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 Poetical works, now first collected from 
 
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THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 
 WILLIAM STRODE 
 
 (1600-1645) 
 
THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 
 WILLIAM STRODE 
 
 (1600^1645) 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED FROM MANUSCRIPT AND 
 PRINTED SOURCES . TO WHICH IS ADDED 
 
 THE FLOATING ISLAND 
 
 A TRAGI-COMEDY 
 
 NOW FIRST REPRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL 
 EDITION OF 165s 
 
 EDITED BY BERTRAM DOBELL 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 His body sleeps, but not his better part, 
 And death is vanquished by victorious art 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR 
 
 CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. 
 
 1907 
 
 V) 
 
f^ ' w«» V C> -^- ** 
 
 / 
 
TO 
 
 PERCY SIMPSON, M.J. 
 
 Dear Mr. Simpson, 
 
 This book owes so much to your zealous 
 and disinterested services in the collection and 
 revision of its materials that I should be un- 
 grateful indeed if I did not dedicate it to you, 
 in default of any better method of expressing 
 
 my thanks. 
 
 Tours faithfully y 
 
 BERTRAM DOBELL 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 [In the following list those poems which have never before been 
 
 printed (so far as the editor has been able to ascertain) are 
 
 distinguished by a *] 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication v 
 
 Contents ... vii 
 
 Introduction xiii 
 
 Lyrics : 
 
 Song: "When Orpheus sweetly did complayne" . i 
 
 In commendation of Musick 2 
 
 " Keepe on your maske " 3 
 
 Another version 4 
 
 " O when will Cupid shew such arte "... 6 
 
 " O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde "... 7 
 
 On the Baths g 
 
 "As I out of a casement sent " . . . 11 
 
 On a Friend's Absence . ... 13 
 
 MelanchoUy 14 
 
 Opposite to MelanchoUy 15 
 
 *A Translation of the Nightingale out of Strada ... 16 
 Miscellaneous Poems : 
 
 *On Westwell Downes 20 
 
 *On a great hollow Tree 21 
 
 On Fayrford Windowes 25 
 
 On a Gentlewoman's blistred lipp 28 
 
 vii 
 
PAGE 
 
 To a Gentlewoman for a Friend 29 
 
 For a Gentleman, who, kissing his Friend at his departure, 
 
 left a sign of blood on her 32 
 
 On a Dissembler 33 
 
 *On Gray Eyes 35 
 
 *On a Gentlewoman's Watch that wanted a key ... 36 
 
 A Watch sent home to Mrs. Eliz. King .... 38 
 
 *On a watch made by a Blacksmith 38 
 
 On a Gentlewoman that sung and play'd upon a Lute . 39 
 
 Upon the blush of a faire Ladie 39 
 
 On a Gentlewoman walking in the Snowe .... 41 
 
 On Chloris standing by the Fire 42 
 
 To a Valentine 42 
 
 *A Superscription on Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia . 43 
 
 ♦Posies 43 
 
 On the Picture of two Dolphins in a Fountayne ... 46 
 
 Sonnet : " My love and I for kisses play'd " ... 47 
 
 To his Mistress " In your sterne beauty I can see " . . 47 
 
 A Lover to his Mistress 48 
 
 *A Riddle : on a Kiss 48 
 
 On a Gentlewoman that had had the small poze . 49 
 
 *On Jealousy 49 
 
 Religious Poems : 
 
 Of Death & Resurrection 50 
 
 On the Bible 51 
 
 •On a Register for the Bible 52 
 
 ♦Another 53 
 
 Anthem for Good Fryday 53 
 
 ♦An Antheme 54 
 
 Justification 55 
 
 On the Life of Man 55 
 
 Elegies : 
 
 On the death of of Mrs. Mary Neudham .... 57 
 viii 
 
PAGE 
 
 *On the Death of Mistress Mary Prideaux .... 58 
 
 *On the same M. M. P 59 
 
 *ConsoIatorium, Ad Parentes 61 
 
 Her Epitaph 62 
 
 On the Death of Sir The. Peltham 64 
 
 On the Death of a Twin] 66 
 
 ♦On the yong Baronett Portman 66 
 
 On the Death of Dr. Lancton 68 
 
 *0n Dr. Lancton's death 70 
 
 On the Death of Sir Thomas Lea 71 
 
 *An Epitaph on Sr. John Walter 73 
 
 Remembrances of the renowned Knight, Sir Rowland 
 
 Cotton 75 
 
 On the death of Sir Rowland Cotton, seconding that of Sir 
 
 Robert 76 
 
 To the Right Honourable the Lady Penelope, Dowager 
 
 of the late Viscount Bayning 77 
 
 On the death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount 
 
 Bayning 77 
 
 *On the Death of the Ladie Cssar 80 
 
 •An Epitaph on Mr. Fishborne 82 
 
 ♦On the Death of Mr. James Van Otton 85 
 
 ♦On Sir Thomas Savill dying of the small pox ... 86 
 
 ♦Epitaph on Mr. Bridgman 87 
 
 Epistles : 
 
 To his Sister 88 
 
 ♦To Sir Jo. Ferrars 88 
 
 ♦To the same 90 
 
 ♦To the same 92 
 
 ♦To Sir Edm. Ling 93 
 
 ♦To the Lady Knighton 94 
 
 To Mr. Rives uppon his Recovery 95 
 
 ♦A New Year's Gift 98 
 
 To a Friend 99 
 
 b ix 
 
PAGE 
 
 A Letter loo 
 
 With Penne, Inke, and Paper to a distressed Friend . . loi 
 
 Thanks for a Welcome 102 
 
 Humourous Poems : 
 
 A Paralell between Bowling and Preferment . .103 
 
 The Capps 104 
 
 On a good legg and foot .... . . 108 
 
 On John Dawson (Butler of C.C.) no 
 
 Jacke-on-both-sides in 
 
 *Chimney-Sweeper's Song in 
 
 A Devonshire Song 114 
 
 Upon the Sheriifs Beere 118 
 
 Love compared to a game of tables iig 
 
 On a butcher Marrying a Tanner's Daughter . . iig 
 
 *Inscription and Epitaphs on the Monument of Sir William 
 
 Strode 120 
 
 Doubtful Pieces : 
 
 A Sonnet : " Mourne, mourne, yee lovers " . . 123 
 
 „ " Sing aloud, harmonious sphears " . 124 
 
 Obsequies 125 
 
 Upon Heaven's best Image, his faire and vertuous Mistress 126 
 
 On his Mistress, " Gaze not on Swans "... . 128 
 
 Song : " As I my flocks lay keeping " 130 
 
 „ " Thoughts do not vexe me whilst I sleepe " . . 130 
 
 Upon a Gentlewoman's Entertainment of him . . . 131 
 
 On Alma's Voyce 132 
 
 Upon a Picture 133 
 
 " Come let us howle some heavy note " . . 134 
 
 ♦To his Paper 135 
 
 ♦To the same 136 
 
PAGE 
 
 THE FLOATING ISLAND 137 
 
 Additional Notes to the Poems 241 
 
 Notes to " The Floating Island " 254 
 
 Strada's Nightingale : the original poem 264 
 
 List of Strode's Latin verses 268 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Four years since I was fortunate enough to discover and 
 make known a seventeenth-century poet of remarkable gifts, 
 whose works, it was generally acknowledged, were not merely 
 well worthy of being rescued from the oblivion which had 
 enshrouded them, but were destined henceforth to take their 
 place beside those of such poets as Herbert, Crashaw, and 
 Vaughan. Only one thing in my life ever gave me more 
 pleasure than this, namely, the discovery whilst he was 
 living, and whilst it was within my power to help him, of 
 the author of " The City of Dreadful Night." A service 
 rendered to the living must needs be a source of greater 
 gratification than one rendered to the dead. But since I 
 cannot hope to have the pleasure of befriending a second 
 James Thomson it gives me much delight to rescue from 
 oblivion another undeservedly forgotten poet. For nearly 
 three hundred years William Strode has waited to receive 
 the recognition which is due to him ; henceforth I believe it 
 will be impossible to pass him over when reviewing the 
 literary history of the generation which succeeded that of 
 the great Shakespearean epoch. 
 Excepting the case of Thomas Campion, who was so 
 
 c xiii 
 
fortunately rescued from obscurity or oblivion by Mr, A. H. 
 Bullen, I know of no parallel in English literature to the way 
 in which fate or chance has treated WiUiam Strode. The 
 case of Traherne, strange as it is, differs from that of Strode, 
 since the former, until the discovery of his manuscripts, never 
 had a name as a poet, whereas the latter had, at any rate 
 during his lifetime, a considerable reputation as a fine artist 
 in verse. 
 
 Strode's Play entitled " The Floating Island " was pub. 
 lished at London in 1655. An interesting address " To the 
 Reader " is prefixed to it, from which I will now quote only 
 the last sentence : "If you bid this welcome, you'll be gainers 
 by it, you'l encourage us to publish other Pieces of this 
 Authors, which (we dare say) will convince you to say (what 
 the best and most knowing of this nation have confessed) that 
 our Author was one of the most judicious wits of England." 
 
 It would seem that the play did not receive the welcome 
 which was solicited for it, for it did not lead to the publica- 
 tion of its author's other works. It is evident, however, from 
 the sentence I have quoted, and from other indications, that 
 he had a very high reputation with his contemporaries. An 
 advertisement of " The Floating Island " at the end of 
 Selden's " eEANGPflnos : or God made Man," describes 
 him as " that renowned wit " — a phrase that meant more then 
 than it means now. The poems of no author of the time 
 were more frequently copied into the manuscript common- 
 place books of the first half of the seventeenth century, and 
 many of his pieces found their way into print through the 
 medium of such miscellanies as "Musarum Deliciae," "Par- 
 nassus Biceps," and " Wit Restor'd," though as no name was 
 xiv 
 
appended to them he gained no credit from their publication. 
 But before going further it will be best to record the events 
 of his hfe, so far as we know them, and so far as they can be 
 gathered from the various authorities. 
 
 William Strode was a scion of a good old Devonshire 
 family which traces its descent from one Adam, who in the 
 reign of King Henry III, added Strode to his name because 
 he then had an habitation so-called in the parish of Erming- 
 ton, near Modbury in Devonshire. When King Edward I. 
 sent his herald into Devonshire to summon gentlemen to his 
 assistance in the war against the King of Scotland, Adam 
 Strode, of Strode, Esq., as appears from the Rolls in the 
 Tower, was amongst those who were summoned. 
 
 There is no proper genealogical accoimt of the Strode 
 family or families — or at least I have not succeeded in finding 
 one. They appear to have been a remarkably prolific race ; 
 and it is hard, if not impossible, to disentangle the truth from 
 the various records which we have of them.* There were 
 Strodes in Dorset and Somerset, as well as in Devon, and the 
 name William was a favourite one with all of them. This 
 multiplicity of Williams has created much confusion. In the 
 first half of the seventeenth century there were five or six 
 William Strodes, most of whom were men of mark, and 
 between whom it is often difficult to distinguish. 
 
 * One of the earliest Strodes of whom we have any account was 
 Ralph Strode, schoolman and fellow of Merton College, Oxford, 
 where he had John Wycliffe for a colleague. To him, together with 
 John Gower, Chaucer dedicated his<'Troylus and Cryseide." He 
 was a man of remarkable ability and character : but whether he was 
 in any way related to the Devonshire Strodes does not appear. 
 
 XV 
 
According to Wood, in his " Athens Oxonienses," William 
 Strode was " the only son of Philip Strode, sometimes living 
 near Phmpton, and he a younger son of Sir Rich. Strode, of 
 Newenham or Newinham in Devonshire." Prince, however, 
 in his " Worthies of Devon " gives a different account. The 
 poet, he says, — " received^his first breath about the year of 
 our Lord, 1600, and was the only son of Philip, by Wilmot, his 
 wife, daughter of Hanton, fourth son of William (not Sir 
 Richard Strode, as a certain author tells us) of Newnham, 
 near Plymouth, Esq. ; by Elizabeth, his wife, daughter and 
 heir to William Courtenay, of Loughtor, near adjoining to 
 Newnham." Whether Wood or Prince is right on this matter 
 I have not been able to ascertain ; though we may perhaps 
 assume that Prince would not have spoken so positively if he 
 had not carefully investigated the matter. However, the 
 point is not of the first importance : we may be sure that 
 the poet, like the rest of us, had a grandfather ; and not 
 many, I suppose, will concern themselves very much as to 
 who that grandfather may have been. All authorities, 
 however, are agreed that the poet's father was Philip Strode, 
 and that he was an only son, though he had certainly one 
 sister, if no more. 
 
 We cannot tell precisely when William Strode was bom. 
 It was probably late in the year 1600, or early in 1601, that 
 that event occurred. Nor do we know where he was bom, 
 though we may infer that it was at or near Plympton, in 
 Devon. 
 
 As usual in the case of almost all persons, however fa- 
 mous, bom before the eighteenth century, we have practi- 
 cally no account of Strode's boyhood and youth. The only 
 xvi 
 
■writer who gives us any information on the subject is 
 Prince : and as his account, though not very illuminating, is 
 the only one available, I will quote it, rather than para- 
 phrase it : — 
 
 " His relations observing in him a great vivacity of parts, and 
 a genius inclining him to books and learning, kept him close 
 at school in the country for some years : until at length they 
 found an opportunity of sending him to the college-school at 
 AXi'"estminister ; which to them who are able to accomplish it 
 in behalf of their sons, is like to prove doubly advantageous, 
 for there, from a better method and discipline than what is 
 generally observed in country schools boys learn better ; and 
 also, that thence they are in a fairer way of preferment, as 
 being likely to be chosen into one or other of those noble 
 societies and famous nurseries of learning and vertue, Christ- 
 Church in Oxford, or Trinity-College in Cambridge. From this 
 school accordingly was William Strode (now excellently im- 
 proved in the tongues and classick authors) elected a student 
 of Christ-Church aforesaid. The author of the History and 
 Antiquities of the University of Oxford tells us it was in 
 the year of our Lord 1621, and of his age the 19th ; but the 
 same author, having better considered it, tells us elsewhere 
 it was in the sixteenth year of his age, and of our Lord 1617 : 
 Which last account seems the most probable. Being now 
 placed in his proper sphere, Mr. Strode soon began to display 
 the bright and warm beams of his wit and learning, as well to 
 an happy influence on others, as to his own great credit and 
 reputation : For even his younger and more juvenile years 
 were not spent without great usefulness and advantage 
 especially upon account of his extraordinary performances 
 
 xvii 
 
both in poetry and oratory : Faculties which seldom occur in 
 perfection in one and the same person. In the year 1621, 
 December 6th he took his first degree of arts ; and June 
 17th, 1624, he proceeded master. Soon after this he took 
 holy orders, and became a most florid preacher in the uni- 
 versity. In the year 1629, he was chosen one of the proctors 
 thereof ; and for his great eloquence, the publick orator : a 
 gentile and reputable post ; whose office it is, in the name of 
 the university, to entertain princes and other great personages, 
 with set orations, as their occasions or inclinations shall invite 
 them thither ; to write the publick letters and the like. So that 
 he may be called the mouth of the university ; according to his 
 own expression in a letter congratulatory sent in her name to 
 his Majesty King Charles I., which thus began, ' Cum in 
 corpore Academiae sim ipse lingua.' A place that requires as 
 weU parts as prudence, to honour it aright with honour and 
 reputation ; yet herein did Mr. Strode acquit himself to a 
 general satisfaction." 
 
 To the above account of Strode's early career at the Uni- 
 versity there is not much to be added. It is evident that he 
 was eminently well fitted for his chosen career, and that no 
 other way of life would have suited him so well. He made 
 Oxford his home, and it seems apparent that he never left it 
 willingly, and that when he was compelled to do so he always 
 returned to it as soon as possible. He entered fully into the 
 life of the University, and certainly gained the respect if not 
 the affection of all who were connected with it. Very early 
 after becoming an Oxford student he became known as an 
 excellent writer of Latin and EngUsh verse, and few of the 
 collections of poems which it was then the fashion for the 
 xviii 
 
members of the University to publish upon the occurrence of 
 any important event of the time appeared without some con- 
 tribution from his pen. His earliest appearance in print — 
 or the earliest which I can trace — was in " Anns Funebria 
 Sacra," 1619, to which he contributed some Latin verses. 
 
 Judging from some of Strode's Epistles in verse it would 
 seem that in the early period of his residence at Oxford his 
 means were somewhat straitened. This may have been 
 owing to the fact that his father, being a member of a very 
 numerous family, was himself comparatively poor, and hence 
 was not able to provide very liberally for him . The grati- 
 tude which the poet expresses for pecuniary assistance 
 rendered to him seems to show that such assistance was very 
 welcome, even if it was not absolutely necessary, to him. I 
 cannot find that he had any settled means of subsistence before 
 1628, in which year Richard Corbet — a thoroughly congenial 
 spirit, who must have rejoiced in the opportunity of doing a 
 good turn to his friend — ^became Bishop of Oxon, and made 
 Strode his chaplain. They remained, there is every reason 
 to believe, friends and comrades until the death of Corbet in 
 1635. Few men of the period were more in sympathy in 
 tastes and aspirations than Corbet and Strode. Both were 
 excellent poets,* both were gifted with wit and humour ; 
 and both were very well fitted to play their parts in the 
 more cultivated circles of the time. Both Corbet and Strode, 
 
 * Whether Corbet, in fact, deserves the name of poet may perhaps 
 be questioned. He was certainly not a great poet, nor so good a one 
 as Strode; but unless we accept a definition of the term which would 
 exclude many more considerable writers than Corbet, we need not 
 deny the title of poet to him. 
 
 xix 
 
though they wrote much verse, were alike careless of their 
 productions, and took no steps to preserve them, beyond 
 giving manuscript copies to their friends. One consequence 
 of this is that in two or three cases it is difficult to tell 
 whether a particular piece is by Corbet or Strode. The 
 Bishop's poems were not collected imtil twelve years after 
 his death; while Strode's, as I have said, have remained 
 uncollected unto the present day. Perhaps it will be as well 
 to insert here the formal record of Strode's career at the 
 University. He graduated B.A. on December 6, 1621, M.A. 
 on June 17, 1624, and B.D. on December 10, 1631. " In 1629," 
 says Wood, " he was chosen the PubUc Orator of the Uni- 
 versity, being then one of the Proctors of it, and two years 
 afterwards was admitted to the reading of the Sentences." 
 
 In 1633 he became Rector of East Bradenham, Norfolk ; 
 but nevertheless seems to have continued to reside at Oxford. 
 In 1636 the University was visited by King Charles I. and 
 Queen Henrietta, and they were welcomed at the gate of 
 Christ Church by Strode in a Latin oration. On August 29 
 of the same year Strode's play, entitled "The Floating 
 Island," * which he had been specially requested to write, 
 was performed before the King, Queen, and Coiart by the 
 students of Christ Church, The play seems hardly to have 
 pleased the spectators, who appear to have thought that 
 there was more moraUty than entertainment in it. The King, 
 however, highly commended it, which is not to be wondered 
 at when it is realised that the play was evidently written in 
 
 * The play seems to have been originally entitled, " The Passions 
 Calm'd, or the Settling of the Floating Island" : but the printed copy 
 is called simply " The Floating Island." 
 
 XX 
 
the interest of the royal cause. I shall speak further of the 
 play when I come to review the author's works. 
 
 In 1638 Strode was made a Canon of Christ Church, and 
 Vicar of Blackbourton, Oxford ; and in the same year he 
 proceeded to the degree of D.D. From 1639 to 1642 he was 
 Vicar of Badley, Northamptonshire. 
 
 In 1642, when the Civil War was raging, the King came to 
 Oxford and made a speech before the University. This 
 speech was published at Oxford, and reprinted at London. 
 Perhaps it is worth while to quote the title-page of it : " The 
 Kings Majesties Speech as it was delivered the Second of 
 November before the University and City of Oxford. To- 
 gether with a gratulatory Replication expressed by that 
 learned man Doctor William Strode, Orator for the famous 
 University of Oxford," 
 
 The King's speech need not be dwelt upon here ; * but 
 
 * I will, however, quote a passage from it because of its curious 
 resemblance to the sort of oratory with which a monarch of the 
 present day, whom it is not necessary to name, periodically favours 
 his subjects : 
 
 " Beleave me on the word of a Prince, on the word of your Sove- 
 raigne, there is nothing more deare unto me than Religion, the 
 Religion of my Father and the Royal Queen, his predecessor, a 
 religion which ever from her owne flame hath arised more pure, and 
 multiplied. This is my businesse to you, in which I shall satisfie 
 both God and you. And since I have left the warre behind me, take 
 peace and the day while you see it, I see the clouds make hast to 
 overcome it. The Scepter is and must bee mine. Unite yourselves 
 to maintaine so honourable, so just a cause, and what one hand can- 
 not infringe let many maintaine : You have God for your cause, you 
 have me for his second ; and since both are together who can oppose 
 us .' " 
 
 XX 
 
Strode's reply to it is worth quoting, as a specimen, though 
 not perhaps a very favourable one, of his style of oratory : 
 
 " High words cannot reach the joy that your presence hath 
 created in our hearts, which doe blesse our eyes for so desired 
 an object. Learning doth acknowledge the mercy of Heaven 
 in bringing your Majesty to give voyce to the dumbe 
 Academy, and renue the Muses slaine by that Briareus of 
 ignorance which breathes nothing but Religions destruction. 
 Our Oxford hath now throwne off all clouds of discontents, 
 and stands cleare, guided by the beames of your Majesties 
 Royall presence. The burden cast on me is my joy, or rather 
 the joy of the Academy, extaside into a learned amazement, 
 and raptured into speech to see your Majesty. All gratula- 
 tion cannot comply with our thoughts, to shew the pleasure 
 our fancy takes to behold your Majesty. See, Royall King, 
 how Oxford, beauteous in her age doth kneele, making teares 
 of joy a Sacrifice, and begging to be protected from threatened 
 ruine. Shall the Spring of learning bee dam'd up ? while 
 ignorance doth teare and rend the Muses Garlands, as would 
 both contemne and destroy Schollers : For no enemy can 
 learning have uidesse it bee the ignorant. Your Royall 
 Majesty is by descent a protector of learning, and borne (as 
 your Father was) to bee the glory and defender of the Muse. 
 This may strongly invite your love : wherein wee are already 
 happy in some degree. But wee feare a malignant enemy 
 should violate our cleare Minerva, and banish from her both 
 maintenance and glory. Pure zeale doth make them seeke 
 with one blow to destroy both learning and Religion, now 
 bleeding and wounded by schismaticall heads, and expecting 
 cure from your Royall Majesty. Yet our feares are great, 
 xxii 
 
and groiinded upon the unhappy fate of learning, which is 
 despised of precise Schollers that weare black only to moume 
 for the decease of learning. But joy cannot imagine the time 
 discreet for a just reproofe, and therefore I must tell what 
 pleasure doth refresh and water our thirsty garden, rather 
 than complaine of scorching heate of persecution. Our 
 memory must not be active in striving to manifest sorrow 
 incompatible with our present joy. Enlarge thyselfe there- 
 fore Oxford : and let not any greife so blind thy heart to a 
 stupid peace, but let loud gratulations wound the aire 
 with reporting welcome to oixr Gracious King Charles." 
 
 At this point it is worth mentioning that while the subject 
 of this biography, as the above speech shows, was a most 
 zealous royaUst, he had two namesakes who were equally 
 zealous parliamentarians. One of them indeed played a 
 very prominent part in opposition to the king, he being one 
 of the five members whose attempted seizure had so great an 
 influence in hastening on, if not in causing, the great Civil 
 War, This gentleman was a near relative of the poet. 
 Another WilUam Strode, known as " Colonel " Strode, who 
 has often been confounded with the one jixst mentioned, also 
 played a considerable part in the great struggle. Two or 
 three other William Strodes were living at the same time, 
 but these were quite undistinguished persons. 
 
 Of our WilUam Strode there is little more to be recorded, 
 so far as his personal history is concerned. He married a 
 daughter of Dr. Simpson, Prebendary of Canterbury, by 
 whom he had an only daughter, who became the wife of 
 Henry Langley, Master of Arts, of Wadham College. The 
 poet died on March 10, 1644, at Oxford, and was buried in 
 
 xxiii 
 
the Divinity Chapel of Christ Church Cathedral ; but (owing 
 perhaps to the still-raging Civil War) no memorial marked 
 his place of interment. He does not appear to have left any 
 will : at least none has been discovered.^ 
 
 Wood states that Strode left behind him, fairly written in 
 several volumes, his Orations, Speeches, Epistles, Sermons, 
 etc. These fell into the hands of Dr. Gardiner, Canon of 
 Christ Church ; t and afterwards of Richard Davies, an 
 Oxford bookseller. Possibly they still exist, and may some 
 day be recovered. 
 
 Reviewing the poet's career in the light of the above- 
 recorded facts we see that it was a more than usually success- 
 
 * Perhaps it should be mentioned that there is, in the Bodleian 
 library, a curious letter, unsigned and undated, addressed apparently 
 to the father or other near relative of a certain William Strode, who 
 had, it seems, when very young contracted an imprudent marriage, 
 at Oxford, with a young woman of a station inferior to his own. 
 This young man had (apparently by constraint of his parent or 
 parents) deserted his wife, leaving her in necessitous circumstances. 
 The writer of the letter pleads in her favour, urging that she is a 
 well-conducted and respectable person, and well fitted to be received 
 as the young man's wife. It is altogether unlikely that this letter 
 can refer to our William Strode. As I have shown there were several 
 namesakes of the poet living in the first half of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, and it is doubtless to one of these that the letter refers. 
 
 t Prince, in his " Worthies of Devon," says that Strode's Orations, 
 &c., "came to be published under Dr. Gardiner's name by this title, 
 ' Specimen Oratorium.' " But this appears to be an error. Dr. 
 Gardiner himself published the book in question. It contains some 
 Orations which the Dr. claims for himself; but as regards most of 
 the contents he claims no more than to be the collector or publisher 
 of them. Some of the pieces in the volume may be by Strode, but 
 none of them can be attributed to him with any degree of certainty, 
 xxiv 
 
ful one. He had a great reputation with his contemporaries, 
 who looked upon him as " a pithy and sententious Preacher 
 an exquisite Orator, and eminent Poet." It seems certain 
 that he was a pleasant and witty companion, with that power 
 of adapting himself to whatever company he might chance to 
 be in, which is so valuable in a world wherein dullards and 
 bores are, if not in a majority, at least far too numerous. No 
 doubt the latter part of his life was saddened by the civil 
 conflict, of which he did not live to see the end ; and possibly 
 his grief at the spectacle may have had some influence in 
 hastening his early death. But saving this, and assuming (as 
 we certainly may) that his disposition was not of that per- 
 verse kind which prevents a man from being happy or con- 
 tented, however circumstances may favour him, he was 
 surely far more fortunate than poets usually are. Placed in 
 the very milieu that was best suited to his character and 
 abilities ; having almost all he could desire in the way of 
 honours and dignities ; and convinced (as no doubt he was) 
 that in exercising his clerical ftmctions he was fulfilling a 
 high and sacred duty, he could hardly have had a more 
 enviable lot. And though his name has since remained 
 for upwards of two centuries and a half in almost total 
 obscurity, that perhaps is only what has happened to other 
 men of equal abilities who are never likely to be rescued 
 from the entire oblivion into which they have fallen. 
 
 It is evident from many indications that Strode was what 
 we now term a High Churchman, and that he had very 
 exalted notions of the value and importance of the clerical 
 calling.* He was undoubtedly an eloquent and popular 
 
 * In Archbishop Laud's History of the University of Oxford, 
 
 XXV 
 
preacher. Three only of his sermons have been printed. 
 From one of these entitled " A Sermon preached at a Visita- 
 tion held at Lin, in Norfolk, June the 24th, Anno 1633, being 
 an Admonition to the Clergy to remember and keep those 
 severall Oaths, Promises, and Subscriptions, which they 
 solemnly have made, etc." I make the following extract, in 
 order to afford the reader an idea of the style of Strode's 
 pulpit exhortations : 
 
 " O the perjur'd condition of many an hasty Prophet, and 
 outwardly demure Saint ! who without any preparative con- 
 sideration, having solemnly plighted his Faith, having done it 
 with Mouth, Hand, and Knee, twice or thrice in Academical! 
 
 during the time that he was Chancellor thereof (Laud's Works, vol. 
 5, Library of Anglo-Catholic Theology), there is a Latin letter of 
 Strode's to the Archbishop in which he professes his complete 
 devotion and fidelity to him. In the same work there are a number 
 of Latin letters addressed to Laud on the affairs of the University, 
 which are signed "Acad. Oxon." These letters were probably 
 written by Strode, whose duty, as public orator, was to write such 
 epistles. 
 
 From Laud's Account of his Troubles and Trials (Works, vol. 4), 
 we learn that Strode was to some extent involved in the Arch- 
 bishop's misfortunes. When the Parliament put Laud upon his 
 trial, one of the charges against him was that in his zeal for Roman- 
 ism he had assumed papal titles. I extract the followmg passage 
 from Laud's Diary : 
 
 " The last [charge] which I remember is. Quo rectior tion stai regula, 
 &c. And this is no more than an absolute hyperbole ; a high one I 
 confess, yet as high are found in all rhetorical authors : and what 
 should make that blasphemy in an University orator which is every- 
 where common, and not only allowed but commendable, I know not. 
 .... And if I had assumed any to myself, which I am and ever 
 was far from doing; yet 'tis one thing to assume papal title, and 
 xxvi 
 
degrees, twice in Ordinations, and as oft in his Institutions as 
 he can, doth presently go forth with resolution to break it ; 
 charges his wit to invent fallacy against his Duty, and to 
 Preach against that vow that enables him to Preach. Can 
 there be any Atheism more hideously contemptuous ! Hand 
 and Seal given to man will tie us to our Word, or to the Jayl ; 
 only God can have no fair dealing, no sufficient redresse. 
 In point of holy Promise (God be mercifull to us) we have 
 lost all conscience, the conscience that is runs clean contrary 
 to our promise, whereby if we stand bound, we think our- 
 selves bound to break it ; the faster tied, the looser we play ; 
 and that which was Duty before it was vow'd is by vowing 
 
 another thing to assume papal power, which is the thing charged ; 
 though I thank God I did neither. . . . And as I told Mr. Browne, 
 when he charged this on me, Dr. Strowd, the University orator, who 
 writ those letters, and gave those titles was called up before a Com- 
 mittee of this Parliament, examined about them, acquitted, and 
 dismissed." 
 
 Laud, it appears, paid the expenses of the production of Strode's 
 "Floating Island"; and it seems likely that the play was written 
 at his request. The Archbishop, in his History of the University, 
 says that Strode's play "was very well penned, but yet did not 
 take the Court so well." The next day Cartwright's "Royal 
 Slave " was performed at St. John's College, and this was highly 
 approved of. 
 
