And if thou getteft but a pedant's fee,
Thy bed, thy board, and courfer livery,
O honour far beyond a brazen shrine,
To fit with Tarleton on an ale poft's figne!
Who had but lived in Auguftus' dayes,
'Thad been fome honour to be crown'd with bayes;
When Lucan stretched on his marble bed
To think of Cæfar, and great Pompey's deed:
Or when Achelaus fhav'd his mourning head,
Soon as he heard Stefichorus was dead.
At least, would fome good body of the rest
Set a gold pen on their baye-wreathed creft;
Or would their face in ftamped coin expreffe,
As did the Mytelens their poeteffe.
Now as it is, befhrew him if he might,
That would his browes with Cafar's laurell dight.
Though what ail'd me, I might not well as they
Rake up fome furworne tales that smother'd lay
In chimney corners fmoak'd with winter fires,
To read and rock afleep our drowsy fires?
No man his threshold better knowes, than I
Brute's first arrival, and first victory;
Saint George's forrell, or his croffe of blood,
Arthur's round board, or Caledonian wood,
Or holy battles of bold Charlemaine,
What were his knights did Salen's fiege maintaine:
How the mad rival of faire Angelice
Was phyfick'd from the new-found paradise.
High ftories they, which with their fwelling straine
Have riven Frontoe's broad rehearsal plaine.
But fo to fill up books, both backe and fide,
What needs it? Are there not enow befide?

age well thriven and well fortunate,
When each man hath a mufe apropriate;
And the, like to fome fervile eare-bor'd flave
Muft play and fing when and what he'd have!
Would that were all-fmall fault in number lies,
Were not the feare from whence it fhould arise.'
But can it be ought but a fpurious feed
That growes fo rife in fuch unlikely speed?
Sith Pontian left his barren wife at home,
And spent two years at Venice and at Rome,
Returned, hears his bleffing afk'd of three,
Cries out, O Julian law! adultery!
Though Labeo reaches right (who can deny ?)
The true ftrains of heroick poefy:
For he can tell how fury reft his fenfe,
And Phœbus fill'd him with intelligence.
He can implore the heathen deities

To guide his b Id and bufy enterprize;

Or fiich whole pages at a clap for need
From honest Petrarch, clad in English weed;
Wile big but ob's! each ftanza can begin,

Whofe trunk and taile fluttish and heartleffe been.

He knowes the grace of that new elegance,
Which sweet Philifides fetch'd of late from France,
That well befeem'd his high-stil'd Arcady,
Though others marre it with much liberty,
In epithets to joine two wordes in one
Forfooth, for adjectives can't stand alone:
As a great poet could of Bacchus fay,
That he was Semele-femori-gena.

Lastly he names the spirit of Aftrophel;
Now hath not Labeo done wondrous well?
But ere his Mufe her weapon learn to wield,
Or dance a fober pirrhicke in the field,
Or marching wade in blood up to the knees,
Her arma virum goes by two degrees,
The fheepe-cote firft hath beene her uurfery
Where the hath worne her idle infancy,
And in high startups walk'd the paftur'd plaines,
To tend her tasked herd that there remaincs,
And winded ftill a pipe of oate or breare,
Striving for wages who the praise fhall beare;
As did whilere the homely Carmelite,
Following Virgil, and he Theocrite;
Or elfe hath beene in Venus' chamber train'd
To play with Cupid, till she had attain'd
To comment well upon a beauteous face,
Then was the fit for an heroic place;
As witty Pontan in great earnest said,
His miftrefs' breafts were like two weights of lead,
Another thinks her teeth might liken'd be
To two faire rankes of pales of ivory,
To fence in fure the wild beaft of her tongue,
From either going far, or going wrong;
Her grinders like two chalk-ftones in a mill,
Which fhall with time and wearing waxe as ill
As old Catillaes, which wont every night
Lay up her holy pegs till next day-light,
And with them grind foft-fimpring all the day,
When, left her laughter fhould her gums bewray,
Her hands must hide her mouth if the but fimile;
Faine would fhe feeme all frixe and frolicke ftill.
Her forehead faire is like a brazen hill
Whofe wrinkled furrows which her age doth breed
Are dawbed full of Venice chalke for need:
Her eyes like filver faucers faire befet
With fhining amber, and with fhady let,
Her lids like Cupid's bow cafe, where he hides
The weapons that doth wound the wanton cy'd:
Her chin like Pindus, or Parnaffus hill,
Where down defcends th' o'erflowing stream doth
fill

