men's hopes of Him surmount Alcides' deeds.

IGNOTO.

XXXII.

THE MIND OF THE FRONTISPIECE TO

RALEIGH'S HISTORY OF THE

F

WORLD.'

(By Ben Jonson. 1614.)

ROM death and dark oblivion, near the

same,

The mistress of man's life, grave
History,

Raising the world to good or evil fame,
Doth vindicate it to Eternity.

High Providence would so, that nor the good

Might be defrauded, nor the great secured; But both might know their ways are understood, And the reward and punishment assured. This makes that, lighted by the beamy hand

OfTruth, which searcheth the most hidden springs, And guided by Experience, whose straight wand Doth mete, whose line doth sound, the depth of things,

She cheerfully supporteth what she rears,
Assisted by no strengths but are her own;
Some note of which each varied pillar bears,
By which, as proper titles, she is known—
Time's Witness, Herald of Antiquity,
The Light of Truth, and Life of Memory.

Prefixed anonymously to Raleigh's "History," but claimed in Ben Jonson's "Underwoods," No. xlii., with several variations.

XXXIII.

TO THE KING'

(CHARLES I.).

(By George Sandys. Born 1577; died 1644.)

UR graver Muse from her long dream awakes;

Peneian groves and Cirrha's caves
forsakes;

Inspired with zeal, she climbs the ethereal hills
Of Solyma, where bleeding balm distils;
Where trees of life unfading youth assure,
And living waters all diseases cure;
Where the sweet singer, in celestial lays,
Sung to his solemn harp Jehovah's praise.
From that fallen Temple on her wings she bears
Those heavenly raptures to your sacred ears.
Not that her bare and humble feet aspire
To mount the threshold of the harmonious choir;
But that at once she might oblations bring
To God, and tribute to a god-like king.

And since no narrow verse such mysteries,
Deep sense, and high expressions could comprise,
Her labouring wings a larger compass fly,
And Poesy resolves with Poesy;

Lest she, who in the Orient clearly rose,
Should in your Western world obscurely close.

Prefixed to Sandys' "Paraphrase upon the Psalms of David," 1636.