 It is perhaps worth while to mention that Strode's name appears 
 among those of a number of heads of houses and other Oxford 
 officials, who, in consequence of rumours having been spread abroad 
 of their inclinations towards Popery, signed a declaration to the 
 effect that " so far from conniving at the celebration of mass here, or 
 knowing of any such matter, that we neither know nor can probably 
 suspect any member ,of our University to be a papist, or popishly 
 addicted." 
 
 xxvii 
 
esteem'd tinlawfulL If God make a Promise to us, though it 
 be but Conditional, we claim it as Absolute : no disobedience 
 of ours can set Him free, we allow not his Majesty so much 
 Mutability, as on our change to be constant to Justice : but when 
 oiirselves have dedicated a Promise to Him, whether by our 
 Govemours,or also in our own persons, be it never so full and 
 absolute, any or no condition shall suffice to cancel it ; and 
 we that deny ourselves the liberty of Vowing, will take an 
 unmeasur'd liberty of Disanntilling, or perchance feign a 
 necessity of undoing what indeed we would not do," 
 
 One has not to read many pages of Strode before it 
 becomes evident to what class of poets he belongs. His place 
 is with the generation which succeeded Shakespeare and the 
 great Elizabethan writers, not only by birth, but by choice 
 and temperament. It was, indeed, a generation inferior to 
 its predecessor, but hardly to any other save that which 
 only fell short of the Elizabethans because it could not boast, 
 among its many great figures, one which could compare with 
 the greatest of all poets and dramatists.* No poet of the 
 first half of the seventeenth century belonged more entirely 
 and completely to it than did Strode. He neither sought to 
 enter into rivalry with his great predecessors, nor to find 
 new sources of inspiration, as other poets have done, in the 
 vision of a transfigured humanity, freed from its baser 
 
 * I say ' poets and dramatists ' advisedly — for while I believe that 
 two at least of the poets of the first quarter of the last century were 
 equal to Shakespeare as poets, none of them could approach within 
 measurable distance of him as a dramatist. Great poets are com- 
 paratively numerous : great dramatists who are also great poets are 
 few indeed, 
 xxviii 
 
elements, and rising to the height of its magnificent destiny. 
 Unlike Traheme, who anticipated so wonderfully the philo- 
 sophical and poetic ideas of writers bom long after his time, 
 he was content with the current theories of life and thought, 
 and did not seek to transcend them. His temperament in 
 short was that of a conservative, not that of an innovator 
 or reformer. Therefore we must not expect to find in him 
 any great originality of thought, or novelty of presentation. 
 In his writings he keeps to the beaten track, and is content to 
 shew his skill in playing variations upon the ancient themes, 
 rather than in attempting to invent new and previously 
 unheard harmonies. He could hold his own with the best 
 of his contemporaries, but he did not seek to rival the deeper 
 melodies of the poets of the past, nor did he try to anticipate 
 the music of the future. 
 
 It is obvious to the reader of Strode's poems wherein his 
 chief strength lay. It is in the lyric and the elegy that he is 
 most happy. Probably he was aware of this himself, and 
 therefore refrained from attempting to write any long or 
 ambitious poem. The fact, however, may be otherwise 
 accounted for by supposing that he regarded his poetical 
 essays simply as recreations into which he only cared to put 
 so much thought and energy as could be spared from his 
 more serious pursuits. His play shows that he was not 
 destitute of the power to plan and execute a work of con- 
 siderable length and difficulty ; but it seems to have been 
 more in accordance with his genius to attempt only such 
 short lyric or elegiac pieces as could be created by a single 
 effort of will, or a sudden access of inspiration. 
 
 " A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it " — 
 
 d xxix 
 
and it is much the same with a lyric. It is hit or miss with 
 it : if it does not at once approve itself to the reader it is at 
 once condemned. It may be otherwise with other kinds of 
 poetry ; but with the lyric it is a rule, almost or quite with- 
 out exceptions. It is at once the easiest, and the most difficult 
 of poetic achievements : the easiest, that is, to the born singer, 
 and the hardest to those whose music, instead of springing 
 upwards as from a fountain, has to be drawn up painfully as 
 from a well. And it is hard to explain why a lyric is beauti- 
 ful, or for what quality it should be admired. To have no 
 liking for the lyrics of Campion or Herrick, or of the many 
 other lyrical poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries 
 is to confess oneself to be without a taste for poetry at all ; 
 but one is no more called upon to explain why he admires 
 these things than why he admires the nightingale's song. 
 Therefore I shall not attempt to prove that Strode's lyrical 
 poems are worthy of admiration. If the reader does not at 
 the first reading appreciate the beauty of " When Orpheus 
 Sweetly did Complayne," "In Commendation of Musick," 
 " O tell me, tell, thou God of Wynde," and " As I out of a 
 Casement Sent," it is not likely that anything I can say will 
 enable him to do so. Of the famous lyric on Melancholy, 
 which, as I shall show later on, is probably Strode's and not 
 Fletcher's, I will not now speak. It is to be wished that our 
 poet had devoted more of his time to the writing of lyrics 
 rather than to the composition of the many occasional pieces 
 which are to be foimd in the present volume ; for these, 
 though always ingenious and subtle, and sometimes witty and 
 humorous, would have been well exchanged for a few more 
 of his lyrics. He has left enough of them, however (if I am 
 
 XXX 
 
not much mistaken), to assure him a permanent place beside 
 Herrick, Carew, Randolph, and Waller, 
 
 " On Westwell Downes " is a poem of a kind of which we 
 have few examples in our early poets ; indeed I cannot at 
 this moment recall even one which resembles it. Of course 
 there are in Shakespeare and his contemporaries plenty of 
 references to country life and scenery, but these are com- 
 monly only brief and passing allusions, and are generally 
 introduced not for their own sake, but because of some rela- 
 tion which they have to the feelings or thoughts of those who 
 look upon them or recall them to memory. It was left to the 
 poets of a much later date to describe a scene simply for its 
 own sake, and without reference to anything that might 
 chance to be happening there. Therefore, without making 
 too much of this poem, I think we may claim for Strode that 
 he was one of the very few poets of his time who gave 
 expression to that feeling for and delight in natiire for itself, 
 the full exposition of which was to form the peculiar glory of 
 the singers of the last century. The same praise may be 
 bestowed upon the verses " On a Great Hollow Tree," a 
 poem which deals with its subject simply and naturally, not 
 seeking (as Wordsworth would have done) to draw any moral 
 lesson from it, but only to record in a vivid and picturesque 
 manner the various thoughts and images which the object 
 described awakened in the poet's mind. 
 
 Though it is in his lyrics, taking them all together, that 
 Strode is at his best, it is not amongst them that we meet with 
 his finest and most highly-wrought work. Although his 
 elegies are not so uniformly excellent as his lyrics, there is at 
 least one of them which is not only, as I conceive, his highest 
 
 xxxi 
 
achievement, but is also a poem of quite remarkable beauty 
 and pathos. If the longer of the two elegies on Mary Prideaux 
 js not a masterpiece, such as any poet might be proud of 
 having written, I must be content to be considered as an 
 imcritical and undiscriminating enthusiast. Surely if any 
 poem was ever written with profound grief in the heart, 
 infinite tenderness in the soul, and eyes dimmed with tears, 
 this beautiful, this most pathetic, and yet most consolatory 
 and most tranquillising elegy, was thus composed. If there 
 is any more beautiful poem of its kind I have not been so 
 fortunate as to meet with it ; indeed I cannot now recall to 
 mind any other equally tender and touching poem. To me 
 it seems to stand alone, a thing done perfectly and once for 
 all ; to be admired and envied by other singers, but never to 
 be equalled or excelled. If Strode had written nothing else, 
 this poem would alone suffice to place him in the front rank 
 of elegiac poets. That (excepting the third section) it should 
 have remained in manuscript for upwards of two and a half 
 centuries, and that of those who have seen and read it during 
 that period, not one should have recognised its surpassing 
 excellence is surely one of the marvels of literature,* Pos- 
 sibly some of my readers may be disposed to think that my 
 praise is too unmeasured, and that the poem is not really 
 worthy of such fervent commendation. But if they think so 
 
 • It may be thought, perhaps, that I have no warrant for such a 
 sweeping statement as this; but could any one who had realised 
 the beauty of the poem have refrained from proclaiming his admira- 
 tion of it ? When Dr. Grosart issued his proposals for the publica- 
 tion of his " Literary Finds " he drew special attetttion to an elegy on 
 the death of a child, by Cecill Turner (whom he identified without 
 xxxii 
 
after a first perusal, I will ask them to give it a second, or 
 even a third reading, when I believe they will come round 
 to my opinion. For myself I only feel regret that I cannot 
 speak with the authority, the eloquence, and the inspiration 
 of a Swinburne, that I might thus fitly eulogise this divinely 
 beautiful elegy. 
 
 Of the other elegy on Mary Prideaux, and of that on Mary 
 Neudham, no true critic will, I think, deny the beauty. 
 Perhaps they would seem more beautiful than they do now 
 were they not outshone by their greater companion. Yet 
 they are well worthy to stand by its side. Finely imagined, 
 deeply felt, and nobly expressed, they satisfy at once the 
 judgment and the feelings. They have the perfection of a 
 cameo, or of a finely-wrought medallion. 
 
 Of the remainder of the elegies it must be confessed that 
 
 warrant, as Cyril Tourneur), which he described as " a literary jewel.' 
 Here it is : 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD BUT ONE YEAR OLD. 
 
 How can Heaven's voyage long or hard appear ? 
 
 This feeble infant went it in a year. 
 
 Yet Reader, let not strength secure delay : 
 
 For many die before they are on the way. 
 
 Here contemplation thy journey fit ; 
 
 This blest one was her whole life going it. 
 To say nothing of the clumsy and meaningless fifth line (which may, 
 however, have been misread by the transcriber), this is at the best 
 a poor and commonplace production. If we call it a "literary 
 jewel," what terms of praise can we find that are fit to be applied to 
 the elegy on Mary Prideaux ? Yet Dr. Grosart, though he must have 
 been well acquainted with the elegy, since he includes it in his list 
 of Strode's poems, had no word of commendation for it. 
 
 xxxiii 
 
they fall far below the level of those I have just mentioned. 
 As the best is the enemy of the good, so Strode, in writing 
 these, set up so high a standard that his other elegies inevit- 
 ably suffer by comparison with them. The secret of the 
 excellence of the elegies on Mary Neudham and Mary Prideaux 
 is that the author's feelings were, in these cases, deeply 
 stirred, and he wrote therefore rather from the promptings 
 of his heart than of his head. In his other elegies the case 
 was reversed — partially, at least, if not wholly. In them he 
 was rather exercising his fancy than expressing his emotions, 
 and they are therefore to be judged, not according to the 
 effect which they produce on the feelings, but by the amount 
 of satisfaction which they afford to the intellect. The writer's 
 object is to discourse as eloquently, and with as much in- 
 genuity as he can, on his chosen theme. If he succeeds in 
 making upon the reader's mind the same sort of impression 
 that the feats of a gymnast make upon it — namely, a feeling 
 of wonder at the skill and resource of the performer — his 
 aim is accompUshed. We may regret that Strode did not 
 more often allow his feelings, rather than his fancy, to guide 
 his pen ; but we must not censure him for not accomplishing 
 what he did not attempt. 
 
 What has been said of the elegies will apply also to Strode'a 
 epistles, which, however, have not amongst them, like the 
 elegies, any of greatly superior excellence. They are very 
 good in their way, and it should be remembered that few, if 
 any, of them were intended for publication. They move 
 easily along ; the expression is well fitted to the matter, and 
 the thought is not without dignity and elevation. More than 
 this cannot, and need not, be claimed for them. 
 
 XXXIT 
 
The miscellaneous and religious poems do not require much 
 comment. They are always ingenious, gracefully turned, and 
 full of fanciful wit. Whatever else Strode may be he is never 
 dull. He knows exactly how much elaboration a thought 
 will bear, and he knows also how to express it in the most 
 effective way. Few authors of the time have so light a touch, 
 or so sure an instinct for the right word or phrase. To say 
 of him that he is not free from fantastic conceits, quaintnesses 
 of expression, and misplaced wit, is but to say that he was a 
 man of his time, and therefore was not free from the faults 
 of the metaphysical school of poets, as Johnson termed it, 
 though a better designation for it, I think, would be the fan- 
 tastic or artificial school. For the aim of these poets was 
 certainly not to expound or discuss metaphysical ideas, but 
 to look at all things through the medium of the fancy or 
 phantasy — ^not to see things as they actually are, while yet 
 seeing also their underlying wonder and mystery ; but to view 
 them as material on which to exercise an ingenious fancy 
 alert to detect the most remote analogies, and to invent the 
 most surprising paradoxes.* However mistaken may have 
 been the aims and methods of this school, it was at any rate 
 required from all its members that they should possess a 
 more than ordinary degree of wit, knowledge, ingenious fancy, 
 and subtlety of mind. Without these qualities failure was 
 inevitable. Writers who possess them — and most of those 
 
 • Probably Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. G. K. Chesterton would 
 deny that they have anything in common with this school of poets : 
 yet a little reflection will show that their qualities (or some of them 
 at least) are essentially the same, though they are manifested in a 
 different way. 
 
 XXXV 
 
who followed in Donne's footsteps did possess them — can 
 hardly fail to interest us, however much we may dislike their 
 methods. And Strode, though he may certainly be reckoned 
 as one of Donne's disciples, is not too much infected with the 
 mannerisms of the school, and seldom indulges in its more 
 outre conceits and extravagances. 
 
 Such pieces as " The Capps," " A Paralell between Bowling 
 and Preferment," " Jacke-on-both-sides," and " A Devonshire 
 Song " show that Strode had a considerable vein of humour, 
 which it may be regretted that he did not more sedulously 
 cultivate. The " Devonshire Song " is, I believe, the first 
 poem which we have in that dialect ; at all events I do not 
 know of any esirher example. 
 
 The poems which I have grouped together under the head- 
 ing " Doubtful Pieces " can hardly be taken into account here. 
 I should be very glad indeed if I could positively attribute 
 some of them to Strode. Such beautiful " relishes of rhyme " 
 as "Moume, moume, ye lovers," and "Sing aloud, har- 
 monious sphears," may be fairly given to him, though on 
 slender evidence, in the absence of other claimants : while it 
 is at least permissible to assign to him those fine poems, 
 " Upon Heaven's best Image, his faire and vertuous 
 mistresse," and " Gaze not on Swans," provided we note the 
 fact that his claim to them is not indisputable. 
 
 There are few things in the present volume which it gives 
 me more pleasure to include than the translation of the poem, 
 usually attributed to Strada, on the contest between the 
 nightingale and the musician. It is strange indeed that it 
 has never before been given to the world. The poem is, of 
 course, familiar enough toEnghsh readers from the beautiful 
 xxxvi 
 
renderings of Ford and Crashaw, Yet it might be platisibly 
 maintained that it is now first made known in its true cha- 
 racter to the English reader ; for Ford abridged it, while 
 Crashaw expanded and glorified it, as FitzGerald glorified 
 his Omar. In Strode's translation we have a third English 
 poem, quite worthy to set beside the others, but differing 
 from them in that it is a close and faithful rendering of the 
 sense and spirit of its original. The translations are few 
 indeed which, without losing the charm and poetry of their 
 original, reproduce so exactly its form and meaning. 
 
 It will probably surprise some readers to find the well- 
 known verses on Melancholy, which have so long been 
 assigned, almost without question, to Fletcher, attributed 
 here to Strode. Some even may feel rather indignant that an 
 attempt should be made to deprive Fletcher of a poem which 
 has become so thoroughly identified with his name. But the 
 fact is that there is no really vahd evidence in Fletcher's 
 favour, while the evidence for Strode's authorship, though I 
 own that it is not altogether conclusive, is at least much 
 stronger than it is for the famous dramatist. The history of 
 the verses, so far as known, is rather curious. They were 
 first printed in a little booklet of twelve leaves, entitled " A 
 Description of the King and Queene of Fayries, their habit, 
 fare, their abode, pompe and state. . . . London. 1635." 
 This booklet contains also one of Herrick's fairy poems. 
 Supposing there was no evidence of any sort as to the author- 
 ship of the verses now under consideration, to whom would 
 it seem most natural to attribute them ? To Herrick, I think, 
 since they surely resemble his manner more than they do 
 that of any other poet. They cannot, however, be claimed 
 
 xxxvii 
 
for him, since he never claimed them for himself, which he 
 would surely have done had they been really his. It was 
 not till 1647 that the verses were ascribed to Fletcher. They 
 occiir in the play of " The Nice Valour," which is only partly 
 Fletcher's. The verses, therefore, may have been written 
 by Fletcher's co-author, whoever he was. Moreover, it was 
 a frequent practice of the time to insert in plays songs which 
 had become popular ; and this may have been the case in 
 the present instance. So much for the evidence in favour of 
 Fletcher. Let us now see what sort of a case can be made 
 out in favour of Strode. As we have seen, the poem must 
 have been written before 1635 ; and my own opinion is that 
 it was written at some time between 1630 and 1633. At all 
 events I have in my possession two poetical manuscript 
 volumes in which the poem appears, both of which date 
 about 1632, This does not prove that the poem was not 
 written before that date, but at any rate I do not believe that 
 there is any proof of its existence before that time, Fletcher 
 died in 1625, and therefore, if my assumed date for the poem 
 is correct, he could not have written it. There is, so far as 
 I know, no manuscript authority whatever for ascribing the 
 poem to Fletcher ; whereas I know of at least three early 
 manuscripts in which it is ascribed to Strode.* In the 
 "Maloniana" (consistmg of anecdotes and extracts from 
 Malone's papers) which is found in Sir James Prior's " Life 
 of Malone " the following passage occurs : 
 
 " Song in ye Praise of Melancholy. — F. 80 Bod. 'Hence 
 
 * I am speaking of manuscripts dating earlier than 1647 ; after that 
 date there may be manuscripts in which it is ascribed to Fletcher, 
 although I do not know of any. 
 xxxviii 
 
all your vain delights.' The author of this beautiful piece 
 (Dr. Strode), part of which has been ascribed unjustly to 
 Fletcher, because it is sung in his ' Nice Valour,' was bom 
 about the year 1600, and died Canon of Christ Church in 1644. 
 Milton evidently took the hint of his ^ L' Allegro' and '•II 
 Penseroso' from it." 
 
 Malone, it is thus seen, speaks positively on the matter, 
 and it is to be presumed, therefore, that he had good evidence 
 for his statement, for he must have been aware that it is 
 hardly safe to rely upon the evidence of a single manuscript 
 in a case of disputed authorship. It is evident also that 
 Malone considered " Melancholy " and " Opposite to Melan- 
 choly "together formed a single poem, which is no more the 
 case than it is with Milton's " L' Allegro " and " II Penseroso.'' 
 I must, however, be quite candid and unreserved with the 
 reader on this matter. Let me say then that it is possible 
 that the writers of the various manuscript volumes, knowing 
 Strode to be the writer of " Opposite to Melancholy," may 
 have jumped to the conclusion that he was also the author 
 of the poem to which it is a reply. Upon the whole I prefer 
 to think that it was not so, and that the writers had good 
 grounds for ascribing the poem to Strode ; but I am quite 
 wiUing to own that the matter is not one upon which it is 
 possible to attain complete certainty.* 
 
 • In "Notes and Queries," First Series, vol. i. p. 146, there is a 
 note on this subject by Edward F. Rimbault, which seems still 
 further to confirm Strode's claim to the verses. The writer says : 
 
 " I have now before me a curious musical MS. in the hand-writing 
 of the celebrated Henry Lawes, containing the music to Dr. Strode's 
 play of ' The Floating Island.' ... It is followed by the two songs 
 
 xxxix 
 
Our author's longest and most ambitious performance has 
 now to be considered. It should be remembered, whenever 
 " The Floating Island " is referred to, that it was not a work 
 undertaken from the author's own choice, but at the request 
 of those whose wishes were practically commands.* There- 
 fore if the play needed excuse it might be found in this fact. 
 But I do not think it requires any apology ; only the reader 
 should bear in mind that as it was intended for a royal and 
 courtly audience, some flattery of its hearers was hardly to 
 be avoided. Any reader of the play will see at once that 
 Prudentius was intended to represent King Chsirles ; his 
 minister (Intellectus Agens) was perhaps intended for Laud : 
 while the various passions which are represented as rebelling 
 against their rule are intended to shadow forth the opponents 
 of the royal policy. Of course the author and his audience 
 could not, and did not, see that it was really a bitter satire 
 upon the king to represent him as an embodiment of prudence 
 and wisdom. 
 
 " The Floating Island " is not perhaps a play which makes 
 a very favourable impression upon a first perusal. The 
 author's design is not seen very clearly at first ; it requires a 
 
 in question : and although the name of the author is not given, the 
 fact of their being written at the end of Dr. Strode's ' tragi-comedy ' 
 in some measure confirms Malone's statement." 
 
 On the other hand, it is perhaps only fair to mention that in " Wit 
 Restor'd" the two poems are given, the iirst without any author's 
 name, while the second is headed " The answer, by Dr. Stroad." 
 
 * " The Floating Island " and two other plays were expressly 
 written to entertain Charles I. and his queen on their visit to Oxford 
 in 1636. Archbishop Laud was probably the intermediary at whose 
 request Strode's play was written. 
 xl 
 
second or even a third reading before one fully grasps the 
 various threads of the plot. But the readers who give it 
 this second or third perusal vnO. be very well rewarded for 
 their pains. There is mind and thought in every line of it. 
 The auditors who disliked it because they thought it contained 
 less entertainment than morality were surely somewhat un- 
 reasonable. It is true that the author throughout the play 
 keeps his purpose steadily in view ; but it is not undsly 
 obtruded upon the reader, who may, if he likes, disregard it 
 altogether. Its morality to a reader of the present day will 
 not seem to be any too austere ; indeed there are some scenes 
 in the play which might be thought a little too free for our 
 modem taste. The real objections which told against the 
 work when it was first produced, and which may perhaps 
 tell against it now, are that its characters are abstractions 
 rather than human beings, and that its plot is too obviously 
 framed to enforce a preconceived moral. But an author must 
 always be allowed to choose his own method of appeal, and 
 he is to be judged according to the degree of success with 
 which he has executed his design. Of course, if he chooses 
 a subject with which his hearers or readers are out of 
 sympathy, it is useless for him to complain of want of appre- 
 ciation on their part. 
 
 A short resume of the plot and design of the play will 
 perhaps help the reader to derive more pleasure from a per- 
 usal of it than he would otherwise gain. " The Floating 
 Island, ' ' in which the events of the drama take place, symbolises 
 a kingdom distracted by the contending passions of its in- 
 habitants, and reduced to anarchy by their dissensions.* 
 
 * A true emblem of the state of England during the latter part of 
 
 xli 
 
The King, Prudentius, and his minister, Intellectus Agens, 
 have in vain attempted to control their disorders ; and at 
 the opening of the play we find them ready to break out into 
 rebellion. All the passions are chafing at the restraints which 
 have been laid upon them, though they are only such 
 as are necessary to preserve the kingdom's order and pros- 
 perity. The chief mutineers are Audax, Irato, Desperato, 
 Sir Amorous, and Hilario. At a meeting of the conspirators 
 it is arranged that Audax, Irato, and Desperato shall assas- 
 sinate the king ; and they attempt to carry out their design. 
 Prudentius, however, has received timely warning of their 
 purpose, and retired out of their reach, leaving the passions 
 to work their will, unguided and unchecked. Left to them- 
 selves the conspirators elect Fancie for their queen, expecting 
 her to be pliant to all their humours, which, however, they 
 soon discover she is by means disposed to be. No sooner is 
 the new order constituted than the various passions, no longer 
 under the control of prudence and wisdom, begin to quarrel 
 among themselves ; and their dissensions finally bring them 
 and the kingdom to the verge of ruin, I need not recount 
 here the train of events by which this result is brought about ; 
 let it suffice to say that the author shows much ingenuity in 
 the development of his plot. All that I need add is that the 
 
 the reign of Charles I. ! Herein Strode was something of a prophet, 
 for he foretold the deposition of Charles, though not his execution. 
 Nor was he mistaken in foretelling also that the nation, weary of the 
 strife between its contending factions, would revert to its former 
 condition. But poets are often wiser than they know : and this, as 
 we shall see later on, was the case with Strode on more than one 
 occasion, 
 xlii 
 
passions, growing weary of their own excesses, willingly place 
 themselves once more under the rule of prudence and wisdomi 
 and submit to those restraints against which they rebelled' 
 but which they now see are necessary to the well-being of 
 the state. The play ends with the return of Prudentius and 
 the restoration of the old order. 
 
 No one, I imagine, would now contend that Strode in thus 
 stating the case of Charles I. against his subjects was giving 
 a true or impartial account of the origin of the contention 
 between them. Nevertheless his case, from his own point of 
 view, and that of the royalists, was a good one, and we need 
 not quarrel with him for advocating it. However defective 
 as a political argument, it formed at any rate an excellent 
 groundwork for his play. Not many dramas have a leading 
 motive at once so philosophically sound and so capable of 
 effective scenic development. A great dramatist could hardly 
 fail to find his account in making use of such a good idea ; 
 for Strode, well as he treated it, by no means exhausted its 
 possibilities.* Allowing then that the drama is based upon 
 a sufficiently sound ethical idea, it remains to be asked 
 whether it is in fact a good play. To this question I answer. 
 Yes ! it is at least a good play, if not a great one. "We must 
 not condemn it because it wants passion, sublimity, and 
 pathos, since those qualities would have been out of place in 
 it. Its appeal is not to the heart but to the head ; and if it 
 succeeds — as I believe it does — in satisfying the requirements 
 
 * Perhaps Strode may have got the first hint for his play from 
 ■■ Measure for Measure," in which also we behold a contest between 
 lawlessness and legality; and the moral of which is that passion un- 
 controlled by prudence inevitably leads to disaster. 
 
 xliii 
 
of the intellect, it hits the mark it aims at. In this respect it 
 in some degree resembles " Troilus and Cressida," which also 
 appeals chiefly to the intellect and not to the feelings. Thought 
 and reflection in both of them predominate so much over the 
 more usual elements of a play that it is no wonder that neither 
 of them attained popularity. 
 
 The strongest critical objection which can be urged against 
 " The Floating Island " is (as I have already remarked) that 
 its author has chosen to make the characters of his play, not 
 human beings but abstract passions ; and has thus debarred 
 himself from awakening the sympathies of the reader or 
 spectator with them in their good or evil fortunes. Without 
 denying that there is some force in this objection, I do not 
 think that it is so strong as it appears to be. The passions 
 of Strode's play are at any rate human passions. Now, men 
 and women are made up of passions ; and often enough one 
 passion so predominates in them over all others that they 
 become little more than embodiments of it. It is true enough 
 that abstractions on the stage usually excite only a languid 
 interest; but this is not always the case. "Everyman" is 
 an instance in point ; and in some of the Ehzabethan and 
 Jacobean masques we find allegorical characters and repre- 
 sentatives of the virtues and vices made effective and interest- 
 ing figures. The truth is that in the hands of great authors 
 abstractions assume the semblance of realities, whereas 
 realities in the hands of inferior writers fade into abstractions. 
 However impalpable an^ idea he may seek to symboUse, 
 Bunyan never fails to invest it with life and animation. And 
 Strode has something of Bunyan's power of vitalising abstrac- 
 tions. He erred, perhaps, in giving his characters names 
 xliv 
 
which so nearly denote the passions they are intended to 
 embody. Had he given them less significant appellations, 
 and allowed himself a little more freedom in their delineation, 
 not many would have suspected that their author intended 
 them for anything but human beings, under the domination, 
 it is true, of overmastering passions, but not to a greater 
 degree than is often the case in real life. But after all, 
 Strode's method needs no apology ; it will prove no stumbling- 
 block to any intelligent reader, and it was for such alone that 
 the play was written. 
 
 Like most of the poets of the latter part of the sixteenth 
 and the earlier part of the seventeenth centuries. Strode had 
 learned the secret, since almost lost, of writing easy and 
 natural-seeming blank verse, equally excellent in colloquial 
 discourse, and in the more exalted language of passion and 
 imagination. Either he had, like Shakespeare, such an entire 
 mastery of words that any conception which entered his 
 mind found immediately its appropriate form of expression ; 
 or he must have laboured hard and long to attain this ap- 
 pearance of spontaneity. That he had the gift of natural 
 fluency I feel certain ; for I hold that what is written with 
 difficulty will almost always show some signs of the labour 
 which accompanied its birth-pangs.* I see no signs of such 
 
 * I do not think that any person of ordinary intelligence can read 
 a page of Walter Pater without becoming aware of the fact that it is 
 the result of much laborious thought, and was moulded into shape 
 at the expense of much severe mental effort. " Easy writing," it is 
 true, sometimes makes "damned hard reading"; but hard writing 
 nevertheless does not always make easy readmg. Pater's readers 
 have to undergo — of course in a much smaller degree — the same pro- 
 cess of mental effort that he himself underwent ; a process, I hasten 
 
 e xlv 
 
labour in Strode's verse. Always easy and flowing, though 
 never careless or diffuse, it nowhere suggests a great expendi- 
 ture of midnight oil, or a painful effort to fit the word to the 
 thought. It runs on very evenly, not often rising, it is true, 
 to any great height of inspiration, but never falling into weak- 
 ness or insipidity. 
 
 Something more in the way of criticism might be said about 
 " The Floating Island " were I not fearful that I have already 
 taxed the reader's patience rather too severely. A few notes 
 upon some other points in it will be found appended to the 
 text of the play. But one very remarkable passage must be 
 noticed here. This is the speech in Act III., Sc. 3, in which 
 Queen Fancie, expressing her discontent at the slow progress 
 of invention and discovery, proceeds to prophesy the wonders 
 of future ages : 
 
 Thus first ourselves must whet our own Invention ; 
 
 Else other will not stir. Men do not strive 
 
 Methinkes to please me as they ought to do. 
 
 No other rarities these many Ages 
 
 to add, which is very well worth going through. The truth is that 
 temperament in this, as in all other matters, is the chief factor, and 
 authors write with ease or difiiculty according to their natural 
 endowments. Shakespeare, we know, wrote with much ease and 
 facility, while Ben Jonson toiled and sweated over his works ; but 
 we do not exalt the latter above the former on that account. To sum 
 up the matter, we may say, I think, that while it will be found that 
 whatever has been written with pain and difficulty will, in most 
 cases, prove to be better than that which has been easily composed, 
 there are plenty of exceptions to the rule. Some lands are naturally 
 rich and fertile and require little cultivation : others require much 
 labour to be spent upon them ; but the products of each may be of 
 equal value in quality, if not in quantity. 
 xlvi 
 
But Powder, Printing, Seaman Card, and Watches ? 
 So much vain dotage for the fond Elixir ? 
 Why are not yet my Christals malleable, 
 To make our Gold no Gold, and foile the Di'mond ? 
 Why want I Instruments to measure out 
 The Year, Ihe Day, the Houre, without the help 
 Of Sun, or turning of these tedious wheels ? 
 Nothing to carry me but Barges, Coaches ? 
 Sedans and Litters ? through the Aire I'd passe 
 By some new waftage. I must have my house 
 Convey'd by wheels and sailes and plummets hung 
 In some deep pit, deep as the way is distant, 
 To hurry me, my Family, and it 
 Whether I please. He travel like the Snaile 
 With all my bouse ; but swifter then the Paulcon. 
 Fuga. Rare Lady ! 
 CoHC. Ravishing Inventions ! 
 