The well of her faire mouth.-Each hath his

BIND
IND ye my browes with mourning cypariffe,
And palifh twigs of deadlie poplar tree,
Or if fome fadder fhades ye can devife,
Those fadder shades vaile my light-loathing eie:
I loath the laurel-bandes I loved best,
And all that maketh mirth and pleasant reft.

If ever breath diffolv'd the world to teares,
Or hollow cries made heaven's vault refound:
If ever fhrieks were founded out fo cleare,
That all the worlds waft might heare around: [cries,
Be mine the breath, the teares, the fhrikes, the
Yet ftill my griefe unfeene, unfounded lies.

Thou flattering Sun, that ledst this loathed light,
Why didft thou in thy faffron-robes arife?
Or foldft not up the day in drearie night?
And wakit the wefterne worldes amazed eies?
And never more rife from the ocean,

To make the morn, or chafe night-shades again.

Heare we no bird of day, or dawning morne,
To greet the fun, or glad the waking eare:
Sing out ye fcrich-owles lowder then aforne,
And ravens blacke of night; of death of driere:
And all ye barking foules yet never scene,
That fill the moonleffe night with hideous din.
Now fhall the wanton Devils daunce in rings
In everie mede, and everie heath hore:
The Elvish Faeries, and the Gobelins:
The hoofed Satyres filent heretofore:

Religion, Vertue, Mufes, holie mirth
Have now forfworne the late forfaken earth.

Religions hold, Earth's choice, and Heaven's love,
Patterne of Vertue, patron of Mufes fage:
All thefe and more were Whitaker's alone,
Now they in him, and he and all are gone.

Heaven, Earth, Nature, Death, and every Fate,
Thus fpoild the careleffe world of woonted joy:
Whiles each repin'd at others pleafing ftate,
And all agreed to work the world's aunoy:
Heaven ftrove with Earth, Destiny gave the
doome,

That Death fhould Earth and Nature overcome,

Earth takes one part, when forced Nature fendes
The foul, to flit into the yeelding skie;
Sorted by death into their fatal ends,
Foreseene, forefett from all eternitie:

Deftinie by Death spoyl'd feeble Natures frame,
Earth was defpoyl'd when Heaven overcame.
Ah, coward Nature, and more cruell Death,
Envying Heaven, and unworthy mold,
Unweildy carkaffe and unconftant breath,
That did fo lightly leave your living hold:
How have ye all confpir'd our hopeleffe fpight,
And wrapt us up in Griefes eternall night.

Bafe Nature yeeldes, imperious Death com

maundes.

Heaven defires, durft lowly duft denie?
The Fates decreed, no mortall might withstand,
The fpirit leaves his load, and lets it lie.

The fenceleffe corpes corrupts in fweeter clay,
And waytes for worms to waste it quite away.

Now ginne your triumphes, Death and Deftinies, And let the trembling world witnefle your waft: Now let blacke Orphney raife his gaftly neighes, And trample high, and hellifh fome outcaft:

Shake he the earth and teare the hollow fkies, That all may feele and feare your victories.

And after your triumphant chariot,

Drag the pale corpes that thus you did to die,
To thew what goodly conquefts ye have got,
To fright the world, and fill the woondring eie:
Millions of lives, of deaths no conquest were,
Compared with one onely Whitakere.