 Fan, Why have not I my Beds stufTd all with wind. 
 Baths fiU'd with Maydew, Flowers preserv'd till winter. 
 As well as Snow till Summer : choisest Fruits 
 Growing and ripe in midst of January ? 
 Why have not I Ponds running through my Cellars, 
 For Bottles and for Fish call'd by their names ? 
 Why not in drought an Artificial rain. 
 Scattered by spowtes, to cheer my Paradise ? 
 Mtm. I wish you had these things : I nere saw such. 
 Fan. Cheape I can have ^olian bellowes made 
 Within the Bowles of Andirons, where the water 
 Shall blow the iire by which 'tis rariiied. 
 I will have Vaults which shall convey my whispers 
 In steed of Embasies to forreign Nations ; 
 Places for Ecchoes to pronounce a speech, 
 Or give a Suffrage like a multitude : 
 Consorts well play'd by water ; Pictures taught 
 By secret Organs both to move and speak : 
 
 xlvii 
 
We spend ourselves too much upon the Taylour : 
 I rather would new mold, new fashion Nature. 
 
 If there is anywhere in the writings of any other poet or 
 philosopher a passage to compare with this I have yet to 
 make its acquaintance. The more it is considered the more 
 remarkable it becomes. It forms indeed an almost complete 
 summing up of the most wonderful achievements of science 
 and invention since the writer's time. It may not be strange 
 that Strode should have foretold the invention of the navig- 
 able balloon, since that is an idea which might have occurred, 
 and perhaps did occur, to previous thinkers ; but few of the 
 other marvels which Fancie enumerates can have suggested 
 themselves to other writers or speculators. Not all the 
 things, indeed, which Fancie foretells have come to pass as 
 yet ; but since so many of them are now accomplished facts, 
 we may expect with some confidence the fulfilment of the 
 rest of her forecasts. 
 
 There are a few dark sayings in the speech which require 
 perhaps a little elucidation, as, for instance : 
 
 Why are not yet my Christals malleable, 
 
 To make our Gold no Gold, and foile the Di'mond ? 
 
 May we not fairly see in this a forecast of the discovery of 
 radium ? I think we may ; and something more indeed than 
 a mere oracular utterance which might be made to apply to 
 half a dozen different discoveries. 
 
 As to the instruments to measure out years, days, and 
 hours, though they have not (so far as I am aware) been yet 
 devised, who, after the discovery of so many much more 
 wonderful things, can doubt that they will in due time be 
 xlviii 
 
invented ? And though no house has yet been conveyed 
 through the bowels of the earth, the possibility of the feat — 
 though not perhaps exactly in the way indicated — has at 
 least been demonstrated. Then ."either the lines beginning — 
 
 Cheape I can have ^olian bellowes made — 
 are a forecast of the discovery of the uses of the power of 
 steam ; or they are, so far as I can see, meaningless, unless, 
 indeed, they refer to some future and as yet unimagined in- 
 vention. In the " Vaults which shall convey my whispers," 
 we have evidently the telephone ; while in " Places for echo 
 to pronounce a speech," we have no less evidently the phono- 
 graph. The various minor wonders which Fancie mentions 
 need no commentary : upon the whole, may we not say that 
 the new moulding and new-fashioning of nature, which Fancie 
 expressed her desire for, has come about pretty much in the 
 way she prophesied, and by the means which she fore- 
 shadowed ? Surely we may. Did Strode write the speech 
 as a mere flight of his own fancy ? Not altogether, I think. 
 I believe that some at least of the anticipations of the future 
 which he puts into the mouth of Fancie were such as he had 
 himself speculated upon as scientific possibilities. But no 
 matter whether Strode was merely exercising his imagination 
 in order to satirise the vain extravagance of human wishes, 
 or whether he was making a conscious effort to foretell the 
 progress of invention and discovery, the speech of Fancie is 
 and must remain one of the most remarkable — if not the 
 most remarkable — of all attempts to forecast the wonders of 
 the future.* 
 
 • See the notes appended to the play for some other instances of 
 Strode's power of prophetic insight. 
 
 xlix 
 
" Something too much of this," perhaps. The prologue 
 must not be allowed to tire out the audience before the play 
 begins. Let me say then, in conclusion, that I have en- 
 deavoured, as far as I could, to speak of Strode quite candidly 
 and impartially ; and indeed I almost fear that in trying to 
 avoid any overstatement of his claims I have erred on the 
 other side. But whatever the final verdict upon him may 
 be, I shall continue to think that he was a poet of very con- 
 siderable gifts ; and one who well deserved to be rescued 
 from the obscurity which had so long enshrouded him. It 
 makes me proud and happy to think that I have had the 
 good fortune to introduce to my countrymen two such poets 
 as Traherne and Strode- It is a piece of vanity, I know, for 
 me to say this — but so let it be ! It is not a kind of vanity 
 with which any generous or kindly critic will reproach me ; 
 and as for those of another sort their censures cannot touch 
 me. I am not so arrogant as Ben Jonson, and will not repeat 
 his famous asseveration — would not indeed make any as- 
 severation respecting a work of my own — ^but with regard to 
 Traherne and Strode, I do not hesitate to say 
 
 Approve them or condemn as you will, 
 
 I know they're good, and must believe so still. 
 
 Something remains to be said concerning the manner in 
 which the present volume has come into existence. About 
 four years ago I had the good fortune to purchase, at the sale 
 of the Phillipps Manuscripts, a volume containing a valuable 
 collection of poems, mostly by authors of the early part of 
 the seventeenth century. Two or three weeks later I bought 
 at Messrs. Hodgson's sale-rooms a still more valuable manu- 
 script volume of about the same date as the one just men- 
 1 
 
tioned. Both volumes contain numerotis pieces which are, 
 so far as I can discover, unknown and unprinted ; and both 
 of them contain many of Strode's poems. Until these books 
 fell into my hands I knew hardly more of Strode than his 
 mere name. When I came to read his poems my surprise 
 was great at finding how excellent they were, and I at once 
 determined that I would, if possible, become his first editor. 
 I soon found that it was no easy task which I had undertaken. 
 Not much more than half of the poems which are here col- 
 lected were contained in the MS. volumes which I have 
 mentioned. It was necessary, therefore, to undertake a 
 search for the remainder of Strode's poems.* This was no 
 easy task for me, since I am far from having the leisure and 
 the freedom from other occupations which are favourable to 
 such researches. I do not know, indeed, how I could ever 
 have accomphshed the task had I not found willing and 
 altogether disinterested co-workers, who at the expense of 
 much time and trouble aided me wherever aid was necessary* 
 To Mr. Percy Simpson I have already expressed my obliga- 
 
 * Here it is only just to the late Dr. Grosart that I should mention 
 that he issued in 1895 proposals for the publication of a volume of 
 " Literary Finds," among which were to be included as many of 
 Strode's poems as he had been able to discover. He did not, how- 
 ever, receive sufficient promises of support to enable him to go on 
 with his project, as he confessed in i8gg in an article which he con- 
 tributed to the German magazine "Englische Studien." In that 
 article he gave a list of Strode's poems, so far as he then knew them. 
 This list comprises about sixty pieces, whereas there are in the pre- 
 sent volume upwards of a hundred. Dr. Grosart was not an ideal 
 editor ; but he did much work which, but for him, would have 
 remained undone. It is a pity that so much of his work needs to be 
 done again by more competent and critical hands. 
 
 li 
 
tions in the dedication ; but I must add here that most of the 
 necessary researches at the British Museum and at Oxford 
 were undertaken by him ; and that it is from his transcripts 
 that many of the poems included in this volume have been 
 printed. "Without his co-operation this volume must have 
 been a far more imperfect achievement than it is ; and I 
 sincerely hope that if it should be recognised that a good 
 work has been accomplished in its publication Mr. Simpson's 
 share in it will not be forgotten. I must also express my 
 deep sense of obligation to my friend, Mr. Thorn Dmry, of 
 whose knowledge, taste, and good advice I have throughout 
 availed myself. I must say — why indeed should I not say ? 
 — that I regard as one of the most fortunate events of my life 
 the fact that in this, as in many other things, I have been 
 able to profit by his wise coimsel and critical discernment. 
 How much life has been sweetened to my taste by the 
 friendship of the two gentlemen I have named words fail me 
 to express. 
 
 To the Rev. Charles Plummer, M.A., and to Mr. R. W. 
 Livingston, B.A., the past and present librarians of Corpus 
 Christi College, Oxon, the heartiest thanks are due for the 
 permission which they gave Mr. Simpson to copy and print 
 the Strode MSS. which were or are under their care. 
 
 I must also express my thanks to Mr. Arthur H. BuUen, 
 from whom, in a task which should have fallen to his own 
 lot, I have received the friendhest help and encouragement. 
 Nor must I neglect to mention Miss Louise Imogen Gxiiney, 
 who took much trouble in searching the Bodleian records 
 and documents. Thanks also are due to Professor Gollancz, 
 who placed his collection of materials relating to the history 
 lii 
 
of the Strode family at my disposal. Other helpers whom I 
 must name are Mr. Gordon Goodwin and Mr. G. E. K. 
 Arkwright. 
 
 I must, in conclusion, make some further remarks as to the 
 sources, manuscript and printed, from which the contents of 
 this volume have been derived. Leaving "The Floating 
 Island " out of consideration, and speaking roughly, I think 
 that about one-third of the poems contained in this book now 
 make their first appearance in prmt. Of the greater part of 
 the whole number I possess manuscript copies, and as those 
 which got into print abound in errors and misreadings these 
 manuscripts have been most useful in clearing and settling 
 the text. It is an error to suppose that a printed text (except, 
 of course, in cases where the author has supervised the pub- 
 lication of his works) is necessarily better than a manuscript 
 copy. It is an equal chance, I think, as to which will prove 
 the better ; and therefore the editor of a sixteenth or seven- 
 teenth century author shoidd, as far as possible, consult 
 manuscript as well as printed sources. In the present 
 instance it was necessary to begin with the manuscripts, since 
 they alone gave the author's name or initials. The poems, 
 as printed in the various poetical miscellanies of the time, 
 (" Parnassus Biceps," " Musarum Delicias," &c.), are almost 
 invariably anonymous. In dealing with manuscripts, how- 
 ever, it is necessary to exercise a good deal of caution. It 
 cannot be denied that the writers of some (not all) of them 
 indulged in a great deal of guess-work in affixing names or 
 initials to the various poems. Therefore it is rarely possible 
 to accept the evidence of a single manuscript as decisive of 
 the authorship of a poem. Unless it exhibits unmistakeable 
 
 / 1 
 
tokens of its parentage it is necessary (or at least desirable) 
 to seek for corroborative evidence. When, however, two or 
 three manuscripts are found to agree in assigning a poem to 
 one and the same author, their evidence may be accepted as 
 conclusive, providing there is no valid evidence to the con- 
 trary. Usually no great difficulty is experienced in coming 
 to a conclusion as to the authorship of any particular poem. 
 In cases where poems are attributed in different manuscripts 
 to different authors, the editor's duty is rather to set forth 
 the facts fairly and impartially than to decide in favour of 
 one or the other claimant. Not even in the case of a writer 
 with so strong an individuality as Donne, is it always possible 
 to judge from internal evidence whether a poem is or is not 
 to be attributed to him ; since his style was so generally, and 
 often so closely imitated that it is very diffictdt to distinguish 
 between the original and the copy. In the case of the pre- 
 sent volume I do not think that anything (excepting some of 
 the pieces which I have classed as " doubtful ") has been 
 attributed to Strode without sufficient evidence to justify the 
 attribution. Whenever I have had any doubt I have not 
 hesitated to express it. I shall be much surprised if any of 
 the poems here positively assigned to Strode (save, perhaps, 
 two or three of the smaller pieces) are challenged as being 
 wrongly attributed to him. I think that a careful and critical 
 reading of the book will convince most readers that through- 
 out it there is the stamp of the same kind and quality of 
 intellectual power : a power which, though manifested in 
 many diverse ways, always exhibits an essential unity of spirit. 
 Though I have already mentioned informally the various 
 sources from which the materials of the present volume have 
 liv 
 
been derived, it will be well perhaps to recapitulate them 
 here. They are derived then from — (1) two poetical manu- 
 script volumes in my own possession ; (2) various poetical 
 manuscript volumes in the British Museum and the Bodleian 
 Library ; (3) manuscripts in the hbrary of Corpus Christi 
 College, Oxford ; (4) many printed books, including " Par- 
 nassus Biceps," 1656, "Wit Restor'd," 1658, "Musarum 
 Deliciae," 1656, &c, &c. That the gathering together and 
 collation of these materials has entailed a good deal of pains- 
 taking research the reader, I suppose, will readily imagine ; 
 nor will he, perhaps, fail to reflect that what costs him but a 
 few shillings and a few pleasantly-occupied hours, has — not 
 to speak of the author's own labour — cost the writer many 
 months of diligent application. But, let me add, it was a task 
 willingly tmdertaken and continued with pleasure ; and my 
 only regret during its progress has been that I could not, 
 owing to my other occupations, bring it to a speedier conclu- 
 sion. But it is now happily accomplished, and whatever fate 
 it may meet with, I am sure of one thing — namely, that it 
 will always be a source of satisfaction to me that I have had 
 the good fortune to be the first to set forth the claims of 
 William Strode to a place in that pantheon of her poets 
 which the English nation will surely, sooner or later, 
 establish.* 
 
 * Here are a few more crumbs of information relating to Strode, 
 gathered partly from " Athense Oxonsienses," and partly from " The 
 Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Edited by Andrew Clark," 1891. 
 
 In addition to the various published works of Strode, which I have 
 already mentioned, Wood names the following : 
 
 Iv 
 
Speech made to Queen Mary at Oxon at her return out of Holland. 
 Oxon, 1643, 4to. 
 
 Sermon concerning Swearing, on Matth. 3, 37, Oxon, 1644, 4to. 
 
 Sermon concerning Death and the Resurrection, preached at S. 
 Mary's in Oxon on Low Sunday, 28 April, 1644. Oxon, 1644, 4to. 
 
 The following note is from " The Life and Times " mentioned 
 above, vol. i. p. 116: 
 
 "In Wood MS.E.4, he cites several speeches spoken by 
 William Strode to King Charles I. and great personages while he 
 was Orator, 1629-164^; some of them are in a MS. Collection of 
 speeches and letters [made by Richard Saunders of Oriel] in Francis 
 Barrye's hand, rector of Kingsey, near Thame, One speech which he 
 spoke to the King at Woodstock, anno 1633, when the heads of the 
 Universitie went to congratulate him, hath this beginning : Augus- 
 tissime et Christo proxime Homo-Deus ! quales pro te ad aras 
 sanctissimas, tales accedimus ad te, non oculari officio, non genubus 
 tantum provoluti, sed animis devoti, gratulationis, laudum, et 
 gratiarum effusissime pleni," etc. The parallel in Acts xii. 22, 23, 
 suggests itself. See Macray's Annals of the Bodleian (ed. i8go), 
 p. 73; Coxe's Cat. Codd. MSS. Coll. C.C. Oxon, no. ccci., fol. 129. 
 
 Ivi 
 
SONG 
 
 When Orpheus sweetly did complayne 
 Upon his lute with heavy strayne 
 How his Euridice was slayne, 
 
 The trees to heare 
 
 Obtayn'd an eare, 
 And after left it off againe. 
 
 At every stroake and every stay 
 
 The boughs kept time, and nodding lay, 
 
 And listened bending all one way : 
 
 The aspen tree 
 
 As well as hee 
 Began to shake and learn'd to play. 
 
 If wood could speake, a tree might heare. 
 If wood could sotmd true greife so neare 
 A tree might dropp an amber teare : 
 
 If wood so well 
 
 Could ring a knell 
 The Cipres might condole the beare. 
 
 The standing nobles of the grove 
 Hearing dead wood so speak and move 
 
 A 
 
The fatall axe beganne to love : 
 
 They envyde death 
 
 That gave such breath 
 As men alive doe saints above. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of the above poem in my 
 possession. There are some variations in the texts, but 
 with one exception they are of little importance. In one 
 copy lines g-ii read as follows : 
 
 At every shake 
 
 The leaves did quake : 
 The aspin tree thence learn'd to play.] 
 
 IN COMMENDATION OF MUSICK 
 
 When whispering straynes doe softly steale 
 With creeping passion through the hart, 
 And when at every touch wee feele 
 Our pulses beate and beare a part ; 
 
 When thredds can make 
 
 A hartstring shake 
 
 Philosophie 
 
 Can scarce deny 
 The soule consists of harmony. 
 
 When unto heavenly joy wee feyne 
 Whatere the soule affecteth most, 
 Which onely thus wee can explayne 
 By musick of the winged hoast. 
 
 Whose layes wee think 
 
 Make starres to winke, 
 2 
 
Philosophie 
 Can scarce deny 
 Our soules consist of harmony. 
 
 O lull mee, lull mee, charming ayre, 
 My senses rock with wonder sweete ; 
 Like snowe on wooll thy fallings are, 
 Soft, like a spiritts, are thy feete : 
 
 Greife who need feare 
 
 That hath an eare ? 
 
 Down lett him lye 
 
 And slumbring dye, 
 And change his soule for harmony. 
 
 [Printed from a manuscript copy in my possession. 
 The song was printed in " Wit Restor'd," 1658. The text 
 varies somewhat from that given above, but not in any 
 important point.] 
 
 SONG 
 
 Keepe on your maske, and hide your eye, 
 For with beholding you I dye : 
 Your fatall beauty, Gorgon-Uke, 
 Dead with astonishment will strike ; 
 Your piercing eyes if them I see 
 Are worse than basilisks to mee. 
 
 Shutt from mine eyes those hills of snowe, 
 Their melting valleys doe not showe ; 
 
Their azure paths lead to dispaire, 
 O vex me not, forbeare, forbeare ; 
 For while I thus in torments dweU 
 The sight of heaven is worse than hell. 
 
 Your dayntie voyce and warbling breath 
 
 Sound like a sentence pass'd for death ; 
 
 Your dangling tresses are become 
 
 Like instruments of finall doome. 
 
 O if an Angell torture so, 
 
 When life is done where shall I goe ? 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION 
 TO HIS MISTRESSE 
 
 Keepe on your mask and hide your eye 
 For in beholding you I dye. 
 Your fatall beauty Gorgon-like 
 Dead with astonishment doth strike. 
 Your piercing eyes that now I see 
 Are worse than Basilisks to me. 
 Shut from mine eyes those hills of snow, 
 Their melting vally do not shew : 
 Those azure paths lead to despaire, 
 O vex me not, forbear, forbear ; 
 For while I thus in torments dwell 
 The sight of Heaven is worse than Hell, 
 In those faire cheeks two pits doe lye 
 To bury those slaine by your eye : 
 4 
 
So this at length doth comfort me 
 
 That fairely buried I shall be : 
 
 My grave with Roses, Lillies, spread, 
 
 Methinks tis life for to be dead : 
 
 Come then and kill me with your eye, 
 
 For if you let me live I dye. « 
 
 When I perceive your lips againe 
 Recover those your eyes have slaine. 
 With kisses that (like balsome pure) 
 Deep wounds as soone as made doe cure, 
 Methinks tis sicknesse to be sound. 
 And there's no health to such a wound. 
 When in your bosome I behold 
 Two hills of snow yet never cold. 
 Which lovers, whom your beauty kills. 
 Revive by climing those your hiUs, 
 Methinks there's Ufe in such a death 
 That gives a hope of sweeter breath : 
 Then since one death prevails not where 
 So many antidotes are nere, 
 And your bright eyes doe but in vaine 
 Kill those who live as fast as slaine ; 
 That I no more such death survive 
 Your way's to bury me alive 
 In place unknown, and so that I 
 Being dead may live and living dye. 
 
 [The above is from "Parnassus Biceps." Curiously 
 enough, it is evidently made up of two poems. The second, 
 beginning with : 
 
 In those faire cheekes two pits do lye, 
 
has always been attributed to Carew, and is probably his, 
 though it might be claimed for Strode on the ground of its 
 great resemblance to his style. There are many variations 
 in text between the above version, and that printed in 
 Carew's poems, which, however, as they may easily be seen 
 in the Muses' Library edition of that poet, I will not here 
 record. 
 
 The reader will have noticed that the third stanza of 
 Strode's Song is omitted in the " Parnassus Biceps " version. 
 How the two poems came thus to be tacked together it 
 would be vain to conjecture.] 
 
 SONG 
 
 O when will Cupid shew such arte 
 To strike two lovers with one darte ? 
 I'm ice to him or hee to mee ; 
 Two hearts alike there seldome bee. 
 
 If thrice ten thousand meete together 
 How scarce one face is like another ! 
 If scarce two faces can agree 
 Two hearts alike there seldome bee. 
 
 [The last line in one of my manuscripts reads : 
 Two harts alike thou seldome see.] 
 
 A SONG ON A SIGH. 
 
 O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde, 
 In all thy cavernes canst thou finde 
 6 
 
A vapor, fume, a gale or blast 
 
 Like to a sigh which love doth cast ? 
 
 Can any whirlwynde in thy vault 
 
 Plough upp earth's breast with like assault ? 
 
 Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please, 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 If thou be wynde, O then refrayne 
 
 From wracking whiles I thus complayne : 
 
 If thou be wynde then light thou art, 
 
 Yet O ! how heavy is my hart ! 
 
 If thou be wynde then purge thy way, 
 
 Lett cares that clogge thy force obey, 
 
 Goe wynde and blow thou where thou please. 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 Those blasts of sighing raised are 
 By influence of my bright starre ; 
 Their ^olus from whom they came 
 Is love that straynes to blow his flame. 
 The powerfull sway of whose behest 
 Makes hearth and bellowes of my breast, 
 
 Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please, 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 Know 'tis a wynde that longs to blowe 
 Upon my Saint wherere shee goe. 
 And stealing through her fanne it beares 
 Soft errands to her lippes and eares. 
 
And then perhapps a passage makes 
 Downe to her heart when breath shee takes. 
 
 Goe wynde and blowe then where thou please, 
 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 Yes, gentle gale, trye that againe, 
 O doe not passe from mee in -vajne, 
 Goe mingle with her soule divine 
 Ingendring spiritts like to mine : 
 Yea take my soule along with thee 
 To worke a stronger sympathie : 
 
 Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please. 
 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 My soule, before my grosser part, 
 Thus to her heaven should departe. 
 And where the body cannott lye 
 On wings of wynde my soule shall f lye : 
 If not one soule our bodies joyne, 
 One body shall our soules confine, 
 
 Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please. 
 
 Yea breathles leave mee to my ease. 
 
 [I have two copies of the above poetn in my possession. 
 There are a good many variations in them, though they are 
 mostly unimportant. I give below those that seem worth 
 recording : 
 
 Line lo. From wracking mee, while I complayne 
 ,, 20. One MS. reads 'fame' instead of flame ' 
 „ 26. Where shee doth goe 
 „ 29. And thence 
 
Line 30. One MS. reads ' breast ' instead of ' heart ' 
 .. 41' >. 1. >> ' her ' instead of my ' 
 i> 43- >> » I) ■ And when the body down doth lye' 
 .. 45- .. ,. „ 'Though not'] 
 
 A SONG ON THE BATHS 
 
 What Angel stirrs this happy Well, 
 
 Some Muse from thence come shew't me, 
 One of those naked Graces tell 
 
 That Angels are for beauty : 
 The Lame themselves that enter here 
 
 Come Angels out againe, 
 And Bodies tttrne to Soules all cleere, 
 
 All made for joy, noe payne. 
 
 Heate never was so sweetely mett 
 
 With moist as in this shower : 
 Old men are borne anew by swett 
 
 Of its restoring pow'r : 
 When crippl'd joynts we suppl'd see. 
 
 And second lives new come, 
 Who can deny this Font to be 
 
 The Bodies Christendome ? 
 
 One Bath so fiery is you'l thinke 
 
 The Water is aU Spirit, 
 Whose quick'ning streames are like the drink 
 
 Whereby we Life inheritt : 
 
The second Poole of middle straine 
 
 Can wive Virginity, 
 Tempting the blood to such a vayne 
 
 One sexe is He and She. 
 
 The third where horses plunge may bring 
 
 A Pegasus to reare us, 
 And call for pens from Bladud's wing 
 
 For legging those that beare us. 
 Why should Physitians thither fly 
 
 XX/Tiere Waters med'cines be, 
 
 Physitians come to cure thereby. 
 
 And are more cur'd than we. 
 
 [This Song is from a much corrected copy in the library 
 of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. The above follows the 
 original text : but some of the corrections should be recorded. 
 The seventh line of the second stanza is thus corrected : 
 
 The Cross [ .' here ] shewes this Font to be. 
 The third stanza is so much corrected that it had better be 
 given in full : 
 
 Bring hear your physick faith and live, 
 
 The water is all Spirit ; 
 [? Here] iire and water joyne to give 
 
 A double cleansing for itt. 
 It gives the barren fruitfuU straine, 
 
 It wives Virginity, 
 Tempting the blood to such a Vayne 
 One sexe is He and She. 
 The first four lines of the fourth stanza are altered thus : 
 My steede new foal'd from hence doth spring 
 
 Like Pegasus to reare me, 
 Or tooke Pens pluck'd from Bladud's wing 
 For legging those which beare me. 
 10 
 
I suppose I need hardly say that the poem celebrates the 
 famous springs of the town which has taken its name from 
 them. I believe it is the earliest poem on the subject : at all 
 events I know of no earlier one]. 
 
 SONG 
 
 A STRANGE GENTLEWOMAN PASSING BY 
 HIS WINDOW 
 
 As I out of a casement sent 
 
 Mine eyes as wand'ring as my thought, 
 
 Upon no certayne object bent, 
 
 But only what occasion brought, 
 
 A sight stirpriz'd my hart at last, 
 
 Nor knewe I well what made it bume ; 
 
 Amazement held me then so fast 
 
 I had no leasure to disceme. 
 
 Sure 'twas a Mortall, but her name. 
 
 Or happy parentage or place, 
 
 Or (that which did mee most inflame) 
 
 I cannot tell her very Face : 
 
 No ; 'twere prophane to think I could, 
 
 And I should pitch my thoughts too lowe 
 
 If ever sett my love I should 
 
 On that which Art or "Words can shewe. 
 
 Was ever man so vext before. 
 Or ever love so blind as this, 
 Which vows and wishes to implore. 
 And yet not knows for what to wish ? 
 
 11 
 
Thus children spend theyr wayward cryes, 
 Not knowing why they doe complayne ; 
 Thiis sicke men long for remedyes, 
 Not knowing what would ease theyr payne. 
 
 Some god call backe againe that sight ; 
 He suffer double payne to boote, 
 For griefe and anger in mee fight 
 So strongly at no marke to shoote ! 
 Not only meanes to winne her grace, 
 But meanes to seeke are barr'd from mee ; 
 Despayre enforc't by such a case 
 Is not a sitme but miserie. 
 
 Pygmalion hold thine Image fast, 
 'Tis something to enjoy Love so : 
 Narcissus thou a shaddowe hast. 
 At least thereby to cheate thy woe ; 
 But I no likenesse can inferre 
 My pyning fancy to supply ; 
 Nothing to love instead of her 
 For feare of some idolatry. 
 
 [I have two copies of the above poem in MS., a few varia- 
 tions between which may be noted. The second line of the 
 second stanza reads thus in one version : 
 
 Or patronage or happy place. 
 
 In the third line of the third stanza one MS. reads 'With 
 vows' instead of 'Which vows.' The last line of stanza 
 four reads in one version for ■ Is not a sinne ' ' Is made no 
 sinne.' The fourth line of the last stanza reads in one MS. 
 ' wherby ' instead of ' thereby ']. 
 12 
 
SONG 
 
 ON A FRIENDS ABSENCE 
 
 Come, come, I faint : thy heavy stay 
 Doubles each houre of the day : 
 The winged hast of nimble love 
 Makes aged Time not seeme to move : 
 
 Did not the light, 
 
 And then the night 
 
 Instruct my sight 
 I should believe the Sunne forgot his flight. 
 
 Show not the drooping marygold 
 "Whose leaves like grieving amber fold : 
 My longing nothing can explain 
 But soule and body rent in twain : 
 
 Did I not moane, 
 
 And sigh and groane. 
 
 And talk alone, 
 I should believe my soul was gone from home. 
 
 She's gone, she's gone, away she's fled. 
 Within my breast to make her bed. 
 In me there dwels her tenant woe. 
 And sighs are all the breath I blow : 
 
 Then come to me, 
 
 One touch of thee 
 
 "Will make me see 
 If loving thee I live or dead I be. 
 
 13 
 
MELANCHOLLY 
 
 Hence, hence, all you vaine delights. 
 As short as are the nights 
 Wherein you spend your folly : 
 Ther's nought in this life sweete. 
 If men were wise to see'te 
 But only MelanchoUy : 
 
 O sweetest MelanchoUy ! 
 
 Welcome folded armes and fixed eyes, 
 
 A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
 
 A looke that's fastned to the ground, 
 
 A tongue chayned upp without a sound. 
 
 Fountains heads, and pathlesse groves. 
 
 Places which pale Passion loves : 
 
 Moonlike wakes, when all the Fowles 
 
 Are warmly housde, save Batts and Owles : 
 
 A midnight knell : a parting groane : 
 
 These are the sounds wee feede upon. 
 
 Then, stretch your bones in a still gloomy vaUy, 
 
 Ther's nothing daynty, sweete, save MelanchoUy, 
 
 [See Introduction for a discussion as to the authorship of 
 this lyric. The above version is copied from one of my 
 MS. volumes. It differs in a few instances from the printed 
 version. Thus we have in the fourteenth line ' Moonlight 
 Walks ' instead of ' Moonlike wakes ' ; in line eighteen ' our ' 
 instead of ' your ' ; while the last line reads as follows : 
 
 ' Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.'] 
 
 14 
 
OPPOSITE TO MELANCHOLY 
 
 Retume my joyes, and hither bring 
 
 A tongue not made to speake but sing, 
 
 A jolly spleene, an inward feast, 
 
 A causelesse laugh without a jest, 
 
 A face which gladnesse doth anoynt, 
 
 An arm that springs out of his joynt, 
 
 A sprightfuU gate that leaves no print, 
 
 And makes a feather of a flint, 
 
 A heart that's lighter than the ayre. 
 
 An eye still dancing in his spheare, 
 
 Strong mirth which nothing can controule, 
 
 A body nimbler than the soule. 
 
 Free wandring thoughts not tyde to muse 
 
 Which thinke on all things, nothing choose, 
 
 WTiich ere we see them come are gone ; 
 
 These life itselfe doth feede upon. 
 
 15 
 
A TRANSLATION OF THE NIGHTINGALE 
 OUT OF STRADA 
 
 Now the declining sun 'gan downwards bend 
 
 From higher heavens, and from his locks did send 
 
 A milder flame, when near to Tiber's flow 
 
 A lutinist allay'd his careful woe 
 
 With sounding charms, and in a greeny seat 
 
 Of shady oake took shelter from the heat. 
 
 A Nightingale oreheard him, that did use 
 
 To sojourn in the neighbour groves, the muse 
 
 That fill'd the place, the Syren of the wood ; 
 
 Poore harmless Syren, stealing neare she stood 
 
 Close lurking in the leaves attentively 
 
 Recording that unwonted melody : 
 
 Shee cons it to herselfe and every strayne 
 
 His finger playes her throat retum'd again. 
 
 The lutinist perceives an answeare sent 
 
 From th' imitating bird and was content 
 
 To shewe her play ; more fully then in hast 
 
 He tries his lute, and (giving her a tast 
 
 Of the ensuing quarrel) nimbly beats 
 
 On all his strings ; as nimbly she repeats. 
 
 And (wildely ranging ore a thousand keys) 
 
 Sends a shrill warning of her after-layes. 
 
 16 
 
With rolling hand the Lutinist then plies 
 
 His trembling threads ; sometimes in scornftd wise 
 
 He brushes down the strings and keemes them all 
 
 With one even stroke ; then takes them severall 
 
 And allies them ore again. His sparkling joynts 
 
 (With busy descant mincing on the points) 
 
 Reach back with busy touch : that done hee stayes, 
 
 The bird replies, and art with art repayes, 
 
 Sometimes as one unexpert or in doubt 
 
 How she might wield her voice, shee draweth out 
 
 Her tone at large and doth at first prepare 
 
 A solemne strayne not weav'd with sounding ayre, 
 
 But with an equall pitch and constant throate 
 
 Makes clear the passage of her gliding noate ; 
 
 Then crosse division diversly shee playes, 
 
 And loudly chanting out her quickest layes 
 
 Poises the soimds, and with a quivering voice 
 
 Falls back again : he (wondering how so choise. 
 
 So various harmony should issue out 
 
 From such a little throate) doth go about 
 
 Some harder lessons, and with wondrous art 
 
 Changing the strings, doth upp the treble dart, 
 
 And downwards smites the base ; with painefuU stroke 
 
 Hee beats, and as the trumpet doth provoke 
 
 Sluggards to fight, even so his wanton skill 
 
 With mingled discords joynes the hoarse and shrUl : 
 
 The Bird this also tunes, and while she cutts 
 
 Sharp notes with melting voice, and mingled putts 
 
 Measures of middle sound, then suddenly 
 
 Shee thunders deepe, and juggs it inwardly, 
 
 B 17 
 
With gentle murmurs, cleare and dull shee sings, 
 
 By course, as when the martial warning rings : 
 
 Beleev't the minstrel blusht ; with angry mood 
 
 Inflam'd, quoth hee, thou chauntresse of the wood. 
 
 Either from thee He beare the prize away. 
 
 Or vanquisht break my lute without delay. 
 
 Inimitable accents then hee stra3mes ; 
 
 His hand flyes ore the strings : in one hee chaynes 
 
 Four different numbers, chasing here and there. 
 
 And all the strings belabour'd everywhere : 
 
 Both flatt and sharpe hee strikes, and stately grows 
 
 To prouder straynes, and backwards as he goes 
 
 Doubly divides, and closing upp his layes 
 
 Like a full quire a shouting consort playes ; 
 
 Then pausing stood in expectation 
 
 If his corrival now dares answeare on ; 
 
 But shee when practice long her throate had whett, 
 
 Induring not to yield, at once doth sett 
 
 Her spiritt all of worke, and all in vayne ; 
 
 For while shee labours to express againe 
 
 With nature's simple touch such diverse keyes. 
 
 With slender pipes such lofty noates as these, 
 
 Orematcht with high designes, orematcht with woe. 
 
 Just at the last encounter of her foe 
 
 Shee faintes, shee dies, falls on his instrument 
 
 That conquer'd her ; a fitting monument. 
 
 So far even little soides are driven on, 
 
 Struck with a vertuous emulation. 
 
 [The above is from a manuscript copy in my possession. 
 The text is apparently a very good and correct one. In the 
 
 18 
 
an 
 
 eg. 
 
 n 
 
 13. 
 
 >> 
 
 14. 
 
 99 
 
 23. 
 
 If 
 
 as- 
 
 library of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, there is ai>other 
 copy, which Mr. Percy Simpson has collated for me. This 
 gives some variations which should be noted. They are as 
 follows : 
 
 ' fits ' instead of 'fiU'd' 
 ' conde ' instead of ' cons' 
 ' fingers playde ' instead of ' finger playes ' 
 ' cordes ' instead of ' threads ' 
 'keemes' (i.e. combes). My own MS. reads 
 ' kennes ' ; but as this is obviously wrong I 
 have adopted the reading of the C.C.C. MS. 
 ,, 36. The C.C.C. MS. reads 'Makes a cleare pissage 
 
 for her gliding note.' 
 „ 39. 'straine' instead of 'sounds.' 
 „ 46. ' Cowards ' instead of ' sluggards 
 „ 52. 'roundeth' instead of 'juggs it' 
 ,, 55. ' The Minstrell surely blusht' instead of 'Beleev't 
 
 the Minstrell blush't ' 
 ,, 62. ' belabours ' instead of ' belabour'd ' 
 ,, 66. 'of instead of 'a' 
 1, 73- ' voyce ' instead of ' touch ' 
 
 ,, 74. 'deepe octaves like to these' instead of 'such 
 lofty noates as these ' 
 
 See Appendix for the Latin text of the poem.] 
 
 19 
 
ON WESTWELL DOWNES 
 
 When Westwell Downes I gan to tread, 
 Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe, 
 Methought a landskipp there was spread, 
 Here a bush and there a sheepe : 
 
 The pleated wrinkles of the face 
 
 Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace, 
 
 As shadowings in Imag'ry 
 
 Which both deceive and please the eye. 
 
 The sheepe sometymes did tread the maze 
 
 By often wynding in and in, 
 
 And sometymes round about they trace 
 
 AJHiich milkmayds call a Fairie ring : 
 Such semicircles have they runne, 
 Such lynes acrosse so trymly spunne 
 That sheppeards leame whenere they please 
 A new Geometry with ease. 
 
 The slender food upon the downe 
 
 Is allwayes even, aUwayes bare, 
 
 Which neither spring nor winter's frowne 
 
 Can ought improve or ought impayre : 
 
 20 
 
Such is the barren Eunuches chynne, 
 Which thus doth evermore begynne 
 With tender downe to be orecast 
 Which never comes to haire at last. 
 
 Here and there twoe hilly crests 
 Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene, 
 And these are like twoe swelling breasts 
 That close a tender fall betweene. 
 
 Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray 
 
 From early mome till flight of day : 
 
 But harke ! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp, 
 
 Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp. 
 
 [There are two Westwells, one in Kent, and the other in 
 Oxfordshire. It seems more probable that the latter is the 
 subject of this poem. The " great hollow tree," which is the 
 subject of the next poem, was one of the notable things at or 
 near Westwell. I suppose it no longer exists ; but it would 
 be interesting to know if any tradition about it still survives 
 in the neighbourhood.] 
 
 ON A GREAT HOLLOW TREE, 
 
 Preethee stand still awhile, and view this tree 
 Renown'd and honour'd for antiquitie 
 By all the neighbour twiggs ; for such are all 
 The trees adjoyning, bee they nere so tall, 
 Comparde to this : if here Jacke Ma3^ole stood 
 All men would sweare 'twere but a fishing rodde. 
 
 21 
 
Mark but the gyant trunk, which when you see 
 You see how many woods and groves there bee 
 Compris'd within one elme. The hardy stocke 
 Is knotted like a clubb, and who dares mocke 
 His strength by shaking it ? Each brawny limbe 
 Could pose the centaure Monychus, or him 
 That wav'de a hundred hands ere hee could wield 
 That sturdy waight, whose large extent might shield 
 A poore man's tenement. Greate Ceres' oake 
 Which Erisichthon feld, could not provoke 
 Halfe so much hunger for his punishment 
 As hewing this would doe by consequent. 
 
 Nothing but age could tame it : Age came on, 
 And loe a lingering consumption 
 Devour'd the entrails, where an hollow cave 
 Without the workman's helpe beganne to have 
 The figure of a Tent : a pretty cell 
 Where grand Silenus might not scome to dwell. 
 And owles might feare to harbour, though they brought 
 Minerva's warrant for to bear them out 
 In this their bold attempt. Looke down into 
 The twisted curies, the wreathing to and fro 
 Contrived by nature : where you may descry 
 How hall and parlour, how the chambers lie. 
 And wer't not strange to see men stand alone 
 On leggs of skinne without or flesh or bone ? 
 Or that the selfe same creature should survive 
 After the heart is dead ? This tree can thrive 
 Thus maym'd and thus impayr'd : no other proppe, 
 But only barke remayns to keep it uppe. 
 22 
 
Yet thus supported it doth firmly stand, 
 
 Scorning the saw-pitt, though so neere at hand. 
 
 No yawning grave this grandsire Elme can fright, 
 
 Whilst yongling trees are martyr'd in his sight. 
 
 O leame the thrift of Nature, that maintaines 
 
 With needy myre stolne upp in hidden veynes 
 
 So great a bulke of wood. Three columes rest 
 
 Upon the rotten tninke, wherof the least 
 
 Were mast for Argos. Th' open backe below 
 
 And three long leggs alone doe make it shew 
 
 Like a huge trivett, or a monstrous chayre 
 
 With the heeles tum'd upward. How proper, 6 how fayre 
 
 A seate were this for old Diogenes 
 
 To grumble in and barke out oracles. 
 
 And answere to the Raven's augury 
 
 That builds above. Why grew not this strange tree 
 
 Neere Delphos ? had this wooden majesty 
 
 Stood in Dodona forrest, then would Jove 
 
 Foregoe his oake, and only this approve. 
 
 Had those old Germans that did once admire 
 
 Deformed Groves ; and worshipping with fire 
 
 Burnt men unto theyr gods : had they but seene 
 
 These horrid stumps, they canonizde had beene. 
 
 And highly too. This tree would calme more gods 
 
 Than they had men to sacrifice by odds. 
 
 You Hamadryades, that wood-borne bee. 
 Tell mee the causes, how this portly tree 
 Grew to this haughty stature ? Was it then 
 Because the mummys of so many men 
 Fattned the ground ? or cause the neighbor spring 
 
 23 
 
Conduits of water to the roote did bring ? 
 Was it with Whitsun sweat, or ample snuffes 
 Of my Lord's beere that such a bignesse stuffes 
 And breaks the barke ? O this it is, no doubt : 
 This tree, I warrant you, can number out 
 Your 'Westwell annals, & distinctly tell 
 The progresse of this hundred years, as well 
 By Lords and Ladies, as ere Rome could doe 
 By Consulships. These boughes can witnesse too 
 How goodman Berry tript it in his youth, 
 And how his daughter Joane, of late forsooth 
 Became her place. It might as well have grown, 
 If Pan had pleas'd, on toppe of Westwell downe. 
 Instead of that proud Ash ; and easily 
 Have given ayme to travellers passing by 
 With wider armes. But see, it more desirde 
 Here to bee lov'd at home than there admirde : 
 And porter-like it here defends the gate. 
 As if it once had beene greate Askapate. 
 Had warlike Arthur's dayes enjoy'd this Elme 
 Sir Tristram's blade and good Sir Lancelot's helme 
 Had then bedeckt his locks, with fertile store 
 Of votive reliques which those champions wore : 
 UntiU perhaps (as 'tis with great men found) 
 Those burdenous honours crusht it to the groimd : 
 But in these merry times 'twere farre more trimme 
 If pipes and citterns hung on every limbe ; 
 And since the fidlers it hath heard so long, 
 I'me sure by this time it deserves my song. 
 
 [The above is from a copy in one of my MS. books. The 
 24 
 
text appears, on the whole, to be Yery correct. I have, 
 however, made one correction. In line 58 the MS. reads : 
 ' Burnt gods unto their gods ; ' — an evident mistake.] 
 
 ON FAYRFORD WINDOWES 
 
 I know no paynt of poetry 
 Can mend such colourd Imag'ry 
 In sullen inke : yet Fayrford, I 
 May relish thy fayre memory. 
 
 Such is the Ecchoes faynter sound, 
 Such is the light when sunne is drownd ; 
 So did the fancy looke upon 
 The worke before it was begunne : 
 Yet when those shewes are out of sight 
 My weaker colours may delight. 
 
 Those Images so faythfuUy 
 Report true feature to the eye 
 As you may thinke each picture was 
 Some visage in a looking-glasse ; 
 Not a glasse-window face, unlesse 
 Such as Cheapside hath : where a presse 
 Of paynted gallants looking out 
 Bedecke the Casement round about : 
 But these have holy physnomy : 
 Each pane instructs the Laity 
 With silent eloquence : for here 
 Devotion leads the eye, not eare, 
 
 25 
 
To note the catechising pa3mt, 
 Whose easy phrase doth so acquaint 
 Our sense with Gospell that the Creede 
 In such a hand the weake may reade : 
 Such types even yet of vertue bee, 
 And Christ, as in a glasse wee see. 
 
 Behold two turtles in one cage, 
 With such a lovely equipage. 
 As they who knew them long may doubt 
 Some yong ones have bin stollen out. 
 
 When with a fishing rodde the clarke 
 Saint Peters draught of fish doth marke, 
 Such is the scale, the eye, the finne, 
 Youd thinke they strive and leape within ; 
 But if the nett, which holds them breake, 
 Hee with his angle some would take. 
 
 But would you walke a tume in Pauls ? 
 Looke uppe ; one little pane inroules 
 A fayrer temple : fling a stone 
 The Church is out o' the windowes throwne. 
 
 Consider, but not aske your eyes, 
 And ghosts at midday seeme to rise : 
 The Saynts there, striving to descend. 
 Are past the glasse, and downward bend. 
 
 Looke there ! The Divell ! all would cry 
 Did they not see that Christ was by : 
 See where he suffers for thee : see 
 His body taken from the Tree : 
 Had ever death such life before ? 
 The limber corps, besullyd ore 
 26 
 
With meager palenesse, doth display 
 A middle state twixt Flesh and Clay : 
 His armes and leggs, his head and crowne, 
 Like a true Lambskinne dangling downe, 
 Who can forbeare, the Grave being nigh, 
 To bring fresh oyntment in his eye ? 
 
 The wondrous art hath equall fate, 
 Unfencd and yet unviolate : 
 The Puritans were sure deceivd, 
 And thought those shadowes movde and heavde. 
 So held from stoning Christ : the winde 
 And boystrous tempests were so kinde 
 As on his Image not to prey. 
 Whom both the winds and seas obey. 
 
 At Momus wish bee not amazd ; 
 For if each Christian heart were glazde 
 With such a window, then each breast 
 Might bee his owne Evangelist. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of the above in my possession. 
 The text in each is substantially the same, and differs only 
 in a few unimportant points. Fairford is a small market 
 town in Gloucestershire, eight miles east of Cirencester, and 
 twenty-five miles from Gloucester. Concerning the famous 
 windows and their history, see an article by Tom Taylor in 
 the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. i., new series, i86S. In that 
 article Mr. Taylor argues strongly in favour of the theory 
 that the windows were designed by Albert Durer ; but this 
 opinion, I believe, is not generally accepted, though the 
 designs are quite worthy of the great German artist.] 
 
 27 
 
ON A GENTLEWOMAN'S BLISTRED LIPP 
 
 Hide not that sprouting lipp, nor kill 
 The juicy bloome with bashfull skill : 
 Know it is an amorous dewe 
 That swells to court thy corall hewe, 
 And what a blemish you esteeme 
 To other eyes a pearle may seeme 
 Whose watery growth is not above 
 The thrifty seize that pearles doe love, 
 And doth so well become that part 
 That chance may seeme a secret art. 
 Doth any judge that face lesse fayre 
 Whose tender silke a mole doth beare ? 
 Or will a diamond shine less cleare 
 If in the midst a soil appeare ? 
 Or else that eye a finer nett 
 Whose glasse is ring'd about with jett ? 
 Or is an apple thought more sweete 
 When hony specks and redde doe meete ? 
 
 Then is the lipp made fayrer by 
 
 Such sweetness of deformitie. 
 The nectar which men strive to sipp 
 Springs like a well upon your lipp, 
 Nor doth it shew immodesty. 
 But overflowing chastity. 
 O who will blame the fruitfull trees 
 When too much sapp and gumme hee sees ? 
 Here nature from her store doth send 
 Only what other parts can lend ; 
 
 28 
 
The budde of love which here doth growe 
 Were too too sweete if pluckt belowe ; 
 When lovely buddes ascend so high 
 The roote belowe cannot be drye. 
 
 TO A GENTLEWOMAN FOR A FRIEND 
 
 No marvell if the Sunne's bright eye 
 
 Shower downe hott flames ; that qualitie 
 
 Still waytes on Ught ; but when wee see 
 
 Those sparkling balles of ebony 
 
 Distil such heat, the gazer straight 
 
 Stands so amazed at the sight 
 
 As when the lightning makes a breach 
 
 Through pitchie clouds : can lightning reach 
 
 The marrowe hurting not the skynne ? 
 
 Your eyes to me the same have byn ; 
 
 Can jett invite the loving strawe 
 
 With secrett fire ? so those can draw, 
 
 And can, where ere they glance a dart, 
 
 Make stubble of the strongest hart. 
 
 Oft when I looke I may descry 
 
 A little face peep through your eye ; 
 
 Sure 'tis the boy, who wisely chose 
 
 His throne among such rayes as those. 
 
 Which, if his qiiiver chance to fail. 
 
 May serve for darts to kill withal : 
 
 If to such powerful shafts I yeild. 
 
 If with so many wounds I bleed, 
 
 29 
 
Think me noe coward, though I lye 
 Thus prostrate with your charming eye : 
 Did I say but your eye ? I sweare 
 Death's in your beauty everywhere. 
 Your waxen hands when I recall, 
 Your lily breasts, their melting vale, 
 Your damaske cheeks, your lilly skynne. 
 Your corral Upp and dainty chynne, 
 Your shining locks and amber breath, 
 All pleasing instruments of death, 
 Your eye may spare itseUe : mine owne 
 When all your parts are duly knowne 
 From any part may fetch a dart 
 To wound itseUe. Kill not my hart, 
 By saying that I will dispise 
 The parentage from which you rise : 
 I know it well, and likewise knowe 
 That I my myselfe my breath doe owe 
 To Woolsey's roof e, and can it bee 
 I should disdayne your pedigree ? 
 Or is your Sire a butcher found ? 
 The fitter you to make a wound ; 
 Wound mee againe and more and more. 
 So you againe wiU mee restore. 
 But if resemblance tell the father 
 I think hee was an Angell rather, 
 
 [The MS. copies of the above poem are rather numerous, 
 
 and differ very considerably from each other. The above 
 
 is from a copy in my own possession. In C.C.C, Oxford, 
 
 there are two copies, which vary very considerably in their 
 
 30 
 
readings from each other, and from my own. The most 
 curious divergence between my own copy, and all others 
 known to me is that mine alone has the last thirteen lines as 
 printed above. Indeed the C.C.C, copies end quite differently. 
 One of them finishes thus : 
 
 To wound itselfe. Nay more my heart 
 Though I like Cupid blind should goe 
 Might feele a dart by touching you. 
 This is from MS. book 325. In MS. book 328 the poem ends 
 thus : 
 
 to wounde itselfe, & y ye heart,* 
 are with a thousand arrowes filled, 
 cannot say this or that hath kiUd, 
 noe more can I, but sure I am 
 yt yu art shee yt wrought ye same : 
 wound me again & more & more 
 so you againe will mee restore. 
 It may be noted that this version appears to be signed 
 ' W. Sh.', so that if any one feels disposed to claim the poem 
 for William Shakespeare, he will have some excuse for 
 doing so. 
 
 It does not seem necessary to record all the variations 
 between the three MSS. which are now under consideration ; 
 but perhaps two or three of them should be noted. Thus for 
 line 22 as given above MS. 328 reads as follows : 
 
 If wounded soe I grant the iield. 
 And lines 27-32 in the same MS. read : 
 your hill of snow when I recall 
 ye azure paths and meltinge vale, 
 your shining tresses, lilly skinne, 
 your damask cheek & silken chinne 
 your corrall lips & amber breath, 
 all pleasing instruments of death. 
 
 * Thus in MS. but doubtless there is some error here. 
 
 31 
 
In Trinity College, Dublin, there is another copy of the poem, 
 or rather of the first 24 lines of it. In this the variations are 
 slight, and need not be noted : but, curiously enough, four- 
 teen lines from the verses in praise of gray eyes are tacked on 
 to the poem, of course without reason or relevance. 
 Finally it should be noted that the six lines beginning 
 Oft when I looke I may descry 
 have been attributed to Carew, and are in fact printed as his 
 in all editions of his poems.] 
 
 FOR A GENTLEMAN, WHO, KISSINGE HIS FRIEND 
 
 AT HIS DEPARTURE LEFT A SIGNE OF 
 
 BLOOD ON HER 
 
 What mystery was this ; that I should finde 
 My blood in kissing you to stay behinde ? 
 'Twas not for want of color that requirde 
 My blood for paynt : No dye could be desirde 
 On that fayre silke, where scarlett were a spott 
 And where the juice of liUies but a blotte. 
 'Twas not the signe of murther that did taynt 
 The harmlesse beauty of so pure a saynt : 
 Yes, of a loving murther, which rough Steele 
 Could never worke ; such as we joy to feele : 
 Wherby the ravisht soule though dying lives, 
 Since life and death the selfsame object gives. 
 If at the presence of a murtherer 
 The woimd will bleede and tell the cause is ther, 
 A touch will doe much more, and thus my heart, 
 When secretly it felt the killing darte, 
 32 
 
Shew'd it in blood : which yet doth more complayne 
 
 Because it cannot be so touched againe. 
 
 This wounded heart, to shew its love most true, 
 
 Sent forth a droppe and writ its minde on you. 
 
 Never was paper halfe so white as this, 
 
 Nor waxe so yeelding to the printed kisse, 
 
 Nor seal'd so strong. Noe letter ere was writt 
 
 That could the author's minde so truly hitt. 
 
 For though myselfe to foreigne countries flie. 
 
 My blood desires to keepe you company. 
 
 Here could I spill it all : thus I can free 
 
 Mine enemy from blood, though slayne I be : 
 
 But slayne I cannot bee, nor meete with ill, 
 
 Since but by you I have no blood to spill. 
 
 [This poem is found in " Parnassus Biceps" and in "J. 
 Cleaveland Revived," 1659. There are a good many varia- 
 tions in the text of these ; and in both of them lines 7-12, as 
 printed above, are omitted.] 
 
 ON A DISSEMBLER 
 
 Could any shcwe where Plynyes people dwell 
 Whose head stands in their breast ; who cannot tell 
 A smoothing lye because their open hart 
 And lippes are joyn'd so neare, I would depart 
 As quick as thought, and there forgett the wrongs 
 Which I have suffer'd by deceitfull tongues. 
 I should depart where soules departed bee, 
 Who being freed from cloudy flesh, can see 
 
 c 33 
 
Each other so immediately, so cleare 
 That none needs tongue to speak, nor ears to hear. 
 Were tongues intended to express the soule, 
 And can wee better doe't with none at all ? 
 Were words first made our meaning to reveale. 
 And are they usde our meaning to conceale ? 
 The ayre by which wee see, will that tume fogg ? 
 Our breath tume mist ? Will that become a clogg 
 That should unload the mynde ? Fall we upon 
 Another Babell's sub-confusion ? 
 And in the self-same language must wee finde 
 A diverse faction of the words and minde ? 
 Dull as I am, that hugg'd such emptie ayre, 
 And never mark't the deede (a phrase more faire, 
 More trusty and univocall) : joyne well 
 Three or foure actions, we may quickly spell 
 A hollow hart : if those no light can lend 
 Read the whole sentence, and observe the end : 
 I will not wayte so long ; the guilded man 
 On whom I ground my speech, no longer can 
 Delude my sense ; nor can the graceftdl arte 
 Of kind dissembling button upp his hart. 
 His well-spoke wrongs are such as hurtfull words 
 Writt in a comely hand ; or bloody swords 
 Sheath' d upp in velvett ; if hee draw on mee 
 My armour proofe is incredulity. 
 
 [From a copy in one of my MS. volumes. The poem was 
 printed in " Wit Restor'd " ; but the text in that volume is 
 inferior to that given above.] 
 
 34 
 
ON GRAY EYES 
 
 Looke how the russet mome exceeds the night, 
 
 How sleekest Jett yields to the di'monds light, 
 
 So fair the glory of the gray-bright eye 
 
 Out-vyes the black in lovely majesty, 
 
 A morning mantl'd with a fleece of gray 
 
 Laughs from her brow and shewes a spotlesse day : 
 
 This di'mond-like doth not his lustre owe 
 
 To borrowed helpe, as black thinges cast a show. 
 
 It needs noe day besides itselfe, and can 
 
 Make a Cimmeria seeme meridian : 
 
 Light sees, tis seen, tis that whereby wee see 
 
 When darknesse in the opticke facultie 
 
 Is but a single element : then tell 
 
 Is not that eye the best wherein doth dwell 
 
 More plenteous light ? that organ is divine. 
 
 And more than eye that is all chrystalline. 
 
 All rich of sight : oh that perspicuous glasse 
 
 That lets in light, and lets a light forth passe 
 
 Tis Lustre's thoroughfare where rayes doe thronge, 
 
 A burning glasse that fires the lookers-on. 
 
 Black eies sett off coarse beauties which they grace 
 
 But as a beard smutch'd on a swarthy face. 
 
 Why should the seat of hfe be dull'd with shade, 
 
 Or that be darke for which the day was made ? 
 
 The learned Pallas, who had witt to choose, 
 
 And power to take, did other eyes refuse, 
 
 And wore the gray : each country painter blotts 
 
 His goddesse eyeballs with two smutty spotts. 
 
 35 
 
Corruption layes on blacke ; give me the eye 
 Whose lustre dazles paynt and poetrie, 
 That's day unto itselfe ; which like the sun 
 Seemes all one flame. They that his beames will shun 
 Here dye like flyes : when eyes of every kind 
 Faint at the sun, at these the sun growes blind, 
 And skipps behind a cloud, that all may say 
 The Eye of all the world loves to be gray, 
 
 [There are two versions of the above poem in C.C.C., 
 Oxford. There are many textual variations in them ; but 
 they are mostly unimportant. I have selected from each of 
 them what seemed to be the best readings. 
 
 I believe that what our ancestors called gray eyes we 
 should ourselves call blue. At all events I cannot recall an 
 instance in any of our old poets in which blue eyes are 
 praised, or even alluded to, while the allusions to gray are 
 very frequent.] 
 
 ON A GENTLEWOMAN'S WATCH THAT 
 WANTED A KEY 
 
 Thou pretty heav'n whose great and lesser spheares 
 With constant wheelings measure hours and yeares 
 Soe faithfully that thou couldst solve the doubt 
 Of erring Time if Nature should be out, 
 Where's thy intelligence ? thy Soule ? the Key 
 That gives thee Life and Motion ? must thou stay 
 Thus cramp'd with rusty Sloth ? and shall each wheele 
 Disorganis'd confess it is but Steele ? 
 36 
 
Art's Living Creature, is thy thread all spent ? 
 
 Thy Piilse quite dead ? hath Time a period sent 
 
 To his owne Sister ? slaine his Eeven Match ? 
 
 That when we looke 'tis doomesday by the Watch, 
 
 Prithee sweete "Watch be marri'd, joyne thy side 
 
 Unto an active key, and then abide 
 
 A frequent screwing, till successively 
 
 More and more Time beget Eternity. 
 
 Knowe as a Woman never lock'd and key'd 
 
 Once in twice twelve growes faint and is downe-weighed 
 
 From Nature's full intent, and cannot live 
 
 Beyond her natural span, unlesse Man give 
 
 His vanish'd bone a quick'ning, unless Man 
 
 Doe adde an Ell unto her now shrunk span. 
 
 Unless he lengthen out posteritie 
 
 Her secret orbes will faint and She all die ; 
 
 Soe will thy wheeles decay, and finde their date 
 
 Unless a Key their houres doe propagate : 
 
 Then gett a key and live ; my life He gage 
 
 Each minute then shall grow into an age ; 
 
 Then lett thy Mistresse looking smile on Thee, 
 
 And say 'tis time my Watch and I agree. 
 
 [A copy of this poem in a C.C.C. MS. vol., givps a good 
 many various readings, but they are mostly inferior. It may 
 be noted however that line i2 in this version reads : 
 
 And when shee lookt tis doomsday with the watch ? 
 and line 22 
 
 Her secret orbes growe fainte & she growes drye.] 
 
 37 
 
A WATCH SENT HOME TO MRS, ELIZ ; 
 KING, WRAPT IN THEIS VERSES 
 
 Goe and count her better houres ; 
 They more happie are than ours. 
 The day that gives her any blisse 
 Make it as long againe as tis : 
 The houre shee smiles in lett it bee 
 By thy art increas'd to three : 
 But if shee frowne on thee or mee 
 Know night is made by her not thee : 
 Bee swift in such an hotire, and soon 
 Make it night though it bee noone : 
 Obey her tymes, who is the free 
 Fayre sun that govemes thee and mee. 
 
 ON A WATCH MADE BY A BLACKSMITH 
 
 A Vulcan and a Venus seldom part. 
 A blacksmith never us'd to filinge art 
 Beyond a lock and key, for Venus' sake 
 Hath cut a watch soe small that sence will ake 
 In searching every wire, and subtile sphere 
 Which his industrious skill hath order'd theire : 
 It scarce outswells a nut, and is soe light 
 A Ladies eare might well indure the weight. 
 Twas for a Mistrisse : pitty not his owne, 
 And yet not pitty when her worth is knowne, 
 Or els his love that ownes her : Either's name 
 Is carv'd within the plates : the witty frame 
 38 
 
Hath made their letters kiss for them, while they 
 Have like the watch one pulse, one S3rmpathy. 
 
 ON A GENTLEWOMAN THAT SUNG AND 
 PLAY'D UPON A LUTE 
 
 Be silent you still musique of the Sphears, 
 And every sense make haste to be all ears, 
 And give devout attention to her aires. 
 To which the Gods doe hsten as to prayers 
 Of pious votaries ; the which to heare 
 Tumult would be attentive, and would swear 
 To keep lesse noise at Nile, if there she sing, 
 Or with a happy touch grace but the string. 
 Among so many auditors, such throngs 
 Of Gods and men that presse to hear her songs, 
 O let me have an unespied room, 
 And die with such an anthem ore my tomb. 
 
 [This poem is printed in " Parnassus Biceps," and in 
 "Wits Interpreter," 1655. It is attributed to Strode in at 
 least two manuscripts, and I am not aware that it has ever 
 been claimed for anyone else. 
 
 In the ninth line I have ventured to substitute < such 
 throngs ' for ' so many throngs ' which is the reading of the 
 printed copies.] 
 
 UPON THE BLUSH OF A FAIRE LADIE 
 
 Stay lusty blood ! where canst thou seeke 
 So blest a seat as in her cheeke ? 
 
 39 
 
How dar'st thou from her face retire 
 Whose beauty doth command desire ? 
 But if thou wilt not stay, then flowe 
 Downe to her panting pappes belowe : 
 There take thou glory to distayne 
 With azure blewe each swelling veyne, 
 From thence run boyling through each part 
 TiU thou hast warm'd her frozen hart, 
 Which, if from love thou find'st entire, 
 O martyr it with gentle fire. 
 
 [The above is from a MS. vol. in my possession. In " Wit 
 Restor'd," 1658, there is a version which differs from this in 
 so many pomts that it will be best to give it in full : 
 
 A BLUSH 
 Stay hasty blood ! where canst thou seek 
 So blest a place as in her cheek ? 
 How canst thou from the place retire 
 Where beauty doth command desire ? 
 But if thou canst not stay, then show ; 
 Downe to her painting papps below 
 Flow like a deluge from her breast 
 Where Venus Swannes have built their nest, 
 And so take glory to disteine 
 The azure of each swelling vaine ; 
 Thence run thou boyling through each part 
 Till thou hast warm'd her frozen heart ; 
 But if from love she would retire 
 Then martyr her with gentle fire, 
 And having search't each secret place 
 Ply back againe into her face, 
 Where blessed live in changing those 
 White lilyes to a Ruddy rose.] 
 40 
 
ON A GENTLEWOMAN WALKING IN THE SNOWE 
 
 I saw faire Cloris walke alone 
 Where feather'd rayne came softly downe, 
 And Jove descended from his tower 
 To court her in a silver shower ; 
 The wanton snowe flewe to her breast 
 Like little birds into their nest, 
 And overcome with whiteness there 
 For greife it thaw'd into a teare, 
 Thence falling on her garment's hemme 
 For greife it freez'd into a gemme, 
 
 [The above is from one of my M S. volumes. In " Parnassus 
 Biceps," there is a version which is nearly the same as this, 
 except in the last two lines, which read thus : 
 
 Which trickling down her garments hemme 
 
 To deck her freezd into a gemme. 
 This poem, judging from the frequency with which it was 
 reprinted, must have been very popular during the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 In "Wits Recreations," 1640, there is a poem evidently 
 modelled upon Strode's. It is as follows : 
 
 ON HIS MISTRESS 
 I saw faire Flora take the aire. 
 When Phoebus shin'd, and it was faire ; 
 The heavens to allay the heat 
 Sent drops of raine, which gently beat. 
 The sun retires, asham'd to see 
 That he was barr'd from kissing thee: 
 Then Boreas took such high disdaine. 
 That soon he dri'd those drops again : 
 Ah cunning plot and most divine! 
 Thus to mix his breath with thine. 
 
 41 
 
It is perhaps worth mentioning that Swedenborg, during 
 his residence in England, translated Strode's poem into 
 Latin verse. His version was believed to be an original 
 poem, and was, after his death, printed as such.] 
 
 ON CHLORIS STANDING BY THE FIRE 
 
 Faire Chloris, standing by the Fire, 
 An amorous coale with hot desire 
 Leapt on her breast, but could not melt 
 The chaste snow there — which when it felt 
 For shame it blusht ; and then it died 
 There where resistance did abide, 
 And lest she should take it imkind 
 Kepentant ashes left behind. 
 
 TO A VALENTINE 
 
 Faire Valentine, since once your welcome hand 
 Did cull mee out wrapt in a paper band, 
 Vouchsafe the same hand still, to shew thereby 
 That Fortune did your will no injury : 
 What though a knife I give, your beauty's charme 
 Will keepe the edge from doing any harme : 
 Wool deads the sternest blade ; and will not such 
 A weake edge hirne, meeting a softer touch ? 
 
 42 
 
A SUPERSCRIPTION ON SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S 
 ARCADIA, SENT FOR A TOKEN 
 
 Whatever in Philoclea the fair 
 
 Or the discreet Pamela figiir'd are, 
 
 Change but the name the virtues are your owne. 
 
 And for a fiction there a truth is knovme : 
 
 If any service here perform'd you see. 
 
 If duty and affection paynted bee 
 
 Within these leaves : may you be pleas'd to know 
 
 They only shadow what I truly owe 
 
 To your desart : thus I a glasse have sent 
 
 Which both myself and you doth represent. 
 
 POSIES 
 
 BRACELETS 
 This keepes my hands 
 From Cupid's bands. 
 
 Goe, keepe that hand 
 From Hymen's band. 
 
 Silke though thou bee 
 
 More soft is /*Vf® 
 i.shee 
 
 That weareth thee. 
 
 Vouchsafe my prisoners thus to bee — 
 
 Hee 1 
 
 Shee i'^ ^^^^^^ bound that sent it thee. 
 
 43 
 
When you putt on this little band 
 Think then I take you by the hand, 
 
 AN EARE-STRINGE 
 
 'Tis vayne to add a ring or gemme, 
 Your eare itselfe outpasseth them. 
 
 When idle words are passing here, 
 I wame and pull you by the eare. 
 
 This silken chayne stands wayting here 
 For golden tongues to tye on there. 
 
 Here silken twynes, there locks you see — 
 Now tell me which the softer bee ? 
 
 A WATCH-STRING 
 
 Tyme's pictiu-e here invites your eyes, 
 See with how running wheeles it flyes ! 
 
 These strings can do what no mcin could- 
 The tyme they fast in prison hold. 
 
 A PURSE-STRING 
 
 We hugg, imprison, hang, and save, 
 This foe, this friend, our Lord, ovur slave, 
 44 
 
While thus I hang, you threatned see 
 The fate of him that stealeth mee. 
 
 A NECKLACE 
 
 These veines are nature's nett, 
 These cords by art are sett. 
 
 If love himselfe flye here, 
 Love is intangled here, 
 
 Loe ! on my neck this twist I bind. 
 For to hang him that steales my mynde 
 Unless hee hang alive in chaynes 
 I hang and dye in lingring paynes. 
 
 Theis threads enjoy a double grace, 
 Both by the gemme and by the place. 
 
 A GIRDLE 
 
 Whene'er the wast makes too much hast, 
 That hast againe makes too much wast. 
 
 I here stand keeper while 'tis light, 
 'Tis theft to enter when 'tis night. 
 
 This girdle doth the wast embrace 
 To keepe all others from that place. 
 
 45 
 
This circle here is drawne about 
 To keepe all tempting spiritts out. 
 
 Whoe'er the girdle doth undoe 
 Hee quite tindoes the owner too. 
 
 A PAIR OF GLOVES 
 
 If that from glove you take the letter g, 
 Then glove is love, and that I send to thee, 
 
 [All the above — the last excepted — are from one of my 
 MS. volumes. I believe most of them are now printed for 
 the first time.] 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF TWO DOLPHINS IN A 
 iFOUNTAYNE 
 
 These dolphins twisting each on either side 
 For joy leapt upp, and gazing there abide ; 
 And whereas other waters fish doe bring. 
 Here from the fishes doe the waters spring. 
 Who think it is more glorious to give 
 Than to receive the juice whereby they hve : 
 And by this mUk-white bason leame you may 
 That piure hands you should bring or beare away, 
 For which the bason wants no furniture. 
 Each dolphin wa3rting makes his mouth an ewer, 
 Your welcome then you well may understande 
 When fish themselves give water to your hand. 
 46 
 
SONNETT 
 
 My love and I for kisses play'd, 
 
 Shee would keepe stake, I was content, 
 
 But when I wonne shee would be paid ; 
 
 This made mee aske her what she meant. 
 
 Pray, since I see (quoth shee) your wrangling vayne. 
 
 Take your owne kisses, give me myne againe. 
 
 [In "New Court-Songs and Poems, by R, V. Gent." 1672, 
 this poem is printed, with three additional stanzas, which, 
 are, however, not worth quoting.] 
 
 TO HIS MISTKESSE 
 
 In yotu: steme beauty I can see 
 Whatere in Aetna wonders bee ; 
 If coales out of the topp doe flye 
 Hott flames doe gush out of your eye ; 
 If frost lye on the ground belowe 
 Your breast is white and cold as snowe : 
 The sparkes that sett my hart on fire 
 Refuse to melt your owne desire : 
 The frost that byndes your chilly breast 
 Wiih double fire hath mee opprest : 
 Both heate and cold a league have made. 
 And leaving you they mee invade ; 
 The hearth its proper flame withstands 
 When ice itself e heates others hands. 
 
 47 
 
[1 have two MS. copies of this poem, which differ but 
 little in their texts. One, however, is headed " For a 
 Gentleman," so that it would seem that Strode wrote the 
 poem, not on his own account, but for a friend.] 
 
 A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 He tell you how the Rose did first grow redde, 
 
 And whence the Lilly whitenesse borrowed : 
 
 You blusht, and then the Rose with redde was dight : 
 
 The Lillies kissde your hands, and so came white : 
 
 Before that time each Rose had but a stayne, 
 
 The Lilly nought but palenesse did containe : 
 
 You have the native colour, these the dye ; 
 
 They flourish only in your livery. 
 
 [There is a version of this poem, diifering slightly from 
 the above, in " Wits Recreations," 1640. Strode's claim to 
 the poem seems to be pretty clear: at all events I have 
 never seen it attributed to any other author.] 
 
 A RIDDLE : ON A KISS 
 
 What thing is that, nor felt nor seene 
 Till it bee given ? a present for a Queene : 
 A fine conceite to give and take the like : 
 The giver yet is farther for to seeke ; 
 The taker doth possesse nothing the more, 
 The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store : 
 48 
 
And given once that nature hath it still, 
 
 You cannot keepe or leave it if you will : 
 
 The workmanshippe is counted very small, 
 
 The labour is esteemed naught at all : 
 
 But to conclude, this gift is such indeede, 
 
 That, if some see't 'twill make theyr hearts to bleede. 
 
 ON A GENTLEWOMAN 
 THAT HAD HAD THE SMALL POXE 
 
 A Beauty smoother than the Ivory playne 
 Late by the Poxe injuriously was sla3me : 
 Twas not the Poxe : Love shott a thousand darts. 
 And made those pitts for graves to bury hearts : 
 But since that Beauty hath regaynde her light, 
 Those hearts are double slayne, it shines so bright. 
 
 ON JEALOUSY 
 
 There is a thing that nothing is, 
 A foolish wanton, sober wise ; 
 It hath noe wings, noe eyes, noe eares. 
 And yet it flies, it sees, it heares ; 
 It lives by losse, it feeds on smart, 
 It joyes in woe, it Uveth not ; 
 Yet evermore this htmgry elfe 
 Doth feed on nothing but itselfe. 
 
 49 
 
OF DEATH & RESURRECTION. 
 
 Like to the rowling of an eye, 
 
 Or like a starre shott from the skye, 
 
 Or like a hand upon a clock, 
 
 Or like a wave upon a rock. 
 
 Or like a winde, or like a flame, 
 
 Or like false newes which people frame. 
 
 Even such is man, of equall stay. 
 
 Whose very growth leades to decay. 
 
 The eye is tum'd, the starre down bendeth 
 The hand doth steale, the wave descendeth, 
 The winde is spent, the flame imfir'd, 
 The newes disprov'd, man's life expir'd. 
 
 Like to an eye which sleepe doth chayne. 
 Or like a starre whose fall we f ayne , 
 Or like the shade on Ahaz watch. 
 Or like a wave which gulfes doe snatch 
 Or like a winde or flame that's past, 
 Or smother'd newes confirm'd at last ; 
 Even so man's life, pawn'd in the grave, 
 Wayts for a riseing it must have. 
 50 
 
The eye still sees, the starre still blazeth, 
 The shade goes back, the wave escapeth, 
 The winde is tum'd, the flame reviv'd, 
 The newes renew'd, and man new liv'd. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of the above, both of which are 
 signed ' W. S.' They vary slightly from each other in the 
 text, but not in any important points. 
 
 The subject of this poem was a favourite one with the 
 poets of the seventeenth century. Whether Strode originated 
 it I do not know, but it seems most probable that his poem 
 is only a variation on a familiar theme. There is a very 
 similar poem in Dr. Henry King's works.] 
 
 ON THE BIBLE, 
 
 Behold this little voltmie here inrolde : 
 
 'Tis the Almighty's present to the world : 
 
 Hearken earth's earth ; each sencelesse thing can heare 
 
 His Maker's thunder, though it want an eare : 
 
 God's word is senior to his works, nay rather 
 
 If rightly weigh'd the world may call it father ; 
 
 God spake, 'twas done ; this great foundation 
 
 Is the Creator's Exhalation 
 
 Breath'd out in speaking. The best work of man 
 
 Is better than his word ; but if wee scanne 
 
 God's word aright, his works far short doe fall ; 
 
 The word is God, the works are creatures all. 
 
 The simdry peeces of this generall frame 
 
 Are dimmer letters, all which spell the same 
 
 51 
 
Eternal word ; But these cannot expresse 
 
 His greatnesse with such easy readinesse, 
 
 And therefore yeild. The Heavens shall pass away, 
 
 The sun and moone and stars shall all obey 
 
 To light one general bonfire ; but his word, 
 
 His builder-upp, his all-destroying sworde, 
 
 That still survives ; no jott of that can dye. 
 
 Each tittle measures immortalitie. 
 
 The word's owne mother, on whose breast did hang 
 The world's upholder drawne into a span, 
 Shee, shee was not so blest because she bare him 
 As cause herselfe was new-bom, and did hear him. 
 Before she had brought forth she heard her Son 
 First speaking in the Annunciation : 
 And then, even then, before she brought forth child. 
 By name of Blessed shee herselfe instilde. 
 
 Once more this mighty word his people greets, 
 Thus lapt and thus swath'd upp in paper sheets : 
 Read here God's Image with a zealous eye, 
 The legible and written Deity. 
 
 ON A REGISTER FOR THE BIBLE 
 
 I am the faythfull deputy 
 
 Unto your fading memory. 
 
 Your Index long in search doth hold ; 
 
 Your folded wrinkles make books olde : 
 
 But I the Scriptiure open plaine, 
 
 And what you heard soone teach againe : 
 
 52 
 
By mee the Welchman well may bring 
 Himselfe to Heaven in a string. 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 I, your memories recorder, 
 Keepe my charge in watchfull order : 
 My strings divide the word aright, 
 Pressing the text both day and night : 
 And what the hand of God hath writt 
 Behold my fingers poynt at it : 
 Nor can Saint Peter with his keyes 
 Unlocke Heavens gate so soone as these. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of these poems, in both of which 
 the text is substantially the same.] 
 
 ANTHEM FOR GOOD FRYDAY 
 
 See sinfull soul thy Saviotirs suffering see, 
 His Blessed hands and feet fix't fast to tree : 
 Observe what Rivulets of blood stream forth 
 His painful pierced side, each drop more worth 
 Than tongue of men and Angels can express : 
 Hast to him, cursed Caitiffe, and confess 
 All thy misdeeds, and sighing say, 'Twas I 
 That caus'd thee thus, my Lord, my Christ, to dye. 
 
 O let thy Death secure my soul from fears, 
 And I will wash thy wounds with brinish tears : 
 
 53 
 
Grant me, sweet Jesa, from thy pretious store 
 One cleansing drop, with grace to sin no more. 
 
 [The above anthem, which was very kindly copied for me 
 by Mr. Godfrey E. P. Arkwright, is from " The Divine 
 Services and Anthems usually sung in the Cathedrals and 
 Collegiate choires in the Church of England. Collected by 
 J. C . . . [Clifford] London . . . 1663" (Second edition, 
 1664). The music was composed by Richard Gibbs, Organist 
 of Christ Church, Norwich. There are a few slight varia- 
 tions in the words of the anthem, as they appear in the first 
 and second editions of Clifford's book; but they are not of 
 sufficient importance to need to be recorded here.] 
 
 AN ANTHEME 
 
 O sing a new song to the Lord, 
 Praise in the hight and deeper strayne ; 
 Come beare your parts with one accord, 
 Mdiich you in Heaven may sing againe. 
 
 Yee elders all, and all the crowd 
 That in white robes apparreU'd stands 
 Like Saints on earth, sing out aloud, 
 Think now the palmes are in your hands. 
 
 Yee living pipes, whose stormy layes 
 Have borrowed breath to praise our king, 
 A well-tun'd thunder loudly raise : 
 All that have breath his honor sing. 
 54 
 
JUSTIFICATION 
 
 See how the Rainbow in the skie 
 
 Seems gaudy through the Suns bright eye ; 
 
 Harke how an Eccho answere makes, 
 
 Feele how a board is smooth'd with waxe, 
 
 Smell how a glove putts on perfume, 
 
 Tast how theyr sweetnesse pills assume : 
 
 So by imputed Justice, Clay 
 
 Seemes faire, well spoke, smooth, sweet, each way/< 
 The eye doth gaze on robes appearing, 
 The prompted Eccho takes our hearing, 
 The board our touch, the sent our smell. 
 The pill our tast : Man, God as well. 
 
 [This is attributed to Strode in two MSS. in my posses- 
 sion; and I think it may be regarded as certainly his.] 
 
 ON THE LIFE OF MAN 
 
 What is our life ? a play of passion ; 
 Our mirth the musick of division : 
 Our mother's wombes the tyring houses bee 
 Where wee are drest for tyme's short comedy : 
 The earth's the stage, heaven the spectator is. 
 Who marketh still whoere doth act amisse : 
 Our graves that hide us from the burning sunne 
 Are but drawne curtaynes when the play is done. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of this poem. The second copy 
 
 55 
 
differs so much from the above that it had better be quoted 
 
 in full : 
 
 What is our life, but a play of derision ? 
 Our Mirth, what but the musick of division ? 
 Our mothers wombs the tyring houses bee 
 VThere wee are drest for times short comedy. 
 The earth the stage : Heaven the spectator is. 
 Who still doth marke who ere doth act amisse. 
 Our graves that hides us from the scorching Sun, 
 Are but drawn curtains when the play is done. 
 The poem has been attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh and 
 
 other authors, and therefore it cannot be positively assigned 
 
 to Strode.] 
 
 56 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MRS, MARY NEUDHAM 
 
 As sinn makes gross the soule and thickens it 
 
 To fleshy dulness, so the spotless white 
 
 Of virgin pureness made thy flesh as cleere 
 
 As others soules : thou couldst not tarry heere 
 
 All soule in both parts : and what could it bee 
 
 The Resurrection could bestow on thee, 
 
 AUready glorious ? thine Innocence 
 
 (Thy better shroude) sent thee as pure from hence 
 
 As saints shall rise : but hee whose bounty may 
 
 Enlighten the greate sunn with double day, 
 
 And make it more outshine itselfe than now 
 
 It can the moone, shall crowne thy vamish'd brow 
 
 With light above that sunn : when thou shalt bee 
 
 No lower in thy place than Majesty : 
 
 Crown'd with a Virgin's wreath, outshining there 
 
 The Saints as much as thou did'st mortalls heere. 
 
 Bee this thy hope ; and whilst thy ashes ly 
 
 Asleepe in death, dreame of Eternity. 
 
 [This most beautiful poem is taken from the MS. book of 
 poems of Catherine Anwill, which was discovered by 
 Mr. E. V. Lucas, and printed in a charming form by him. 
 Dr. Grosart informed Mr. Lucas that an original version in 
 
 57 
 
Strode's handwriting is to be found at Oxford. The assign- 
 ment of the poem therefore rests upon Dr. Grosart's authority, 
 which is not always to be depended upon ; but the evidences 
 of style and sentiment in this case seem to tell conclusively 
 in Strode's favour. It is worth noting perhaps that in a copy 
 of the poem in the British Museum the name is given as 
 ' Nedham ' instead of ' Neudham.'] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF IVUSTRESS MARY PRIDEAUX 
 
 Weep not because this childe hath dyed so yong, 
 But weepe because yourselves have livde so long : 
 Age is not fild by growth of time, for then 
 What old man lives to see th' estate of men ? 
 Who sees the age of grande Methusalem ? 
 Ten years make us as old as hundreds him. 
 Ripenesse is from ourselves : and then wee dye 
 When nature hath obteynde maturity. 
 Stmimer and winter fruits there bee, and all 
 Not at one time, but being ripe, must fall. 
 Death did not erre : your mourners are beguUde ; 
 She dyed more Hke a mother than a childe. 
 Weigh the composure of her pretty partes : 
 Her gravity in childhood ; all her artes 
 Of womanly behaviour ; weigh her tongue 
 So wisely measurde, not too short nor long ; 
 And to her youth adde some few riches more, 
 She tooke upp now what due was at threescore. 
 She livde seven years, our age's first degree ; 
 Journeys at first time ended happy bee ; 
 58 
 
Yet take her stature with the age of man, 
 They well are fitted : both are but a span. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of this poem, which vary but little 
 in their text. There is another MS. copy at Oxford, which 
 has some variations that are perhaps worth noting. They 
 are as follows : 
 
 Line 4. What old men live to see the state of men ? 
 „ 5. Who reach the youth 
 „ 14. womanlike 
 
 „ 17. Add only to the growth some inches more 
 „ ig. first stepp 
 
 The reading ' inches ' instead of ' riches ' in line 17 seems 
 to be certainly right.] 
 
 ON THE SAME M. M. P. 
 
 Sleepe pretty one : oh sleepe while I 
 Sing thee thy latest LuUaby : 
 And may my song be but as shee, 
 Nere was sweeter Harmonic : 
 Thou werte all musicke : all thy Umbes 
 Were but so many well sett hymnes 
 To praysc thy Maker, In thy browe 
 I read thy soule, and and know not how 
 To tell which whiter was or smoother, 
 Or more spotlesse, one or th' other. 
 Noe Jarre, no harshnesse in thee : all 
 Thy passions were at peace : noe gall. 
 No rough behaviour ; but even such 
 In disposition as in touch. 
 
 59 
 
Yet Heaven, poore Soule, was harsh to thee : 
 
 Death usde thee not halfe orderly : 
 
 If thou must needs goe, must thy way 
 
 Needs be by torture ? must thy Day 
 
 Ende in the Morning ? and thy Night 
 
 Come with such horrour and affright ? 
 
 Death might have ceizd thee gentlyer, and 
 
 Embrac'te thee with a softer hand. 
 
 Thou werte not svue so loath to goe 
 
 That thou needst be dragged so, 
 
 For thou wert all obedience, and hadst witt 
 
 To doe Heaven's will and not dispute with it. 
 
 Yet twere a heard heart, a dead eye 
 
 That sighlesse, tearlesse, could stand by, 
 
 While thy poore Mother felt each groane 
 
 As much as ere shee did her owne 
 
 When shee groan'd for thee : and thy cries 
 
 Marrde not our eares more than her Eyes. 
 
 Yet if thou tookst some truce with payne, 
 
 Then was shee melted more againe 
 
 To heare thy sweete words, whilst thy breath 
 
 Faintly did strive to sweeten Death, 
 
 CaUdst for the Musicke of thy knell, 
 
 And crydst, 'twas It must make thee well : 
 
 Thus whilst your prayers were at strife, 
 
 Thine for thy death, Hers for thy life. 
 
 Thine did prevayle, and on theyr wings 
 
 Mounted thy soul ; where now it sings, 
 
 And never shall complayne no more, 
 
 But for not being there before. 
 
 60 
 
CONSOLATORIUM, AD PARENTES 
 
 Lett her parents then confesse 
 That they beleeve her happinesse, 
 AXHiich now they question. Thinke as you 
 Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you : 
 And is it just then to complayne 
 When each hath but his owne againe ? 
 Then thinke what both your glories are 
 In her preferment : for tis farre 
 Nobler to gett a Saint, and beare 
 A childe to Heaven than an Heyre 
 To a large Empire. Thinke beside 
 Shee dyde not yong, but livde a Bride. 
 Your best wishes for her good 
 Were but to see her well bestowde : 
 Was shee not so ? Shee marryed to 
 The heyre of all things : who did owe 
 Her infant Soule, and bought it too. 
 Nor was shee barren : markt you not 
 Those pretty little Graces, that 
 Play'd round about her sicke bedde ; three 
 Th' eldst Faith, Hope, & Charity. 
 Twere pretty bigge ones, and the same 
 That cryde so on theyr Fathers name. 
 The yongst is gone with Her : the two 
 Eldest stay to comfort you. 
 And little though they bee, they can 
 Master the biggest foes of man. 
 Lastly thinke that Hir abode 
 With you was some fewe years boarde ; 
 
 61 
 
After hir marriage : now shee's gone 
 
 Home, royally attended on : 
 
 And if you had Elisha's sight 
 
 To see the number of her bright 
 
 Attendants thither ; or Paul's rapt sprite 
 
 To see her Welcome there ; why then, 
 
 "Wish if you could Her here agen. 
 
 Ime sure you could not : but all passion 
 
 Would loose itselfe in admiration, 
 
 And strong longings to be there 
 
 Where, cause shee is, you mourn for Her, 
 
 HER EPITAPH 
 
 Happy Grave, thou dost enshrine 
 That which makes thee a rich mine : 
 Remember yet, 'tis but a loane ; 
 And wee must have it back. Her owne. 
 The very same ; Marke mee, the same : 
 Thou canst not cheat us with a lame 
 Deformed Carcase ; Shee was fayre. 
 Fresh as Morning, sweete as Ajre : 
 Purer than other flesh as farre 
 As other Soules than Bodies are : 
 And that thou mayst the better see 
 To finde her out : two stars there bee 
 Eclipsed now ; uncloude but those 
 And they will poynt thee to the Rose 
 That dyde each cheeke, now pale and wan. 
 But will bee when shee wakes againe 
 62 
 
Fresher than ever : And howere 
 Her long sleepe may alter Her 
 Her Soule will know her Body streight, 
 Twas made so fitt for't. Noe deceite 
 Can suite another to it : none 
 Cloath it so neatly as its owne, 
 
 [This beautiiul poem is now first printed (excepting the 
 third section, which appeared in " Musarum Delicis," 1656) 
 from a manuscript volume in my own possession. There are 
 other MS. copies, but none, I think, better than my own. In 
 one of the Poetical MS. volumes in the Rawlinson collection 
 at Oxford there is a copy of the poem which has some varia- 
 tions that are worth noting. These are as follows : 
 
 Line 2. ' thee ' is omitted 
 „ 40-1. Thou whilst our prayers were at strife. 
 
 Thine for thy death, ours for thy life. 
 ,, 43. Transport thy soule 
 
 » 33-6' (Consolatorium) Were you to see her 
 numbers bright 
 Attendants thither; or the ears 
 Of ravisht Paul amongst the spheres. 
 To know her welcome thither then — 
 
 In these lines both versions are, I think, a little wrong. 
 Perhaps the passage should read : 
 
 And if you had Elisha's sight 
 
 To see the number of her bright 
 
 Attendants thither; or the ears 
 
 Of ravisht Paul, amongst the spheares 
 
 To know her welcome thither, then 
 
 Wish, if you could, her here agen. 
 
 Line 4. (Epitaph) have back our owne 
 „ 8. „ soft as ayre 
 
 63 
 
It should be noted also that in this version several lines 
 are omitted which appear in my own copy. The " Epitaph " 
 as printed in " Musarum Deliciae " has a few variations from 
 my own copy, but as these readings are inferior to those 
 which appear above I do not quote them. 
 
 I suspect that line 22 (" Consolatorium ") ' Twere pretty 
 bigge ones, &c.' is in some way corrupt. One MS. reads 
 ' begge ' instead of ' bigge,' but this is no improvement. It 
 might also be suspected that the heroic couplet in the first 
 section, being in a different measure from the rest, is also in 
 some way corrupt, were it not that it fits perfectly into its 
 place, without producing any jarring effect.] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR THO : PELTHAM 
 
 Meerly for man's death to moume 
 
 "Were to repine that man was borne. 
 
 \Xnien weake old age doth fall asleepe 
 
 Twere foule ingratitude to weepe : 
 
 Those threads alone shotild ptill out tears 
 
 Whose sodayne cracke breaks off some years. 
 
 Heere tis not so : full distance heere 
 
 Sunders the cradle from the beere. 
 
 A fellow-traveller he hath beene 
 
 So long with Time : so wome to skinne, 
 
 That were hee not just now bereft, 
 
 His Body first his soule had left. 
 
 Threescore and tenne is Nature's date. 
 
 Our journey when wee come in late. 
 
 Beyond that time the overplus 
 
 Was granted not to him, but us. 
 
 64 
 
For his own sake the Sun nere stood, 
 
 But only for the peoples good. 
 
 Even so his breath held out by aire 
 
 Which poore men uttered in theyr prayer : 
 
 And as his goods were lent to give, 
 
 So were his dayes that they might live, 
 
 Soe ten years more to him were told 
 
 Enough to make another olde. 
 
 O that Death would still doe soe ; 
 
 Or else on good men would bestow 
 
 That wast of years which unthrifts fling 
 
 Away by theyr distempering, 
 
 That some might thrive by this decay 
 
 As well as that of land and clay. 
 
 'Twas now well done : no cause to moane 
 
 On such a seasonable stone. 
 
 Where death is but an Host, we sinne 
 
 Not bidding welcome to his Inne. 
 
 Sleepe, sleepe, thy rest, good man, embrace ; 
 
 Sleepe, sleepe, th'ast trode a weary race. 
 
 [I have two MS. copies of this poem, which differ slightly 
 in their texts, but not in any important points. It is printed 
 in " Parnassus Biceps " ; but the text given there is inferior 
 to that printed above. It is perhaps worth mentioning that 
 in the printed version the name appears as ' Pelham ' : in 
 one of my MS. copies it is ' Pelltham,' in the other 
 'Peltham'.] 
 
 65 
 
ON THE DEATH OF A TWIN 
 
 Where are yee now, Astrologers, that looke 
 
 For petty accidents in Heavens booke ? 
 
 Two Twins, to whom one Influence gave breath, 
 
 Differ in more than Fortune, Life and Death, 
 
 While both were warme (for that was all they were 
 
 Unlesse some feeble cry sayd Life was there :) 
 
 By wavering change of health they seem'd to trie 
 
 Which of the two should live, for one must die. 
 
 As if one Soule, allotted to susteine 
 
 The lumpe, which afterwards was cutt in twain. 
 
 Now servde them both : whose Umited restraynt 
 
 From double vertue made them both to faynt : 
 
 But when that common Soule away should fUe, 
 
 Death killing one, expected both should die : 
 
 Shee hitt, and was deceivde : that other parte 
 
 Went to supply the weake survivers heart : 
 
 So Death, where shee was cruell, seemde most milde ; 
 
 She aymed at two, and killde but halfe a childe. 
 
 ON THE YONG BARONETT PORTMAN DYING OF 
 AN IMPOSTUME IN'S HEAD 
 
 Is Death so cunning now that all her blowe 
 
 Aymes at the heade ? Doth now her wary Bowe 
 
 Make surer worke than heertofore ? The Steele 
 
 Slew warlike heroes onely in the heele. 
 
 New found out slights, when men themselves begin 
 
 To be theyr proper Fates by new found sinne. 
 
 66 
 
Tis cowardize to make a wound so sure ; 
 
 No Art in killing where no Art can cure. 
 
 Was it for hate of learning that she smote 
 
 This upper shoppe where all the Muses wrought ? 
 
 Learning shall crosse her drift, and duly trie 
 
 All wayes and meanes of immortalitie. 
 
 Because her heade was crusht, doth shee desire 
 
 Our equall shame ? In vayne she doth aspire. 
 
 No : noe : Wee know where ere she* make a breach 
 
 Her poysened Sting onely the Heele can reach. 
 
 Looke on the Soule of man, the very Heart ; 
 
 The Head itselfe is but a lower parte : 
 
 Yet hath shee stra3mde her utmost tyranny, 
 
 And done, her worst in that she came so high. 
 
 Had she reservde this stroke for haughty men, 
 
 For politique Contrivers ; justly then 
 
 The Punishment were matcht with the offence : 
 
 But when Humility and Innocence 
 
 So indiscreetly in the Heade are hitt, 
 
 Death hath done Murther, and shall die for itt : 
 
 Thinke it no Favour showne because the Braine 
 
 Is voyde of sence, and therefore free from pa3nae. 
 
 Thinke it noe kindness when so stealingly 
 
 He rather seemde to jest away than die, 
 
 And like that Innocent, the Widdows childe 
 
 Cryde out, My head, my head : and so it dyde, 
 
 Thinke it was rather double cruelty. 
 
 Slaughter intended on his Name, that Hee 
 
 Whose thoughts were nothing ta3mted, nothing vayne. 
 
 Might seeme to hide Corruption in his brayne. 
 
 67 
 
How easy might this Blott bee wipte away 
 
 If any Pen his worth could open lay ? 
 
 For which those Harlott-prayses, which wee reare 
 
 In common dust, as much toe slender are 
 
 As great for others. Boasting Elegies 
 
 Must here bee dumbe. Desert that overweighs 
 
 All our Reward stoppes all our Prayse : lest wee 
 
 Might seeme to give alike to Them and Thee : 
 
 Wherfore an humble Verse, and such a strayne 
 
 As mine will hide the truth while others fayne. 
 
 [The above is copied from one of my MS. books : I do not 
 know of any other copy of the poem. There seems to be 
 some corruption in the fifth and sixth lines, which, should 
 another copy of the poem be discovered, we may hope to 
 correct.] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF DR. LANCTON 
 PRESIDENT OF MAUDLIN COLLEGE 
 
 When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd. 
 
 For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd. 
 
 For legacies in vain expected, mourne 
 
 Over the3rr owne respects within the urne, 
 
 Races of tears all striveing first to fall 
 
 As frequent are as eye and ftmerall ; 
 
 Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong 
 
 Seeme to call back the soule or goe along. 
 
 Goodness is seldome such a theam of woe 
 
 Unless to her owne tribe some one or two ; 
 
 68 
 
But here's a man, (alas a shell of man ! ) 
 
 "Whose innocence, more white than silver swan, 
 
 Now finds a streame of teares ; such perfect greif 
 
 That in the traine of mourners hee is cheife 
 
 Who lives the greatest gainer ; and would f aine 
 
 Bee now prefer'd imto his loss againe. 
 
 The webb of nerves with subtill branches spred 
 
 Over the little world, are in theyr head 
 
 Scarce so united as in him were knitt 
 
 AU his dependants : Hee that strives to sitt 
 
 So lov'd of all must bee a man as square 
 
 As vertues selfe ; which those that fly and f eare 
 
 Can never hate. How seldome have we scene 
 
 Such store of flesh joyn'd with so little sin ? 
 
 His body was not greater than his soule. 
 
 Whose limbs were vertues able to controule 
 
 All grudg of sloth : and as the body's weight 
 
 Hal'd to the centre ; so the soule as light 
 
 Heav'd upward to her goale. This civill jarre 
 
 Could not hold out, but made them part as farre 
 
 As earth and heaven : from whence the one shall come 
 
 To make her mate more fresh, less cumbersome. 
 
 After so sound a sleepe, so sweet a rest. 
 
 And both shall then appeare so trimly drest 
 
 As freinds that goe to meet : the body shall 
 
 Then seeme a soule, the soule Angellicall : 
 
 A beautious smile shall passe from that to this. 
 
 The joyning soule shall then the body kisse 
 
 With its owne lipps : so great shall be the store 
 
 Of joy and love that now thei'l part no more ; 
 
 69 
 
Such hope hath dust ! besides which happines 
 Death hath not made his earthly share the lesse, 
 Or quite bereft him of his honors here, 
 But added more ; for liveing hee did steere 
 The fellowes only ; but since hee is dead 
 Hee's made a president unto theyr head. 
 
 ON DR. LANCTON'S DEATH 
 
 Because of fleshly mould wee bee 
 Subject unto mortality, 
 Let noe man wonder at his death. 
 More flesh he had, and then lesse breath. 
 But if you question how he died, 
 'Twas not the fall of swelling pride ; 
 'Twas noe ambition to ascend 
 Heaven in humility : his end 
 Assur'd us that his God did make 
 This peece for otir example's sake. 
 Had you but scene him in his way 
 To Church, his last blest Sabbath day ; 
 His struggling soule did make such hast 
 As if each breath would bee his last. 
 Each bricke hee trod on, shrinking strove 
 To make his grave and shew its love. 
 O how his sweating body wept 
 Knowing how soone it should bee swept 
 In mould : but while hee kneels to pray 
 His weighty members long to stay ; 
 70 
 
Each word doth bring a breathlesse teare 
 As if he'd leave his spirit there. 
 Hee gone, looks back, as if to see 
 The place where he should buried bee, 
 Bowing as if hee did desire 
 At the same time for to expire : 
 Which being done, he long shall dwell 
 \Cithin the place hee lov'd so well. 
 Where night and morning hundreds come 
 A Pilgrimage imto his tomb. 
 
 [From a MS. in my possession. There is also a copy in a 
 manuscript volume in the British Museum. The poem is 
 printed in " Parnassus Biceps." There are many small 
 variations in these three texts, but none which it seems 
 necessary to record.] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS LEA 
 
 You that affright with lamentable notes 
 
 The servants from their beef, whose hungry throats 
 
 Vex the grume porter's surly conscience : 
 
 That blesse the mint for coyning lesse than pence : 
 
 You whose unknown and meanly payd desarts 
 
 Begge silently within, and knocke at hearts : 
 
 You whose commanding worth makes men beleeve 
 
 That you a kindnesse give when you receave : 
 
 All sorts of them that want, your tears now lend : 
 
 A House-keeper, a Patron, and a Friend 
 
 71 
 
Is lodged in clay. The man whose table fedde 
 
 So many while he lived, since hee is dead, 
 
 Himselfe is tum'd to food : whose chimney bum'd 
 
 So freely then, is now to ashes tiim'd. 
 
 The man which life unto the Muses gave 
 
 Seeks life of them, a lasting Epitaph : 
 
 And hee from, whose esteeme all vertues found 
 
 A just reward, now prostrate in the ground, 
 
 (Like some huge ancient oake, that ere it fell. 
 
 Could not be measur'd by the rule so well) 
 
 Desires a fa3rtlifull comment on his dayes, 
 
 Such as shall neither lye to wrong or prayse : 
 
 But oh ! what Muse is halfe so pure, so strong. 
 
 What marble sheets can keepe his name so long 
 
 As onely hee hath lived ? then who can tell 
 
 A perfect story of his living well ? 
 
 The noble fire that spur'd and whetted on 
 
 His bravely vertuous resolution 
 
 Could not so soone be quencht as weaker soules 
 
 Whose feebler sparke an ach or thought controuls. 
 
 His life burnt to the snuffe ; a snuffe that needs 
 
 No socket to conceale the stench, but feeds 
 
 Our sence like costly fumes : his manly breath 
 
 Felt no disease but age ; and call'd for Death 
 
 Before it durst intrude, or thought to try 
 
 That strength of limbs, that soules integrity, 
 
 Looke on his silver hayres, his graceful browe. 
 
 And Gravity itselfe might Lea avowe 
 
 Her father : Time, his schoolmate. Fifty years 
 
 Once wedlocke he embrac't : a date that bears 
 
 72 
 
Fayre scope, if Soule and Body chance to bee 
 So long a couple as his wife and hee. 
 
 But number you his deeds, they so outpasse 
 The largest size of any mortal glasse, 
 That though hee liv'd a thousand, some would crye 
 Alas ! he dyde in his minority. 
 His dayes and deeds would nere be counted even 
 Without Eternity, which now is given. 
 Such descants poore men make ; who miss him more 
 Than sixe great men, that keeping house before 
 After a spurt unconstantly are fledd 
 Away to London. But the man that's dead 
 Is gone unto a place more populous, 
 And tarries longer there, and waites for us. 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON SR JOHN WALTER, 
 LORD CHEIFE BARON 
 
 Farewell Example, Living Rule farewell ; 
 Whose practise shew'd goodness was possible. 
 Who reach'd the full outstretch'd perfection 
 Of Man, of Lawyer, and of Christian. 
 
 Suppose a Man more streight than Reason is. 
 Whose grounded Habit could not tread amisse 
 Though Reason slepd ; a Man who still esteem'd 
 His wife his Bone ; who still his children deem'd 
 His Limbes and future Selfe ; Servants trayn'd friends ; 
 Lov'd his Familiars for Themselves not ends : 
 
 73 
 
Soe wise and Provident that dayes orepast 
 He ne're wish'd backe again ; by whose forecast 
 Time's Locke, Time's Baldness, Future Time were one. 
 Since nought could mende nor marre one Action, 
 That man was He. 
 
 Suppose an Advocate 
 In whose all-conquering tong true right was Fate ; 
 That could not pleade among the gounded throng 
 Wrong Causes right nor rightfull causes wrong. 
 But made the bumish'd Truth to shine more bright 
 Than could the witnesses or Act in sight. 
 Who did soe breifely, soe perspicuously 
 Untie the knots of darke perplexity 
 That words appear'd like thoughts, and might derive 
 To dull Fares Knowledge most Intuitive. 
 
 A Judge soe weigh'd that Freinde and one of Us 
 Were heard like Titius and Sempronius. 
 All Eare, no Eie, noe Hande ; oft* being par'd 
 The Eies Affections and the Hands Reward. 
 Whose Barre and Conscience were but two in Name, 
 Sentence and Closet-Censure still the Same : 
 That Advocate, that judge was He. 
 
 Suppose 
 A sound and setled Christian, not like those 
 That stande by fitts, but of that Sanctity 
 As by Repentence might scarce better'd be : 
 Whose Life was like his latest Houre, whose way 
 Outwent the Journey's Ende where others stay : 
 
 * (?) Off. 
 74 
 
Who slighted not the Gospel for his Lawe, 
 
 But lov'd the Church more than the Bench, and sawe 
 
 That all his Righteousnes had yet neede fee 
 
 One Advocate beyond himselfe. 'Twas He. 
 
 To this Good Man, Judge, Christian, now is given 
 Faire Memory, noe Judgment, and blest Heaven. 
 
 REMEMBRANCES OF THE RENOWNED KNIGHT, 
 
 SIR ROWLAND COTTON, OF BELLAPORT IN 
 
 SHROPSHIRE, CONCERNING HIS AGILITY OF 
 
 BODY, TONGUE, AND MIND 
 
 Renowned Champion full of wrestling Art, 
 
 And made for victory in every part, 
 
 Whose active Limbes, oyl'd Tongue, and vertuous Mind, 
 
 Subdu'd both Foe and Friend, the Rough and Kind, 
 
 Yea, ev'n Thy-selfe, and thy Diseases too, 
 
 And all but Death (which won with much adoe 
 
 And shall at last be vanquish'd,) where are now 
 
 Those brawny Armes that crush'd the Dane ? and how 
 
 Doe all thy Languages to Silence tume ? 
 
 Babel's undifferenc'd by the speechlesse Ume. 
 
 What use of Wisedome now to mold the state 
 
 Where AJl are Equall ? to appease debate 
 
 Where All doe sleepe ? sowre dangers to fore-fend 
 
 When Spite hath done her worst and dangers end ? 
 
 Had Death a Body, like the Dane's or thine, 
 Th'adst beene Her death ; if humane Eares like mine, 
 
 75 
 
Thy tongues had charm'd them ; if a heart to love, 
 Each quahty of thine a dart might prove. 
 
 One Beame thou living hadst of Eminence, 
 And still in Use, left heere and carried hence, 
 Immortall Love ; as busie now as then ; 
 There fixt on God yet heere intwin'd with Men ; 
 That makes Thee pray for Us, Us write for Thee, 
 Joynes Heaven and Earth in one Fraternity. 
 
 Love sayes thy Fall's not desparate : a Fall ? 
 That hopes for Rising. Waite but for a Call, 
 And thou shalt rise, summon'd with Champion sound, 
 Antaeus-like, more strong from under Ground. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR ROWLAND COTTON 
 SECONDING THAT OF SIR ROBERT 
 
 More Cottons yet ? O let not envious Fate 
 
 Attempt the Ruine of our growing State. 
 
 O had it spar'd Sir Rowland, then might wee 
 
 Have almost spar'd Sir Robert's Library. 
 
 His Life and th' others bookes taught but the same ; 
 
 Death kils us twice in blotting twice one Name. 
 
 Give Him, and take those Reliques with consent ; 
 
 Sir Rowland was a Living Monument. 
 
 [These poems are from " Parentalia, Spectatissimo 
 Rolando Cottono, Equiti Aurato Salopiensi . . . Londini . . , 
 1635." In the same volume there is a Latin poem by Strode, 
 headed " In omnigenam qua claruit Linguarum Peritiam, 
 prsecipu^ Orientalium."] 
 76 
 
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY 
 PENELOPE DOWAGER OF THE LATE VIS-COUNT 
 
 BAYNING 
 Great Lady, 
 
 Humble partners of like griefe 
 In bringing Comfort may deserve beliefe, 
 Because they Feele and Feyne not : Thus we say 
 Unto Ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away. 
 Is still of Christ-Church ; somewhat out of sight, 
 As when he travel'd, or did bid good night. 
 And was not seen long after ; now he stands 
 Remov'd in >)(/'orlds, as heretofore in Lands ; 
 But is not lost. The spight of Death can never 
 Divide the Christian, though the Man it sever. 
 
 The like we say to You ; He's still at home, 
 Though out of reach ; as in some upper roome. 
 Or Study : for His Place is very high. 
 His Thought is Vision ; now most properly 
 Retum'd he's Yours as sure, as e're hath been 
 The Jewell in Your Cask, safe though unseen. 
 
 You know that Friends have Eares as well as Eyes, 
 We heare Hee's well and Living, that well dies. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 THE LORD VISCOUNT BAYNING 
 
 Though after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise, 
 And Worthies be not crown'd with gold, but bayes ; 
 
 77 
 
Shall we not thank ? To praise Thee all agree ; 
 
 We Debtors must out doe it, heartily. 
 
 Deserved Nobility of True Descent, 
 
 Though not so old in Thee grew Ancient : 
 
 We number not the Tree of Branched Birth, 
 
 But genealogie of Vertue, spreading forth 
 
 To many Births in value. Piety, 
 
 True Valour, Bounty, Meeknesse, Modesty, 
 
 These noble off-springs swell Thy Name as much, 
 
 As Richards, Edwards, three, foure, twenty such : 
 
 For in thy Person's linage sumam'd are 
 
 The great, the good, the wise, the just, the faire. 
 
 One of these stiles Lnnobles a whole stemme ; 
 
 If all be found in One, what race like him ! 
 
 Long stayres of birth, unlesse they Ukewise grow 
 
 To higher vertue, must descend more low. 
 
 When water comes through numerous veins of lead, 
 
 'Tis water still ; Thy blood, from One pipe's head. 
 
 Grew Aqua-vitcB streight, with spirits fiU'd, 
 
 As not traduc'd, but rais'd, sublim'd, distill'd. 
 
 Nobility farre spread, I may behold. 
 
 Like the expanded skie, or dissolv'd gold. 
 
 Much rarified ; I see't contracted here 
 
 Into a starre, the strength of all the spheare ; 
 
 Extracted like the Elixir from the mine. 
 
 And highten'd so that 'tis too soone divine. 
 
 Divinity continues not beneath ; 
 Alas nor He ; but though He passe by death. 
 He that for many Uv'd, gaines many lives 
 After hee's dead : Each friend and servant strives 
 78 
 
To give him breath in praise ; this Hospital, 
 That Prison, Colledge, Church, must needs recall 
 To mind their Patron ; whose rich legacies 
 In forreigne lands, and under other skies 
 To them assign'd, shew that his heart did even 
 In France love England, as in England Heaven : 
 Heav'n well perceiv'd this double pious love. 
 Both to his Country here, and that above : 
 Therefore the day, that saw Him landed here, 
 Hath seen him landed in his Haven there ; 
 The selfe'Same day (but two yeares interpos'd) 
 Saw Sun and Him round shining twice & clos'd. 
 
 No Citizen so covetous could be 
 Of getting wealth, as of bestowing. He ; 
 His Body and Estate went as they came, 
 Stript of Appendix Both, and left the same 
 But in th' Originall ; Necessity 
 Devested one, the other Charity. 
 It cost him more to clothe his soule in deatli. 
 Than e're to cloth his flesh for short-liv'd breath ; 
 And whereas Lawes exact from Niggards dead 
 A Portion for the Poore, they now are said 
 To moderate His Bounty ; never such 
 Was known but once, that men should give too much : 
 A Tabernacle then was built, and now 
 The like in heav'n is purchas'd : Learn you how ; 
 Partly by building Men, and partly by 
 Erecting walls, by new-found Chymistry, 
 Turning of Gold to Stones. Our Christ-Church Pile, 
 Great Henrte's Monument, shall grow awhile 
 
 79 
 
With Bayning's Treasure ; who a way hath took. 
 Like those at W^estminster, to fill a nook 
 'Mongst beds of Kings. Thus speak, speak while we may 
 For Stones will speak when We are hush'd in Clay, 
 
 W. STRODE, D.D. Canon of Ch.C. 
 
 [The two foregoing poems are taken from " Death Repeal'd, 
 by a Thankful! Memoriall sent from Christ-Church in Oxford, 
 celebrating the noble deserts of the Right Honourable Paule, 
 late Lord Vis-count Bayning of Sudbury, who changed his 
 Earthly Honours, June the ii, 1638. Oxford . . . 1638." 
 
 The second poem, as the reader will have noticed, is 
 signed, while the first has no signature. I think, however, 
 that both poems are Strode's, though as regards the first no 
 positive proof of his authorship of it can be advanced. Every 
 other poem in the volume but this is signed. It is the first 
 poem in the book and forms an introduction to the rest. My 
 belief (right or wrong) is that Strode edited the whole collec- 
 tion, and hence was the proper person to write the intro- 
 ductory poem. Strode's Elegy follows immediately after the 
 dedicatory poem. 
 
 The book is an interesting one, and contains several note- 
 worthy poems. Among the contributors were William Cart- 
 wright, R. Burton, Jasper Mayne, Tho. Isham, Martin 
 Llewellin, &c.] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF LADIE CiESAR 
 
 Though Death to good men be the greatest boone, 
 
 I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone. 
 
 She should have livde for others : Poor mens want 
 
 Should make her stande, though she herselfe should faynt. 
 
 What though her vertuous deeds did make her seeme 
 
 Of equall age with old Methusalem ? 
 
 80 
 
Shee should have livde the more, and ere she fell 
 Have stretcht her little Span unto an Ell. 
 May wee not thinke her in a sleep or sowne, 
 Or that shee only tries her bedde of grounde? 
 Besides the life of Fame, is shee all deade ? 
 As deade as Vertue, which together fledde : 
 As dead as men without it : and as cold 
 As Charity, that long ago grewe old. 
 Those eyes of pearle are under marble sett, 
 And now the Grave is made the Cabinett. 
 Tenne or an hundred doe not loose by this, 
 But all mankinde doth an Example misse. 
 A little earth cast upp betweene her sight 
 And us eclypseth aU the world with night. 
 What ere Disease, to flatter greedy Death, 
 Hath stopt the organ of such harmlesse breath, 
 May it bee knowne by a more hateful! name 
 Then now the Plague : and for to quell the same 
 May all Physitians have an honest will : 
 May Pothecaries l^me the Doctors skill : 
 May wandring Mountebanks, and which is worse 
 May an old womans medicine have the force 
 To vanquish it, and make it often flie, 
 Till Destiny on's servant learne to die. 
 May death itselfe, and all its Armory 
 Bee overmatcht with one poore Recipe. 
 What need I curse it ? for, ere Death will kill 
 Another such, so farre estrang'd from ill, 
 So fayre, so kinde, so wisely temperate. 
 Time will cutt off the very life of Fate. 
 
 F 81 
 
To make a perfect Lady was espyde 
 No want in her of anything but Pride : 
 And as for wantonnesse, her modesty 
 Was still as coole as now her ashes bee, 
 Seldome hath any Daughter lesse than her 
 Favourde the stampe of Eve her grandmother. 
 Her soule was like her body ; both so cleare 
 As that a brighter eye than mans must peere 
 To finde a Blott ; nor can wee yet suspect 
 But only by her Death the least defect : 
 And were not that the wages due to Sinne 
 Wee might beleeve that spotlesse she had bin. 
 
 [The above is from one of my MS. volumes. There is a 
 copy in the British Museum (Add. MS. 22118, f. ig6) which 
 has no signature appended to it ; but I do not think there 
 can be any doubt that the poem is Strode's.] 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON MR, FISHBORNE THE GREAT 
 LONDON BENEFACTOR, AND HIS EXECUTOR 
 
 What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly 
 
 Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity 
 
 Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme 
 
 Thousands out of the grave : though cold hee seeme 
 
 He keepes those warme that else would sue to thee, 
 
 Even thee, to ease them of theyr penury. 
 
 Sorrow I would, but cannot thinke him dead. 
 
 Whose parts are rather all distributed 
 
 82 
 
To those that live ; His pitty lendeth eyes 
 
 Unto the blind, and to the cripple thighes, 
 
 Bones to the shatter'd corps, his hand doth make 
 
 Long armes for those that begg and cannot take : 
 
 All are supply'd with limbs, and to his freind 
 
 Hee leaves his heart, the selfe-same heart behind ; 
 
 Scarce man and wife so much one flesh are fomid 
 
 As these one soule ; the mutucill ty that bound 
 
 The first prefer'd in heav'n to pay on earth 
 
 Those happy fees which made them strive for death, 
 
 Made them both doners of each others store, 
 
 And each of them his own executor : 
 
 Those hearty summes are twice confer'd by either, 
 
 And yet so given as if confer'd by neither. 
 
 Lest some incroching govemour might psire 
 
 Those almes and damne himselfe with pooremens share, 
 
 Lameing once more the lame, and killing quite 
 
 Those halfe-dead carcases, by due foresight 
 
 His partner is become the hand to act 
 
 Theyr joynt decree, who else would fain have lackt 
 
 This longer date that so hee might avoyd 
 
 The praise wherewith good eares would not be cloy'd, 
 
 For praises taint our charity, and steale 
 
 From Heav'ns reward ; this caus'd them to conceale 
 
 Theyr great intendment till the grave must needs 
 
 Both hide the Author and reveale the deeds. 
 
 His widdow-freind still lives to take the care 
 
 Of children left behind ; "Why is it rare 
 
 That they who never tied the marriage knott. 
 
 And but good deeds no issue ever gott, 
 
 83 
 
Should have a troupe of children ? All mankind 
 Beget them heyres, heyres by theyr freinds resign'd 
 Back into nature's keepeinge. Th' aged head 
 Tum'd creeping child of them is borne and bredd ; 
 The prisons are theyr cradles where they hush 
 Those piercing cryes. When other parents blush 
 To see a crooked birth, by these the maim'd 
 Deform'd weake offcasts are sought out and claim'd 
 To rayse a Progeny : before on death 
 Thus they renew mens lives with double breath, 
 And whereas others gett but half e a man 
 Theyr nobler art of generation can 
 Kepa3rr the soule itselfe, and see that none 
 Bee cripled more in that then in a bone, 
 For which the Cleargy being hartned on 
 Weake soules are cur'd in theyr Physition, 
 Whose superannuat hatt or threadbare cloake 
 Now doth not make his words so vainly spoke 
 To people's laughter : this munificence 
 At once hath giv'n them ears, him eloquence. 
 Now Henryes sacriledge is found to bee 
 The ground that sets off Fishbome's charity. 
 Who from lay owners rescueing church lands, 
 Buys out the injury of wrongfull hands, 
 And shewes the blackness of the other's night 
 By lustre of his day that shines so bright. 
 
 Sweet bee thy rest until in heav'n thou see 
 Those thankefuU soules on earth preserv'd by thee, 
 Whose russet liv'ryes shall a Robe repay 
 That by reflex makes white the milky way. 
 84 
 
Then shall those feeble limbs which as thine owne 
 Thou here didst cherish, then indeed bee known 
 To bee thy fellow limbs, all joyn'd in one ; 
 For temples here renew'd the comer stone 
 Shall yeild thee thanks, when thou shall wonder at 
 The chiirches glory, but so poore of late, 
 Glad of thy almes ! Because thy tender eare 
 Was never stop'd at cryes, it there shall heare 
 The Angells quire. In all things thou shalt see 
 Thy gifts were but religious Usury. 
 
 [Richard Fishburne, a wealthy cloth merchant, died in 
 1625, leaving by his will a great part of his fortune for the 
 benefit of the poor. He left considerable sums to improve 
 the circumstances of the poorer clergy of London. These 
 facts I learn from a Funeral Sermon on him preached by 
 Nat. Shute, Rector of St. Mildred in the Poultry. 
 
 The poem, as printed above, is taken from a manuscript 
 volume in Corpus Christi College, where it is attributed to 
 Strode. I know of no reason why it should not be his ; yet 
 I must confess that I am not altogether sure that he was the 
 author of it. I do not think the verses have ever been printed 
 before.] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES VAN OTTON 
 
 The first day of this month the last hath bin 
 
 To that deare soule. March never did come in 
 
 So lyonlike as now : our lives are made 
 
 As fickle as the weather or the shade. 
 
 March dust growes plenty now, while wasting fate 
 
 Strike heare to dust, well worth the proverbs rate. 
 
 85 
 
I could be angry with the fates that they 
 This man of men so soone have stole away. 
 Meane they a kingdome to undoe, or make 
 The universe a Cripple while they take 
 From us so cheife a part, whose art knew how 
 To make a man a man, nor would allow 
 Nature an Heteroclite still to remaine 
 Irregular, but with a jugling paine 
 Deceive men of their greif e, and make them know 
 That he could cure more than ere chance or foe 
 Dare to instring. Death now growes politique : 
 While Otton Uv'd herselfe was weake and sicke 
 For want of food, therefore at him she aimde 
 Who bar'd her of her purpose. All is maimde, 
 All's out of joint, for in this fatall crosse 
 Behold Death's triumph and our fatall losse. 
 
 [There are two MS. copies of this poem in the British 
 Museum, both of which are rather unsatisfactory in their 
 texts. The above gives the best readings that can be derived 
 from them. One MS. reads 'infring' instead of 'instring' 
 in line 17, and that is probably the right word.] 
 
 ON SIR THOMAS SAVILL DYING OF THE 
 SMALL POX — 
 
 Take, greedy death, a body here entomd 
 
 That by a thousand stroakes was made one wound, 
 
 Where all thy shafts were stuck with fatall ayme 
 
 UntiU a quiver this thy marke became, 
 
 86 
 
Had Caesar fifty woimds to let in thee 
 Because a troop of men might seeme to bee 
 Comprised in that great Spirit, this had more 
 "Whose deaths were equalld with the fruitfull store 
 Of hopefull vertues, though each wound did reach 
 The very heart, yet none could make a breach 
 Into his soule, a soule more fully drest 
 With vertuous gemmes than was his body prest 
 With hatefull spotts, and therefore every scarr 
 When death itselfe is dead shall be a starre. 
 
 [There are two copies of this poem in the C.C.C. library. 
 There are a few variations of text in them ; but none which it 
 seems necessary to record.] 
 
 EPITAPH ON MR. BRIDGEMAN 
 
 One pitt containes him now that could not dye 
 Before a thousand pitts in him did lye ; 
 Soe many spotts upon his flesh were shewne 
 'Cause on his soule sinne fastned almost none. 
 
 [The reading of the MS. in the second line is 'pills,' but 
 as this is apparently a mistake I have substituted 'pitts.' 
 Mr. Bridgman, I suppose, died of the small pox : hence the 
 wretched punning conceit. The verses may or may not be 
 Strode's : they are attributed to him (so far as I know) in one 
 MS. only.] 
 
 87 
 
TO HIS SISTER 
 
 Loving Sister : every line 
 
 Of your last letter was so fine 
 
 With the best mettle, that the grayne 
 
 Of Scrivener's pindust were but vayne : 
 
 The touch of Gold did sure instill 
 
 Some vertue more than did the Quill. 
 
 And since you write noe cleanly hand 
 
 Your token bids mee understand 
 
 Mine eyes have here a remedy 
 
 Wherby to reade more easily. 
 
 I doe but jeast : your love alone 
 
 Is my interpretation : 
 
 My words I will recant, and sweare 
 
 I know your hand is wondrous faire. 
 
 TO SIR JO. FERRERS 
 
 Gold is restorative : how can I then 
 
 Choose but restore you Thanks at least ? But when 
 
 I weigh your meritt, and then try the Scale 
 
 What correspondence I can make withaU 
 
 88 
 
My thanks as farre beneath your worth I hold 
 
 As this light pindust valued with your Gold. 
 
 Gold is a mettle of most heate and weight, 
 
 And well deserves like thanks, not cold nor light : 
 
 But if my Thanks had so much literall 
 
 And proper weight, as metaphoricall, 
 
 Then should the Carryer earne his penny better. 
 
 And soone might loade a "Waggon with one Letter : 
 
 But since they have but vertuall thanks alone 
 
 "VKliich must depende on Estimation, 
 
 Accept, I pray, this Bill of thankfulnesse. 
 
 In maimer of a Bill : whose nature is 
 
 Itselfe noe actuall substance ; but doth tie 
 
 To all performance in Futuritie. 
 
 Some men whose Penne outnms thejnr mind as farre 
 
 As any Courtyers tongue may thinke they are 
 
 Fayrely dischargde by theyr Confession, 
 
 Like one that hath bin shrivde : 'tis ten to one 
 
 But when they send theyr Thanks they send away 
 
 Thankfulnesse too. True thanks, the more wee pay 
 
 The more they grow at home : the Letter sent 
 
 Is but an Earnest of what else is meant. 
 
 Why pleade I thus against myselfe ? I knowe 
 
 Noe other Argument of making showe 
 
 Of thankes but barren words ; and this I call 
 
 The Schollers treasure ; and his coyne is all 
 
 One stampe ; Thanks good and sterling : Wee restore 
 
 This for small Courtesies : we have no more 
 
 To pay for greater Benefits. Then grant 
 
 Your kinde Acceptance to supply this want, 
 
 89 
 
Untill Occasion serves mee to performe 
 Some reall Service ; when that houre is borne 
 I shall bee fortunate : for know that still 
 My utmost power your Tenant is at will. 
 Meane while may all good Happ upon you shine 
 So as it may exceed your wish and mine. 
 
 Now my Apostrophe should humbly bowe 
 To speake unto my Lady : but I know 
 Twere but an idle Repitition 
 To write asimder, seeing both are one : 
 Twere prophanation of my penne and witt 
 If I should separate what so is knitt. 
 
 TO THE SAME 
 
 If empty vessells can resounde 
 
 Farre more than those that doe abounde, 
 
 Or if a Pumpe orechargde with store, 
 
 Lesse water yeelds than being poore, 
 
 No wonder if my thanks so long 
 
 Have Silence kept : they were too strong 
 
 My Breast untill some time were spent 
 
 Was too too full to gett a vent. 
 
 Had your ore-comming Bounty beene 
 
 Lesse noble ; had it onely scene 
 
 The way to give, not give by arte, 
 
 I quickly had transcribde my heart 
 
 In ready phrase ; and soone had payde 
 
 The debt which now I have delayde. 
 
 90 
 
The Maimer, not the Benefitt 
 Amazde my thankes and dulld my witt. 
 Eight golden faces closely rolde 
 Within eight verses, did enfolde 
 Some mystery, which thiis I reade, 
 You square alike your Word and Deede. 
 Each verse was truly golden there, 
 And with the Pieces numbred were : 
 The lines so just that every one 
 Became a new Inscription. 
 Was't not enough my heart to binde 
 With gifts alone ; but you must finde 
 Verses to way mee downe, and soe 
 Stopping the way where I should goe, 
 Prevent all thanks ? I then desire 
 In steade of thanks I may admire. 
 
 Thinke how the boasting Hypocrite 
 Setts out his gift in open sight, 
 And guilds the outside of his deede 
 Trading for prayse, which others neede : 
 Then looke upon your secrecie. 
 Your shamefacte LiberaUtie, 
 And pay yourselfe with that Reward 
 Which Conscience onely can affoord : 
 Such prayse the best men seeke, but you 
 Sought to avoyde such prayses too. 
 To say the left hand could not reade 
 What from the right hand did proceede 
 Were to detract : I think the hand 
 That gave did scarcely understande 
 
 91 
 
Her secrett gifts : I'm sure twas so 
 That the receiver did not knowe : 
 Nor must I know till I were gone, 
 That so your ears may scape my tongue. 
 I have your Blushing therefore sparde, 
 I have indeede ; and since you fearde 
 So to be thankt, who did not feare 
 So to deserve : I did forbeare ; 
 I did awhile ; but now I speake : 
 To hold in still I am too weake. 
 
 TO THE SAME 
 
 It grieves mee that I thus due thanks retayne 
 For, that which I receivde the last King's raigne ; 
 It grieves mee that the Lent is fully past ; 
 That all the Usurers accounts are cast, 
 Theyr use already taken : and that I 
 Noe tribute sende, noe thankfull usury. 
 I envy that each Tree and petty shrubs 
 Breaking the barke peepe out with timely buds. 
 And paying all the duties of the spring 
 Theyr yearly Rents to Natiure freely bring, 
 Whilst I in barren Silence still remayne, 
 Not yeelding for increase one leafe agayne, 
 One leafe of Paper ; Leaves are signes of fruit, 
 So Words of what full time should execute : 
 They are no more : for shall I thinke I pay 
 When, that I am your Depter, I but say ? 
 92 
 
Confession is noe payment, but with God, 
 And some fewe of his SchoUers, two or odde : 
 Of which small number, though you would be one, 
 Yet of such Depters I would fayne be none. 
 
 Till I can choose, with patience thinke that man 
 Who nothing pays, pays all ; if what he can. 
 
 TO SIR EDM. LING 
 
 Sir : I had writt in Lattin : but I feare 
 
 You thinke tis durty still : and then it were 
 
 Unworthy of your hand. If Truth were tolde 
 
 Twas cause you tumde my Lattin all to gold. 
 
 But yet I hope the payment is as good 
 
 In English thankes. When hardly understood 
 
 Wee speake outlandish phrase, and thanks by arte, 
 
 Wee speake but Tongue-deepe : now tis from the heart. 
 
 May I want tongue and heart if I forgett 
 
 A thing so rare, a stranger's benefitt. 
 
 In writing to a Stranger, men are bent 
 
 To make a flourish with nice Complement. 
 
 Should I by you, as by a Stranger doe, 
 
 Your gift would sweare mee downe you were not so. 
 
 Yet give mee leave. Sir, but to darte one worde 
 
 From that full store-house where my Thanks I horde : 
 
 May every houre that travells through the glasse 
 
 Number a new content before it passe : 
 
 May you neere wish wherby to want true blisse. 
 
 Nor ever want wherby to cause a wish. 
 
 95 
 
[The word <durty' in the, second line is the reading of the 
 MS., but it is probably an error for ' duety.'] 
 
 TO THE LADY KNIGHTON 
 
 Madam : due thanks are lodgde within my breast 
 
 As close as when yoiir enigmatique chest 
 
 Embracde the hidden Angell, which I found 
 
 Like Dan^e, or like to Rosamonde 
 
 "Wrapt in a winding labirynth. But then 
 
 I thought mine eyes a prodigy had scene, 
 
 Two Angells joynd in one ; the first a badd one. 
 
 The other good : twas Michael and the Dragon. 
 
 This is the morall if wee reade it well, 
 
 The selfe same Gold contains both heaven and hell : 
 
 To good men tis an Angell : but the evill 
 
 While they possesse it treasure upp the DiveU. 
 
 O may that valiant Angell, whose bright face 
 
 Was figurde in your Golde, whose glory was 
 
 No lesse exprest in the materiall 
 
 Than in the stampe it was informde withall ; 
 
 May he still guard your side and where you dwell 
 
 May still your Champion bee Saynt Michaell. 
 
 What though that frayle Disease long siege hath layde 
 
 Unto your body ? Never be dismayde. 
 
 The Languisher breaths long oft times wee see : 
 
 So soddayn blasts blow downe a sturdy Tree 
 
 When shivering Shrubs holi out : the firme and strong 
 
 Are strucke with casuall blows : the weake live long 
 
 94 
 
In heavenly expectation of theyr last, 
 And fayrly pace, whilst others runne in hast. 
 Thinke when your palsy and the night is fledde 
 Twas part of Death ; and when you rise from bed 
 Thinke that of all your limbs, the weakest one 
 Hath tasted of the Resurrection. 
 Thanks was my Theame : but let me thank or pray 
 It issues from one head, what ere I say. 
 O, may your dayes bee all as good as long ; 
 May no ill happe or passion dare to wrong 
 Your quiet peace with the least griefe or feare, 
 And may your Heart keepe Christmas all the year. 
 
 TO MR, RIVES UPPON HIS RECOVERY 
 
 "Welcome abroad, O welcome from yoiir bedd, 
 I joy to see you thus delivered : 
 After fower yeares in travell, issues forth, 
 A birth of lasting wonder, whereat truth 
 Might well suspect herselfe ; a new disease 
 Borne to advance the Surgeons of our dayes 
 Above all others : a perfidious bone 
 Eaten and underminde by humours growne 
 Lodg'd in the captive thigh, which first of any 
 Halted, though furnisht with a bone too many. 
 No Golgotha, nor Chamell house, nor feild, 
 If aU were searcht, could such another yeild ; 
 A bone so lockt and hugg'd in as a barr 
 That back and forwards may be wrested farr, 
 
 95 
 
But not pull'd out at either hole ; nor could 
 
 The cunning workman come to't as hee would : 
 
 Crosse veynes did guard the soare, a hollow cave 
 
 Must wade into the flesh : the surgeon's grave 
 
 Thus being digg'd the file with harshe delay 
 
 Must grate the bone, and carve those chippes away. 
 
 Blest be the midmen, whose dexteritie 
 
 Pull'd out a birth, like Bacchus, from the thigh j 
 
 Tutors of nature, whose well guided arte 
 
 Can rectifie her wants in every part ; 
 
 Who by preserving others pay the debt 
 
 They owe to nature, and doe re-begett 
 
 Her strength growne ruinate. I could be gladd 
 
 Such liv'd the dayes which they to others add. 
 
 I cannot rightly tell the happier man, 
 
 The patient or the surgeon ; doe but scan 
 
 His praise, thy ease : twas sure an Extasie 
 
 That kiU'd Van-Otto, not a Lethargic ; 
 
 Striving to crowne his worke, he mainly tryde 
 
 His last and greatest case, then gladly dyde. 
 
 Bernard must tarry longer, should hee flye 
 
 After his brother all the world must dye, 
 
 Or live a Cripple. Griffith's happie fate 
 
 Requires the same hands still to itterate 
 
 No lesse a miracle : the Jo3mers skill 
 
 Could never mend his carved pate so well 
 
 As hee hath heald a naturall ; the stout 
 
 And boasting Paracelsus who gives out 
 
 His rules can give man's life etemitie 
 
 Would faintly doubt of this recovery. 
 
 96 
 
Hee that hath wrought their cures I thinke hee can 
 
 As well of scrappes make upp a perfect man, 
 
 O had you scene his marrowe dropp away, 
 
 Or the others brayne start out, then would you say 
 
 Nothing could cure this fracture or that bone 
 
 Save Bernard or the Ressurection. 
 
 Stand, honest Rives, stand up and looke about. 
 
 Behold thine enemie, the bone, is out : 
 
 Now smile upon thy torment, pretty thing, 
 
 How will you use it ? Carry't in a ring 
 
 Like a death's head, or send it to the grave. 
 
 An earnest of the body it must have ; 
 
 Or if you will you may the same translate 
 
 Into a dye because twas foirtunate. 
 
 The ring were best ; tis like a Dyamond borne 
 
 Out of a Rock, soe was it hewne and tome 
 
 Out of your thigh : the gemme worth nothing is 
 
 Untill it be cutt out, no more was this. 
 
 Happie are they that knowe what treasure tis 
 
 To finde lost health, they onely feele true blisse. 
 
 Thou that hast felt these panges maist well mayntaine 
 
 Man's greatest pleasure is but want of payne : 
 
 Enjoy thyselfe, for nothing worse can come 
 
 To one so schoold and versd in martyrdome. 
 
 [The text of this poem is chiefly derived from a manuscript 
 copy in my possession. In that copy, however, it is headed 
 " To Doctor Griffith heald by a strange cure by Barnard 
 Wright, Chirurgion in Oxon, by W. Stroud." There is a 
 printed copy of the poem with a very similar heading in 
 "Parnassus Biceps." Nevertheless it seems that this head- 
 
 G 97 
 
ing was in both cases affixed to the poem in error. In the 
 British Museum (Sloane MS. 1446, fol. 21) there is a copy 
 from which I have taken my own heading. This contains 
 two lines which are not in the other copies : viz., the follow- 
 ing:— 
 
 Stand, honest Rives, stand up and looke about, 
 Behold thine enemie, the bone, is out. 
 This seems to show decisively that the poem was addressed 
 to Mr. Rives, and not to Dr. Griffiths. The verses evidently 
 refer to two remarkable cures, that of a diseased bone in the 
 case of Mr. Rives, and of a fractured skull in that of Dr. 
 Griffiths. Apparently both the cures were effected by Dr. 
 Wright. 
 
 In " Parnassus Biceps " and in my own MS. copy the fif- 
 teenth line runs thus— 
 
 But not puU'd out at the keyhole ; neither could — 
 
 This is evidently an impossible line, and I have therefore 
 adopted the reading of the Sloane MS. Other variations are 
 found between the different texts, though it hardly seems 
 necessary to record them. One small emendation I have 
 made solely on my own responsibility. In the fifth line 
 from the end I have substituted ' true blisse ' for 'the blisse,' 
 feeling sure that the latter cannot be right.] 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S GIFT 
 
 We are prevented ; you whose Presence is 
 A Publick New-yeares gift, a Common bliss 
 To all that Love or Feare, give no man leave 
 To vie a Gift but first he shall receave ; 
 Like as the Persian Sun \Nrith golden Eies 
 First shines upon the Priest and Sacrifice. 
 98 
 
He on howere ; May this yeare happier prove 
 Than all the Golden Age when Vertue strove 
 With nothing but with Vertue ; may it bee 
 Such as the Dayes of Saturnes Infancy. 
 May every Tide and Season joyntly fitt 
 AU your Intents and your Occasions hitt : 
 May every Grayne of Sand within your Glass 
 Number a fresh content before it pass. 
 And when success comes on, stand then each howre 
 Like Josuah's Day, & grow to three or fowre : 
 At last when this yeare rounds and wheeles away. 
 Bee still the next yeare like the old yeares Day, 
 
 [This is from a C.C.C. MS. Two or three passages in the 
 MS. have slight corrections which I have followed. There 
 is nothing to show on what occasion the verses were 
 written.] 
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 Like to the hande which hath bin usde to play 
 
 One lesson long, still runs the usuall way, 
 
 And waites not what the hearers bid it strike, 
 
 But doth presume by custome, this will like : 
 
 So runne my thoughts, which are so perfect growne, 
 
 So well acquainted with my passion. 
 
 That now they dare prevent mee with their hast, 
 
 And ere I thinke to sigh my sigh is past : 
 
 Tis past, and flowne to you, for you alone 
 
 Are aU the object that I thinke upon, 
 
 99 
 
And did not you supply my soule with thought 
 For want of action it to none were brought. 
 What though our absent armes may not enfold 
 Reall embraces, yet wee firmely hold 
 Each other in possession. Thus wee see 
 The Lord enjoy his Lands where ere hee bee : 
 If Kings possesst no more than where they sate 
 What were they greater than a mean estate ? 
 This makes mee firmly yours, you firmly mine, 
 That somthing more than bodies us combine. 
 
 [This poem has been attributed to Donne and also to 
 Carew; but I believe that Strode has the best title to it.] 
 
 A LETTER 
 
 Goe happy Paper : by conunand 
 Take liberty to kisse her hand, 
 More white than any part of thee, 
 Although with spots thou graced bee. 
 The glory of the clearest day. 
 The morning ayre perfumd in May, 
 The first borne rose of all the Spring, 
 The downe beneath a Turtle's wing, 
 A lute just reaching to the eare ; 
 What ere is soft, or sweete, or fayre, 
 Are but her shreds, who fills the place 
 And some of every single grace. 
 As in a child the nurse descryes 
 The mother's hppes, the father's eyes, 
 100 
 
The uncle's nose ; and doth apply 
 
 An owner to each part ; so I 
 
 In her conld analyze the store 
 
 Of all the Choyce ere nature bore. 
 
 Each private peece to minde may call 
 
 Some worth ; but none can match it all. 
 
 Poore emblems ! they can but expresse 
 
 One element of comelinesse : 
 
 None are so rich to shew in one 
 
 All simples of perfection : 
 
 Nor can the Pencill represent 
 
 More than the outward lineament. 
 
 Then who can limbe the portrayture 
 
 Of beauties live behavior ? 
 
 Or what can figure every kinde 
 
 Of Jewells that adome her minde ? 
 
 Thought cannot draw her picture full : 
 
 Even Thought to her is grosse and dull. 
 
 WITH PENNE, INKE, AND PAPER 
 TO A DISTRESSED FRIEND 
 
 Here is paper, pen, and inke. 
 That your heart and seale may sinke 
 Into such markes as may expresse 
 A Soule much blest in heavinesse. 
 
 May your paper seeme as fayre 
 As yourselfe when you appeare : 
 
 101 
 
May the Letters which you write 
 Looke like bhick eye-lids on white. 
 
 May your penne such fancies bring 
 As one new puld from Cupid's wing : 
 That your paper, hand, and seale 
 His favour, heart, and Soule may steale. 
 
 THANKS FOR A WELCOME 
 
 For your good lookes and your clarrett, 
 
 For oft bidding doe not spare it : 
 
 For tossiag glasses to the toppe, 
 
 And after sucking off a droppe. 
 
 When scarce a droppe was left behinde. 
 
 Or that which nicknames wine, even winde : 
 
 For healthy mirth and lusty sherry 
 
 Such as made old Cato merry ; 
 
 Such are our thanks that you may have 
 
 In blood the clarrett which you gave. 
 
 And in your service shall be spent 
 
 The spirits which your sacke hath lent. 
 
 102 
 
A PARALELL BETWEEN BOWLING AND 
 PREFERMENT 
 
 Preferment, like a Game at bowles, 
 To feede our hope with diverse play 
 Heer quick it rumies, there soft it rowles : 
 The Betters make and shew the way. 
 
 As upper groimd, so great Allies 
 Doe many cast on theyr desire : 
 Some nppe are thnist, and forc't to rise, 
 When those are stopt that would aspire. 
 
 Some whose heate and zeale exceed 
 Thrive well by Rubbs that curb theyr hast 
 Some that languish in theyr speede 
 Are cherisht by a gentle blast. 
 
 Some rest : and others cutting out 
 
 The same by whome themselves were made : 
 
 Some fetch a compasse farre about 
 
 And secretly the marke invade. 
 
 Some gett by knocke, and so advance 
 Theyr fortune by a boystrous ayme : 
 
 103 
 
And some who have the sweetest chance 
 Theyr mistresse hitt, and winne the game. 
 
 The fayrest casts are those that owe 
 No thanks to Fortunes giddy sway : 
 Such honest men good bowles doe throw, 
 Whose owne true Byass cutts the way. 
 
 THE CAPPS 
 
 The witt hath long beholden bin 
 Unto the Cappe to keepe it in : 
 Lett now the witt fly out amayne 
 In prayse to quitt the Cappe againe. 
 The Cappe that ownes the highest part 
 Obtaynd that place by due desart : 
 For every Cappe, what ere it bee 
 fs still the signe of some degree. 
 
 The Cappe doth stand, each head can show, 
 Above the Crowne ; but Kings below : 
 The Cappe is neerer heaven than wee, 
 A greater signe of majesty. 
 When off the Cappe wee chance to take 
 Both head and feete obeysance make : 
 For every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The Munmoth cappe, the Saylors thrumme. 
 And that wherin poore Tradesmen come, 
 104 
 
The Physick, Law, and Cappe divine, 
 And that which crownes the Muses nine : 
 The Cappe that Fools doth countenance. 
 The goodly Cappe of maintenance : 
 For every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The sickly Cappe both playne and wrought ; 
 The fudling Cappe, however bought ; 
 The Quilted, Furrd, the Velvet, Satin, 
 For which so many fooles leame Latin ; 
 The Cruell Cappe, the fustian pate. 
 The Periwigge, a Cappe of late : 
 And every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The souldiers that the Munmoth weare, 
 On castle toppes theyr ensignes reare : 
 The Seaman with his thrumme doth stand 
 In higher parts than all the land : 
 The Tradesmans Cappe aloft is borne 
 By vantage of (some say) a Home. 
 Thus every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The Physicke Cappe to dust can bring. 
 Without controule, the greatest King : 
 The Lawyers Cappe hath heavenly might 
 To make a crooked action right, 
 Which being round and endlesse knowes 
 To make as endlesse any cause : 
 Thus every Cappe, &c. 
 
 105 
 
Both East and West, both North and South, 
 Where ere the Gospell findes a mouth, 
 The Cappe divine doth thither looke ; 
 Tis sqiuire, like Scholars and theyr booke ; 
 The rest are round, but this is square 
 To shew theyr heads more stable are ; 
 Thus every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The sickly Cappe, not wrought with silke. 
 Is like Repentance, white as milke : 
 When hatts in Church droppe off in hast 
 This Cappe neere leaves the head uncast : 
 The sicke mans Cappe, thats wrought, can tell 
 Though hee bee sicke, his state is well. 
 Thus every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The fudling Cappe, god Bacchus might, 
 Tumes night to day, and day to night : 
 It godlike makes proud heads to bende, 
 And lowly feete makes to ascend : 
 It mjikes men richer than before 
 By seeing double all theyr store. 
 It rounds the world within the brayne. 
 And makes a monarch of a swa3nie : 
 The Furrd and Quilted Cappe of age 
 Can make a mouldy Proverbe sage. 
 Thus every Cappe, &c. 
 
 The Sattin and the Velvett hive 
 Unto a Bishoprick doth drive : 
 106 
 
Nay, when a file of Caps you're seen in, 
 A square Capp, this, and next a linnen : 
 This triple Cappe may rayse some hope, 
 If fortune smile, to be a Pope : 
 For every Cappe, &c. 
 
 Though fustian capps bee slender weare, 
 
 The head is of no better geare : 
 
 The cruell Cappe is knitt, like hose 
 
 For them whose zeale takes cold i' th' nose : 
 
 Whose parity doth thinke it meete 
 
 To cloath alike the head and feete : 
 
 This Cappe would fayne, but cannot bee : 
 
 The only signe of noe degree. 
 
 The Periwigg, oh that declares 
 The rise of flesh, but fall of hayres : 
 And none but Grandos can proceede 
 So f arre in sinne that this they neede 
 Before theyr Prince, which covered are, 
 And only to themselves goe bare : 
 
 This Cappe of all the Capps that bee 
 
 Is now the signe of high degree. 
 
 [The above is from one of my MS. volumes. Collier 
 printed the poem in his " Book of Roxburgh Ballads " 1847; 
 and it was also printed in " Satirical Songs and Poems on 
 Costume," edited by F. W. Fairholt, for the Percy Society. 
 Collier printed his copy from an undated broadside printed 
 by John Trundle. There seems to be good authority for 
 attributing the poem to Strode, since it is given to him in 
 several manuscripts, while it has not, I believe, ever been 
 claimed for any other author. 
 
 107 
 
The version printed by Collier and Fairholt differs in some 
 respects from that given above. It has an additional stanza, 
 which is not in my copy. 
 It is as follows:— 
 The motley-man a cap doth weare, 
 Which makes him fellow to a peere, 
 And 'tis no slender part of wit 
 To act the fool where great men sit ; 
 For folly is in such request 
 That each man strives to do his best. 
 Thus any cap, &c. 
 
 Stanza 9 in Collier's version reads thus :— 
 The Fuddling cap, by Bacchus might, 
 Turns night to day, and day to night ; 
 Yet spenders it prefer to more. 
 Seeming to double all their store. 
 The Furr'd and quilted cap of age 
 Can make a musty proverb sage. 
 
 There are many other small variations : but all it seems 
 necessary to mention are the following : 
 
 Stanza 11, line 4, 'parity ' is 'purity' in Collier 
 
 » 12, ,, 3, ' grandos ' is ' graduates ' in Collier.] 
 
 ON A GOOD LEGG AND FOOT 
 
 If Hercules tall stature might bee guest 
 But by his thumbe, wherby to make the rest 
 In due proportion ; the best rule that I 
 Would choose to measure Venus' beauty by 
 Should bee her legg and foot. If husbandmen 
 Measure theyr timber by the foot, why then 
 108 
 
Not we our wives ? Whether wee goe or stride 
 Those native compasses are seldome wide 
 Of telling true : the round and slender foot 
 Is a sure index, and a secrett note 
 Of hidden parts ; and well this way may lead 
 Unto the closett of a maydenheade : 
 Here, Emblemes of our youth, we roses tye, 
 And here the garter, love's deare mystery : 
 For want of beauty here the peacock's pride 
 Letts fall her trayne, and fearing to bee spide 
 Shutts upp her paynted witnesses to lett 
 Those eyes from view which are but counterfett. 
 Who looks not if this part be good or evill 
 May meet with cloven feet and match the divell. 
 For this doth make the difference betweene 
 The more unhallowed creatures and the cleane, 
 Well may you judge her other stepps are lighte, 
 Her thoughts awry that doth not tread aright : 
 But then there's true perfection when wee see 
 Those parts more absolute that hidden bee : 
 Nature nere layd a fa3rre foundation 
 For an unworthy frame to rest upon. 
 Lett others view the topp and limbes throughout, 
 The deeper knowledge is to know the roote : 
 And reading of the face the weakest know. 
 What beauty is ; the learned looke below ; 
 Who, looking there, doe all the rest, descrie 
 As in a poole the moon we use to spie : 
 
 Pardon (sweetehart) the pride of my desire 
 If but to kisse your toe it should aspire. 
 
 109 
 
ON JOHN DAWSON, BUTLER OF C.C, 
 
 Dawson the Butler's dead : Although I think 
 
 Poets were ne'er infusde with single drinke 
 
 He spend a farthing muse ; some watry verse 
 
 WQl serve the tume to cast upon his hearse ; 
 
 If any cannot weepe amongst us here 
 
 Take off his pott, and so squeeze out a tear : 
 
 Weepe, O his cheeses, weepe tiU yee bee good, 
 
 Yee that are dry or in the sun have stood ; 
 
 In mossy coats und rusty liveries moume, 
 
 Untill Uke him to ashes you shall tume : 
 
 Weep, O ye barrells, lett your drippings fall 
 
 In trickling streams : make waste more prodigal 
 
 Than when our drinke is badde, that John may flote 
 
 To Styx in beere, and lift upp Charon's boate 
 
 With wholesome waves. And as our conduits run 
 
 With clarett at a Coronation, 
 
 So lett our channells flow with single tiffe. 
 
 For John, I hope, is crownde : take off your whiffe, 
 
 Yee men of Rosemary : Now drinke off all, 
 
 Remembring 'tis a Butler's funeral : 
 
 Had he bin master of good double beere. 
 My life for his, John Dawson had beene here. 
 
 [This poem is sometimes attributed to Strode, and some- 
 times to Corbet. I am rather inclined to think, judging 
 solely from its style, that the latter has the better claim to 
 it.] 
 
 110 
 
JACKE-ON-BOTH-SIDES 
 
 I hold as fayth What England's Church allows 
 
 What Rome's Church sayth My Conscience disavowes ; 
 
 Where the King's head, That Church can have no seame ; 
 
 That flock's misled That holdes the Pope supreme ; 
 
 Where th' Altar's drest There's service scarce divine ; 
 
 That People's blest With table, bread and wine ; 
 
 Who shuns the Masse Hee's Catholique and wise ; 
 
 Hee's but an Asse Who the Communion flyes ; 
 
 Who Charity preach That Church with schismes fraught ; 
 
 They Heav'n soone reach Where only fayth is taught ; 
 
 On Fayth t' rely, Noe matter for good workes, 
 
 'Tis heresy Makes Christians worse thanTurkes. 
 
 [This piece of humour is from a manuscript copy at Oxford. 
 In "Wits Recreations," 1640, it appears under the title of 
 " The Church Papist." I have little doubt that Strode was 
 the author of it : at all events there does not appear to be any 
 other claimant.] 
 
 CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S SONG. 
 
 Hath Christmas ftirr'd your Chimneys, 
 
 Or have the maides neglected, 
 Doe Fire-balls droppe from your Chimney's toppe, 
 
 The Pidgin is respected, 
 Looke up with feare and horror, 
 
 O how my mistresse wonders ! 
 The streete doth crie, the newes doth flie, 
 
 The boyes they thinke it thunders. 
 
 Ill 
 
Then up I rash with my pole and brush, 
 I scowre the chimney's Jacket, 
 
 I make it shine as bright as mine, 
 When I have rub'd and rak'd it. 
 
 Take heed, ten groates you'le forfeit. 
 
 The Maior will not have under, 
 In vain is dung, so is your gun 
 
 When brickes doe flie astmder : 
 Let not each faggot fright ye. 
 
 When threepence will me call in. 
 The Bishopps foote is not worse than soote 
 
 If ever it should fall in. 
 
 Up will I rush, etc. 
 
 The sent, the smoake ne're hurts me. 
 
 The dust is never minded. 
 Mine Eyes are glasse men sweare as I passe 
 
 Or else I had bin blinded. 
 For in the midst of Chimneys 
 
 I laugh, I sing, I hollow, 
 I chant my layes in Vulcan's praise 
 
 As merry as the swallow. 
 
 Still up I rush, etc. 
 
 With Engines and devices 
 
 I scale the proudest chimney. 
 
 The Prince's throne to mine alone 
 
 Gives place, the Starrs I climb ny, 
 
 112 
 
I scome all men beneath me 
 
 While there I stand a scowring, 
 All they below looke like a Crow, 
 
 Or men on Paules a tow'ring. 
 
 Then downe I rush, etc. 
 
 And as I downeward rumble 
 
 What thinke you is my lott then ? 
 A good neat's tongue in the inside hung. 
 
 The maide hath it forgotten : 
 If e're the wanton mingled 
 
 My inke with soote I wist not, 
 Howere the neate and harmless cheate 
 
 Is worth a penny, is't not ? 
 
 Still doe I rush, etc. 
 
 Then cloth'd in soote and ashes 
 
 I catch the maides that hast out, 
 Whos'ere I meete with smutt I greete. 
 
 And pounse their lipps and wastcote : 
 But on the Sunday morning 
 
 I looke not like a widgin, 
 Soe brave I stand with a point in my bande 
 
 Men ask if I be Pidgin, 
 
 Yet will I rush, etc. 
 
 Mulsacke I dare encounter 
 
 For aU his home and feather. 
 He lay him a crowne He roare him downe, 
 
 I thinke heale ne'er come hether. 
 
 H 113 
 
The Boyes that climbe like Crickets 
 
 And steale my trade, He strippe them, 
 
 By priviledge I, grovme Chimney hy, 
 
 Soone out of towne will whippe them. 
 Then will I rash, etc. 
 
 The above is from a manuscript volume in C. C. C, Oxford. 
 I know of no other copy. In the fifth stanza there would 
 seem to be some error : at any rate the meaning of the last 
 four lines is far from clear. Mulsacke or Mulled-Sacke was 
 a notorious chimney-sweeper of the time. Allusions to him 
 are very frequent in the poems and plays of the early part 
 of the seventeenth century. See " Additional Notes" for a 
 reference to him by Taylor, the Water-poet.] 
 
 A DEVONSHIRE SONG 
 
 Thou ne're wutt riddle, neighbour Jan 
 
 Where Ich a late ha been-a ? 
 Why ich ha been at Plymoth, Man, 
 
 The leeke was yet ne're zeen-a. 
 Zutch streetes, zutch men, zutch hugeous zeas, 
 
 Zutch things with guns there tumbling. 
 Thy zelfe leeke me thoudst blesse to see, 
 
 Zutch overmonstrous grumbling. 
 
 The towne orelaid with shindle stone 
 
 Doth glissen like the skee-a : 
 Brave shopps stand ope, and all yeare long 
 
 I thinke a Faire there bee-a : 
 114 
 
A many gallant man there goth 
 In gold that zaw the King-a ; 
 
 The King zome zvreare himzelfe was there, 
 A man or zome zutch thing-a. 
 
 Voole thou that hast noe water past, 
 
 But thicka m the Moore-a, 
 To zee the zea would be agast, 
 
 It doth zoe rage and roar-a : 
 Zoe zalt it tasts thy tongue will thinke 
 
 The vier is in the water ; 
 It is zoe wide noe lande is spide, 
 
 Looke ne're zoe long thereafter. 
 
 The Water vrom the Element 
 
 None can dezeave cha vore-a, 
 It semmeth low, yet all consent 
 
 Tis higher than the Moore-a. 
 Tis Strang how looking down the Clif f e 
 
 Men looke mere upward rather ; 
 If these same Eene had it not zeen 
 
 Chud scarce beleeve my Vather. 
 
 Amid the water woodden birds, 
 And vlying houses zwimme-a, 
 
 All vull of goods as ich have heard 
 And men up to the brimm-a : 
 
 115 
 
They venter to another world 
 
 Desiring to conquier-a, 
 Vor which their guns, vowle develish ons, 
 
 Doe dunder and spitt vier-a. 
 
 Good neighbour Tom, how farre is that ? 
 
 This meazell towne chill leave-a ; 
 Chill mope noe longer here, that's vlatt 
 
 To watch a Sheepe or Sheare-a : 
 Though it as varre as London be. 
 
 Which ten mile ich imagin, 
 Chill thither hie for this place I 
 
 Doe take in greate indudgin. 
 
 [The above version is from Corpus Christi College MS. 
 book 325. In Rawlinson Poetical MS. book, No. 142, there 
 is another version which differs in so many points from the 
 above that it will be easier to quote it in full than to mark the 
 variations in the usual way. There is still another copy in 
 C.C.C. MS. 328, which varies in many points from the 
 version given above. Most of these variations are of little 
 significance ; but it will be well perhaps to record the more 
 important of them : — 
 
 Line i. Riddle, riddle, neighbour 
 
 „ 6, Zutch monstrous thinges by grumling 
 
 „ 8, Such bomination rumlinge 
 
 ,, g, The streets there set with sheening stones 
 
 ,, II, Brave shopps stond open all th' yeare 
 
 ,, 13, And many a gallant gooeth there 
 
 „ 14, In gold to bee the King-a 
 
 „ 17, But you that never waters past 
 
 „ 18, But thoose are in tha 
 
 „ 23, It lyeth zo wide 
 
 „ 26, discerne chi zwore-a 
 116 
 
Line 27, zeemeth high it all consent 
 „ 28, Tis lower a great deale moore-a 
 „ 29, Tis strange that looking downe the hill 
 ,, 30, Men shud looke upwards rather 
 1) 34> Vleeing housen switnme 
 „ 41, neighbour Jan how ever it is 
 „ 42, Our dusty towne 
 
 „ 43, Chill stay at home noe more that's flatt 
 „ 44, Nor keepe a sheepe to sheare-a 
 „ 46, That's ten miles 
 „ 48, Indagine 
 Here follows the Rawlinson version : — 
 
 THE DEVONSHERE TRAVAILER 
 Riddle, riddle, neighbour Tom,* 
 
 Where we a late a bin-a ? 
 I've a bin at Plymouth, man : 
 
 The like was never zeene-a. 
 Zuch men, zuch streets, zuch monstrous zeas. 
 
 As still do lye a-grumbling, 
 Thyzelfe with me wouldst bless to zee 
 
 Zuch bomination rumbling. 
 
 The streets are layd with yingle ston, 
 
 Doe glister like the sky-a. 
 And shops stand open all yeere long ; 
 
 Thoudst think there were a faire-a ! 
 And many Gallons + goeth there 
 
 In gowld that zaw the King-a : 
 The King, they zweare, himself was there, 
 
 A man or zome zuch thing-a. 
 
 But thou that never water past 
 
 But ligged in the more-a. 
 To zee the zea wouldst be agast ! 
 
 It does so rage and roar-a. 
 
 * This is probably a mistake for 'Jan.' t Sic. 
 
 117 
 
It is zo zalt, thy tongue would thinke 
 The vire were in the water ; 
 
 It is zo wide noe lande that's spide 
 Lookes ne're so long thereafter. 
 
 Amidst thyck waters, wooden birds, 
 
 And ilying howses swime-a. 
 All full of gold, as we have heard. 
 
 And man up to the brime-a. 
 These venter to another world, 
 
 Desiring to conqueira-a. 
 For which theire guns, foule divelish ones, 
 
 Doe thunder and spit fire-a. 
 
 Good neighbour Tom, how farr is that ? 
 
 For thither I must goe-a : 
 Will thither high, for thyck place I 
 
 Doe love cause you zay zoe-a. 
 
 Here ends the Rawlinson version.] 
 
 UPON THE SHERIFFS BEERE 
 
 The Sheriffe of Oxford late is grown so wise 
 As to repreive his Beere till next assize : 
 Alas ! twas not so quick, twas not so heady,' 
 The Jury sate and foui^d it dead already. 
 
 [From one of my MS. volumes, in which it is ascribed to 
 ' W. S.' The epigram, with some slight variations, is to be 
 found in " Parnassus Biceps," where also there is a poem 
 <' On Mr. Sambouine, sometime Sherife of Oxford-shire." 
 This is on the same subject as the epigram. The opening 
 lines may be quoted : — 
 118 
 
Fie, Schollers, fle, have you such thirsty souls 
 To swill, quaff, and carouse in Sambourns bouls. 
 Tell me, mad youngsters, what doe you believe 
 It cost good Sambourne nothing to be Sheriffe ? 
 To spend so many beeves, so many weathers, 
 Maintaine so many Caps, so many Feathers. 
 Againe is malt so cheap, this pinching year, 
 That you should make such havoc of his bear : 
 I hear you are so many that you make 
 Most of his men turne Tapsters for your sake. 
 [Possibly this poem, as well as the epigram, is by Strode.] 
 
 LOVE COMPARED TO A GAME OF TABLES 
 
 Love is a game at tables where the dye 
 
 Of mayds affections doth by fancie fly : 
 
 If once you catch their fancie in a blott 
 
 It's tenne to one if then you enter not : 
 
 You being a gamester then may boldly venter, 
 
 And if you finde the point lye open enter : 
 
 But marke them well, for by false playing then, 
 
 Doe -what you can they wiU be bearing men. 
 
 ON A BUTCHER MARRYING A TANNER'S 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 A fitter match hath never bin — 
 The flesh is married to the skinne. 
 
 119 
 
AN INSCRIPTION AND EPITAPHES ON THE 
 MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM STRODE 
 
 Cubiculum 
 
 GuUelmi Strode Equitis Aurati, 
 
 et in isto ordine tandem Antiquissimi ; 
 
 Familia satis clari, 
 
 Sed Religione, Integritate Morum, Consilio, Justitia Publica 
 
 Generosa Hospitalitate, Rebus probfe et fjeliciter gestis 
 
 Longfe clarioris. 
 
 Qui 7. Filiarum (5. nuptarum Equitibus) nexu Jugali 
 
 Et arctiori nexu plurium Virtutum 
 
 Devoniae sux Gluten et Oraculum diu substitit. 
 
 Is duarum Vxorum unanimi fretus consortio 
 
 Maris ac Dionysiaz, 
 
 Quarum ex Altera 10. suscepit Liberos, ex Altera Senii 
 
 Solamen, 
 
 Dierum et Operum satur obdormivit ; 
 
 In Gremio Terras Matris, 
 
 Cwaa. Sorore Vermicula et ultima propinquitate Naturae 
 
 decumbens, 
 
 (Conquirentibus Amicis, 
 
 In Te occidit 
 
 Spes omnis et Fortuna nostri Nominis) 
 
 Donee Nominis Generosi discrimen 
 
 Communi gloria Resurrectionis, et solius affinitate Christi 
 
 Evanescat 
 
 Occidit Jun. 27. 1637. ^tatis suae 76. 
 
 Patri Gulielmo, Matri Mariae et Dionysiae quasi Matri 
 
 Monumentum hoc posuit Guil. Strode. 
 
 120 
 
Tread soft, for if you wake this Knight alone, 
 You raise an Hoast : Religions Champion, 
 His Cuntreys Staffe, Rights bold Distributer, 
 His Neighbours Guard, the Poor mans Almoner, 
 
 Who dyes with Works about him, as did He, 
 
 Shall rise attended thus triumphantly, 
 
 ON HIS LADY MARIE 
 
 Marie, Incarnate Virtue, Soule and Skin 
 Both pure, whom Death not Life convincd of Sin, 
 Had Daughters like seven Pleiades ; but She 
 Was a prime Star of greatest Claritie. 
 
 ON HIS LADY DENYS 
 
 Denys hath merited no slender praise. 
 In that She well supplied the Formers daies. 
 Conceive how Good she was, whose very worst 
 Unto her Knight was This, that She dyed First. 
 
 [The above is from MS. book 325 in C.C.C. library. It is, 
 like many of the other pieces in that volume, in the hand- 
 writing of W. Fulman. 
 
 This inscription raises a good many problems of which 
 it is difficult to find the solution. The monument, we are 
 informed, was erected by William, the son of Sir William 
 Strode : but which William was this .' It could hardly have 
 been William Strode, the parliamentarian, unless he was a 
 child of Sir William's second marriage. Whether the in- 
 scription was composed by the poet must remain doubtful : 
 but it seems most likely that he was the author of it.] 
 
 121 
 
DOUBTFUL PIECES 
 
 [I do not claim for any of the following pieces that they are 
 certainly by Strode. I think, however, it is probable that 
 most of them are his. Three of the pieces " Upon a Gentle- 
 woman's Entertainment," " On Alma's Voice," and " Upon a 
 Picture," are from " Parnassus Biceps," in which volume 
 many known poems of Strode's are included. All these appear 
 to me to be very much in Strode's manner. About the first- 
 named I feel very confident; as to the others I am not so sure. 
 Another piece from " Parnassus Biceps," " Upon Heaven's 
 best Image his faire and vertuous Mistresse,'' appears to be 
 attributed to Strode in a manuscript in the British Museum, 
 and so, in the absence of any other claimant, it may fairly be 
 credited to him. The only authority for attributing the lines 
 " Gaze not on Swans " to Strode, is that the poem is men- 
 tioned in Dr. Grosart's list of his poems. It, however, is 
 included in Lawes' " Ayres and Dialogues " where it is 
 assigned to Henry Noel, who would seem therefore to have 
 the best claim to it. As to the two poems, beginning " Fly 
 nimble paper " and " Go, happy Paper," I have found them 
 in one of my manuscript volumes, without signatures or any 
 other indications of authorship ; and I have printed them 
 here, not because I have any strong conviction that they are 
 Strode's but because I think they may be his. As to the 
 other pieces it must be owned that they cannot be certainly 
 ascribed to Strode ; but they are at any rate assigned to him 
 in one of my MS. volumes. 
 
 Besides the pieces from "Parnassus Biceps" which are 
 here printed, there are some others which I am inclined to 
 attribute to Strode in that miscellany. The poem on page 3 
 122 
 
" In defence of the decent Ornaments of Christ-Church, 
 Ox on, occasioned by a Banbury brother, who called them 
 Idolatries," is very much like Strode's work in style and sen- 
 timent ; but there is a manuscript copy of it in the Bodleian, 
 which is signed " W. R.," to whom, whoever he may have 
 been, we must, I suppose, award it. Other pieces which 
 may be Strode's are as follows : " On a white blemish in his 
 Mistresse Eye," page i6; "Verses sent to a Lady, which 
 she sending back unread, were returned with this Inscrip- 
 tion," page 92 ; On his Mistresse Eye," page 102 ; " Upon 
 the Same" (a poem on the Death of Lord Stafford), page 
 141. 
 
 In one of my manuscript books there is a copy of the well- 
 known poem, always attributed to Fletcher, beginning 
 
 " Care-charmer Sleep, the easer of all woes " 
 
 with the signature " W. S.": but as I know of no other 
 authority for attributing the poem to Strode, I do not print 
 it here.] 
 
 A SONNET 
 
 Moume, motime, yee lovers : Flowers dying 
 
 Live againe, the cold defying, 
 
 But Beauties floure once dead dyes ever, 
 
 Falls as soone, and riseth never. 
 
 Moume, moume, yee lovers : sadly singing 
 
 Love hath his MC^inter, and no springing. 
 
 [This beautiful lyric occurs in one of my MS. volumes 
 among a number of Strode's poems. I think it is probably 
 his ; though the wish, in this case, is perhaps the father ot 
 the thought.] 
 
 123 
 
A SONNET 
 
 Sing aloud, harmonious sphears : 
 
 Let your concord reach Jove's eares. 
 
 Play your old lessons ore againe, 
 
 And keepe time in every strayne, 
 
 For now the Gods are listning to your laies 
 
 As they are passing through the milky waies. 
 
 [This fine lyric is from the same MS. volume as the 
 preceding; but in this case it is signed ' W. S.' However 
 there is no other evidence (so far as I know) for assigning it 
 to Strode.] 
 
 OBSEQUIES 
 Draw not too neare, 
 Unlesse you droppe a tear 
 On this stone, 
 Where I groane. 
 And will weepe, 
 Untill etemall sleepe 
 Shall charm my weary eyes. 
 Clora lyes heere, 
 Embahn'd with many a teare, 
 Which the swaines 
 From the plaines 
 Here have payde, 
 And many a vestall mayde 
 Hath moum'd her obsequies ; 
 Their snowy breasts they teare, 
 And rend theyr golden heare, 
 Casting cries 
 124 
 
To celestiall dieties, 
 
 To retume 
 
 Her beauty from the ume, 
 
 To raigne 
 
 Unparaleld on earth againe : 
 
 'Wlien straight a sound 
 
 From the ground, 
 
 Piercing the ayre 
 
 Cryed Shee's dead, 
 
 Her soule is fledde 
 
 Unto a place most rare. 
 
 You spirits that doe keepe 
 
 The dust of those that sleepe 
 
 Under the ground, 
 
 Heare the sound 
 
 Of a swaine. 
 
 That folds his arms in vayne, 
 
 Unto the ashes he adores. 
 
 For pity do not fright 
 
 Him wandering in the night : 
 
 Whilst he laves 
 
 Virgins graves 
 
 With his eyes, 
 
 Unto their memoryes 
 
 Contributing sad showers : 
 
 And when my name is read 
 
 In the number of the dead. 
 
 Some one may 
 
 In Charity repay 
 
 125 
 
My sad soul 
 
 The tribute which she gave, 
 
 And howle 
 
 Some requiem on my grave. 
 
 Then weepe no more, 
 
 Greif e will not restore 
 
 Her freed from care. 
 
 Though she be dead, 
 
 Her soul is fledde 
 
 Unto a place more rare. 
 
 [The first stanza of the above is from a manuscript volume 
 in my possession : the second stanza is from " Wit Restor'd," 
 1658, wherein alone, so far as I can ascertain, the poem 
 appears in print. The first stanza of my copy has ' W. S.' 
 appended to it : but I do not feel at all sure that the poem is 
 by Strode.] 
 
 UPON HEAVENS BEST IMAGE, HIS FAIRE AND 
 VERTUOUS MISTRESSE, M.S. 
 
 The most insulting tyrants can but be 
 Lords of our bodies ; still our minds are free. 
 My Mistress thralls my soul, those chains of gold, 
 Her locks, my very thoughts infettered hold. 
 
 Then sure she is a Goddesse, and if I 
 
 Should worship her 'tis no Idolatry. 
 
 Within her cheeks a fragrant garden lies 
 Where Roses mixt with Lillies feast mine eyes : 
 126 
 
Here's alwayes spring, no winter to annoy 
 Those heavenly flowers, onely some tears of joy 
 
 Doe water them, and sure, if I be wise. 
 
 This garden is another Paradice. 
 
 Her eyes two heavenly lamps, whose ordered motion 
 Swayes all my senses, reason, and devotion ; 
 And yet those beams did then most glorious shine 
 When passions dark had mask'd this soul of mine : 
 Now if the night her glory best declare. 
 What can I deem them but a starry paire. 
 
 Her brow is vertues court, where she alone 
 Triumphants sits in faultlesse beauties throne : 
 Did you but mark its purenesse you would swear 
 Diana's come from Heaven to sojoume there : 
 Onely this Cynthia dims not even at noon. 
 There wants a man (methinks) in such a Moone. 
 
 Her breath is great Jove's incense, sweeter far 
 Then all Arabian winds & spices are ; 
 Her voice the sphear's best musick, & those twins 
 Her armes, a precious paire of Cherubs wings. 
 
 In briefe she is a map of Heaven, & there 
 
 O would that I a constellation were. 
 
 [The above poem follows the version in " Parnassus 
 Biceps,'' except in two lines which are evidently corrupt. 
 These are the two first lines of the third stanza, which read 
 thus : 
 
 Her eyes two heavenly lamps, whose order'd motion 
 Sways all my reason, my sence, my devotion — 
 
 127 
 
which I have corrected from a manuscript copy of the poem 
 in the British Museum. But there are some variations 
 which should be noted in "Catherine Anwill: her Book," — 
 that charming little volume, which Mr. Lucas has published 
 in so delightful a form. In that version the third stanza 
 runs thus : 
 
 Her eyes two heavenly lamps : whose motion 
 
 Sways all my reason, my devotion. 
 
 Those glittring beames to mee most glorious shine 
 
 When passion darke hath masqu'd this soule of mine 
 Now iff the night theire glory best declare, 
 What can I deeme them but a starry paire. 
 In the fourth stanza, the first two lines read thus : 
 
 Her beauty's virtues chaire : where she alone 
 
 Triumphant sits in her transparent throne — 
 and the fifth line thus : 
 
 Only this Cynthia gives her light at Noone. 
 There are a good many other slight variations, which, how- 
 ever, it does not seem necessary to mention.] 
 
 ON HIS MISTRESSE 
 
 Gaze not on swans in whose soft breast 
 A full hatcht beauty seems to rest, 
 Nor snow which falling from the sky- 
 Hovers in its virginity. 
 
 Gaze not on roses though new blown 
 Grac'd with a fresh complexion, 
 Nor lilly which no subtle bee 
 Hath rob'd by kissing chemistry. 
 128 
 
Gaze not on that pure milky way 
 Where night vies splendour with the day, 
 Nor pearls whose silver walls confine 
 The riches of an Indian mine : 
 
 For if my emperesse appears 
 Swans moultring dy, snows melt to tears, 
 Roses do blush and hang their heads 
 Pale lillyes shrink into their beds ; 
 
 The milky way rides poast to shrowd 
 Its baffled glory in a clowd, 
 And pearls do climb unto her eare 
 To hang themselves for envy there. 
 
 So have I seene stars big with light. 
 Proud lanthoms to the moone-ey'd night. 
 Which when Sol's rays were once display'd 
 Sunk in their sockets and decay'd. 
 
 [This fine poem was evidently formed on the model of 
 Wotton's verses on the Princess Elizabeth. I do not know 
 on what authority Dr. Grosart attributed it to Strode, but I 
 suppose he had seen some MS. in which it was assigned to 
 him. In a manuscript which was once in my possession it 
 is headed " Dr. Love on his Mistresse " ; while in Lawes' 
 " Ayres and Dialogues" it is attributed to Henry Noel.] 
 
 129 
 
A SONG 
 
 As I my flocks lay keeping 
 
 Mine eyes fhey fell a-sleeping ; 
 
 I wott I have neere wakte againe, 
 
 For when my head I raysde 
 
 I rotmd about gazde 
 
 To seeke my love, but sought in vayne. 
 
 Let f oulnesse now be saynted, 
 
 All beauty's tainted ; 
 
 Since fayth she has none. 
 
 I wayle, I weepe, 
 
 I dye, I sleepe, 
 
 In sorrowes all alone. 
 
 A SONG 
 
 Thoughts doe not vexe me whilst I sleep, 
 
 Griefe doe not thus disturbe mee : 
 
 Smile not false hope, whilst that I weepe, 
 
 Alas ! she cannot love mee. 
 
 Had I been as cold and nice. 
 
 And as often turning, 
 
 Then as shee had I been ice. 
 
 And shee as I now burning. 
 
 Tears flow no more from my sadd eyes, 
 
 Sighes do not soe oppresse mee ; 
 
 Stoppe not your ears at these my cryes. 
 
 But oh ! for shame release mee. 
 
 130 
 
Were you but as sadd as I, 
 And as full of mourning, 
 Very griefe would make you die, 
 Or at least cease scorning. 
 
 UPON A GENTLEWOMAN'S ENTERTAINMENT 
 OF HIM 
 
 Whether, sweet Mistress, I should most 
 Commend your music or your cost : 
 Your well-spread table, or the choise 
 Banquet of your hand and voyce. 
 There's none wiU doubt : for can there be 
 'Twixt earth and heaven analogy ? 
 Or shall a trencher or dish stand 
 In competition with your hand ? 
 Your hand that turns men all to ear. 
 Your hand whose every joints a sphere : 
 For certainly he that shall see 
 The swiftnesse of your harmony. 
 Will streightwayes in amazement prove 
 The spheares to you but slowly move ; 
 And in that thought confess that thus 
 The Heavens are come down to us. 
 As he may well, when he shall hear 
 Such airs as may be sung even there : 
 Your sacred Anthems, strains that may 
 Grace the eternal Quire to play : 
 
 131 
 
And certainly they were prepar'd 
 
 By Angels only to be heard. 
 
 Then happy I that was so blest 
 
 To be yours and your music's guest, 
 
 For which I'd change all other cheer, 
 
 Thinking the best, though given, too dear. 
 
 For yours are delicates that fill, 
 
 And filling leave us empty still : 
 
 Sweetmeats that surfeit to delight. 
 
 Whose fullness is mere appetite. 
 
 Then farewell all our heavenly fare. 
 
 Those singing dainties of the air, 
 
 For you to me do seem as good 
 
 As all the consorts of the wood ; 
 
 And might I but enjoy by choice. 
 
 My Quire should be your only voice. 
 
 [In line 24 of the above I have substituted 'guest' for 
 ' quest ' ; and in line 28 I have substituted ' too ' for ' to,' 
 considering them to be necessary changes. I have also 
 altered the punctuation, which is very erratic in the original, 
 in many places.] 
 
 ON ALMA'S VOYCE 
 
 What magick art 
 CompeUs my soul to fly away. 
 
 And leave desart 
 My poor composed trunk of clay ? 
 Strange violence ! thus pleasingly to teare 
 The soul forth of the body by the eare, 
 132 
 
When Alma, sings 
 The pretty chanters of the skie 
 
 Doe droop their wings 
 As in disgrace they meant to die, 
 Because their times which were before so rare 
 Compar'd to hers doe but distract the air. 
 
 Each sensitive 
 In emulation proudly stands, 
 
 Striving to thrive 
 Under the bliss of her commands, 
 XXniose charming voyce doth bears & tigers tame, 
 And teach the sphears new melodies to frame. 
 
 The Angells all 
 (Astonisht at her heavenly air) 
 
 Would sudden fall 
 From cold amazement to dispaire. 
 But that by nimble theft they all conspire 
 To steal her hence for to enrich their quire. 
 
 UPON A PICTURE 
 
 Behold those faire eyes, in whose sight 
 Sparkles a lustre no less bright 
 Than that of rising Stars when they 
 Would make the night outshine the day. 
 To those pure lips the humming be 
 May as to blooming Roses flee : 
 
 133 
 
The wanton wind about doth hurle, 
 
 Courting in vain that lovely curie, 
 
 And makes a murmur in despaire, 
 
 To dally the unmooved haire. 
 
 View but the cheeks where the red Rose 
 
 And Lilly white a beauty grows, 
 
 So orient as might adome 
 
 The flowing of the brightest mome. 
 
 Sure 'tis no Picture, nere was made 
 
 So much perfection in a shade : 
 
 Her shape is soule enough to give 
 
 A senseless Marble power to live. 
 
 this an Idol be, no eye 
 Can ever scape Idolatry. 
 
 [DEATH-SONG] 
 
 Come, let us howle some heavy note, 
 
 Some deadly dogged howl, 
 
 Sounding as from the crying throate 
 
 Of beasts or fatal fowle, 
 
 As ravens, scrichowles, bulls, and bears, 
 
 Wee'l bell and bawl our partes : 
 
 Till irksome noise hath cloy'd our ears. 
 
 And corrosived our hearts. 
 
 And last when that our quire wants breth, 
 
 Our bodies being blest, 
 
 Wee'l sing like Swans to welcome death. 
 
 And dye in peace and rest. 
 
 134 
 
TO HIS PAPER 
 
 Flye nimble paper, light upon those hands 
 Which have detained mee in perpetual bands : 
 Go count those ivory palmes whose lilly hewe 
 May represent thee to immortall view. 
 Mount upp unto her eyes that there may shine 
 Impressions of my love in every lyne ; 
 Expresse with silent eloquence the rare 
 And true affection allwayes that I bare 
 To thy sweete reader : lett her there behold 
 The discontent and zealous payne enrolld 
 Within a lover's breast. Tell her how I 
 Am forc't to vent my sighes in poetry, 
 And pine away with pastime of a verse, 
 Making thee both my epicede and hearse. 
 Present tmto her an eternal mapp 
 Of my disastrous fortune and mishapp : 
 Delineate my passion and my payue 
 Bredd with a deepe conceyt of her disdayne : 
 Perhapps her flinty hart will then strike fire, 
 And equall joyne her flames with my desire : 
 Perhapps her cheerful brow and starlike eye 
 Will lend a better aspect e'er I dye : 
 But if shee frown and thou neglected lye, 
 Thou know'st (deare paper) thy fowle destiny. 
 
 135 
 
TO THE SAME 
 
 Goe happie paper and for ever rest 
 Within the Paradise of Parthenia's breast : 
 Live there, O never lett thy Ijnes forsake her, 
 Tenne thousand times more happie than the maker 
 Goe kisse her hands and in my name salute her, 
 And tell her thus that silence is her suitor ; 
 Tell her that silence acts a sadder story. 
 Than oathes or vowes or frantic oratory. 
 The beggar that is dumbe an almes shall have 
 Greater than hee that hath a tongue to crave : 
 Be then the dailie object of her eye, 
 Crowd and gett uppermost wherere thou lye : 
 If high pref errment call thee as a guest 
 To lodge in the faire chamber of her breast. 
 Lye close and lett noe jealous eye behold thee, 
 If any doe lett none but her imfold thee : 
 And often as she reads thee smile upon her ; 
 Tell her her dearest friend is thinking on her : 
 Tell her if you twoe chance to sleepe together — 
 
 (Unfinished.) 
 
 136 
 
THE 
 
 FLOATING 
 ISLAND: 
 
 A TRAGI-COMEDY, 
 
 Acted before his Majesty at Oxford, 
 
 (Aug. 29. 1636. By the Students of 
 
 Christ-Church. 
 
 Written by William Strode, 
 
 late Orator of the University of 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 The tdires and Songs set by Mr. Henry Lavves, 
 
 servant to his late Majesty in his publiclc 
 
 and private Musick. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed by T.C. for H.Twiford in Vine-court Middle-Temple, 
 
 N. Brooke at the Angel in Cornhill, and J. Plate at Furnivals- 
 
 Inne-gate. 1655. 
 
TO THE READER 
 
 Before you read so farre as the Prologue, be pleased to 
 consider this Tragi-comedy was both written and presented 
 above eighteen years since ; and if now it seem (in Language 
 or Plot) to fit these times, it must be by Prophesie, the Author 
 also himselfe having been long dead. He wrote it at the 
 instance of those who might command him ; else he had 
 scarce condescended to a Play, his serious thoughts being fiU'd 
 with notions of deeper consideration. 'Tis suf&cient for its 
 worth that the best lik'd it best ; the rest (especially those 
 great ones of the weaker Sect) should claim no lawful 
 Judicature over it, since it was not written for them, though 
 they thought themselves too severely dealt with, which yet 
 was an injury to the Author as well as his Poem. Were this 
 translated into Latin or Italian, it would be grateful to 
 foraign Wits; and if at home it finde lesse welcome, 'tis 
 because there is not so much true wit among us as was or 
 ought to be. It is not now inscribed to any for Protection, 
 but left dedicated (as it was by the Author when it was first 
 born) to the Authors noble Patron. If you bid this welcome, 
 you'l be gainers by it ; for then you'l encourage us to publish 
 other Pieces of this Authors, which (we dare say) will convince 
 you to say (what the best and most knowing of this Nation 
 have confessed) that our Author was one of the most judicious 
 wits of England. Farewell. 
 
 139 
 
TO MY MOST HONOURED PATRON, 
 SIR JOHN HELE, KNIGHT 
 
 This Draft at once cry'd Up and Down amain 
 By divers men, up by the same again 
 At divers times, hath planely found thereby 
 That it hath censur'd been Tumultuously. 
 Twixt Actors and Spectators did appear 
 Small difference ; and through a Jealous fear 
 The Scaffold play'd the Stage ; to say't I'm loth, , 
 Afiection against Reason play'd in both. 
 Yet Reason at a neerer view gain'd sway. 
 The Censure ended just as doth the Play. 
 
 After this various Fate, because indeed 
 Of pleasing more then Four there was small heed, 
 From Court and Oxford home it comes to you. 
 Secure of Reason and Affection too. 
 
 You lent the Author ; and tis therefore just 
 The work should yeeld you Tribute for your Trust : 
 If Friends make wits, and wit-wrigfats Poets be. 
 Then This is His, and He your Poetry. 
 
 Your most Humble 
 
 and most affectionate ServoMt, 
 
 WILLIAM STRODE. 
 
 140 
 
AUTHORI ILLUSTRI 
 
 Mille modis superare Tibi conceditur astra. 
 
 Quae solum ccelo splendida sunt nitido : 
 Dum Tua lux tenebras, et opaca nube recessus 
 
 Invenit umbrosos, et sine sole vias. 
 Gemmula nocte micans non est vulgaribus apta 
 
 Auribus, aspectum Principis ilia decet. 
 Haud minus ista Tui Comaedia Principe digna, 
 
 Nee nisi Regali conspicienda foro, 
 Transtulit in Scenam quae res penetralibus imi 
 
 Pectoris inclusas, implicitumq ; nefas. 
 Ipse oculus mundi nostris valedicit ocelliSf 
 
 Cum semel occiduos csquore mersit equos : 
 Ter sex (STRODE) tuus solares splendor in annas 
 
 Fulsit, et in dubio lumine fulget adhuc. 
 Tu tamen ecclipsin pateris, signumq; futuri 
 
 Deliquium nostri funeris illud erat. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 141 
 
AFTER THE APPEARANCE OF A FLOATING 
 
 ISLAND, ENTER THE PROLOGUE, AS COMING 
 
 OUT OF THE SEA 
 
 To the King and Queenes Majesty. 
 
 Whatever Element we light upon, 
 (Great Monarch & bright Queen) 'tis yours alone. 
 Shook from my station on that giddy Shore, 
 That flotes in Seas, in wretchednesse much more, 
 I hardly scap'd to tell what stormes arise 
 Through rage of the Inhabitants : mine eyes 
 Behold a wonder ; Blustring Tempests there, 
 Yet Sun and Moon fair shining both so neer. 
 Should your Land stagger thus, I wish the Age, 
 Might end such acting sooner then the Stage : 
 
 Yet in these Tumults you shall onely see 
 
 A' tottring Throne held firme by Majestie. 
 
 142 
 
10 THE VN/VERSirV 
 
 Before whom it was afterwards acted. 
 
 Which is more waving, yonder Sea, or Land, 
 Or Passions dwelling there, we doubt ; but stand 
 Here firm and safe ; for blustring Tempests there 
 We see in every eye, fair clearnesse here. 
 The Sun and Moon, more out of sight then minde, 
 Have for our comfort left these Stars behinde. 
 We hope to finde Spectatours, and we may. 
 For you'l not act the Humours of the Play ; 
 Or fret at Passions e're you read them calm'd 
 In the next word. Your stomacks feele no Qualm 
 Rising through smell of rude Philosophy : 
 Nor shall you finde much more then to descry 
 An Academick Birth. The Royal race 
 Of Austria thinks the swelling lip a grace, 
 And would not lose that mark by which 'tis known ; 
 Men love the Blot which proves the Childe their own. 
 Whether you come to see a Play or hear. 
 Whether yovir censure sit in th' Eye or Eare, 
 Phancy or Judgement, Carelesse of Event 
 We aime at Service ; cannot misse th' Intent. 
 
 143 
 
THE PERSONS 
 
 Prudentius 
 
 the King depos'd. 
 
 Intellectus Agens 
 
 his Counsellour. 
 
 Sir Amorous 
 
 a Courtly Knight. 
 
 Hilario 
 
 his Son a merry jovial Gent. 
 
 Malevolo 
 
 a Malicious contriver. 
 
 Melancholico 
 
 a Malecontent tiirn'd Puritan. 
 
 Irato 
 
 an Angry Lord. 
 
 Audax 
 
 a bold Captain. 
 
 Sir Timerous-Fearall 
 
 a Cowardly Knight. 
 
 Livebyhope 
 
 a Favourite. 
 
 Desperate 
 
 a desperate Soldier turn'd Physitian, 
 
 Memor 
 
 a Lawyer and Recorder. 
 
 Phancy 
 
 the new instated Queen. 
 
 Concupiscence 
 
 the lustful daughter of Amorous. 
 
 Fuga 
 
 the coy daughter of Malevolo, 
 
 Morphe 
 
 the beautous Mistress of Amorous. 
 
 Morpheus 
 
 the God of Dreames. 
 
 6 Dreaming Masquers 
 
 
 Groome 
 
 of the Chamber. 
 
 Ovidian 
 
 a Poet. 
 
 Model 
 
 a Tireman. 
 
 Painter 
 
 
 Musitian 
 
 
 Hilario' s boy, and Attendants. 
 
 144 
 
THE FLOATING ISLAND 
 
 AcTVS I. SCENA I. 
 
 The Scene turns to the Court of Prudentius. 
 Enter from several wayes Sr. Amorous, and Morphe. 
 
 Am, Well met sweet Morphe, Empresse of my heart, 
 And all hearts else, if made of flesh like mine. 
 You must not passe untouch'd. 
 
 Mor. What mean you Sir ? 
 
 Am, To print you Mine ; 
 
 Mor, Hands off Sir Amorous. 
 
 Am, Why should such coynesse wrinkle such a Brow ? 
 
 Mor, Why should such boystrous incivility 
 Defile your Courtship ? All your courtly Arts 
 Of Singing, Playing, Dancing, Poetry, 
 Will grow suspected pleaders of meer Lust : 
 Forbeare for my sake : this rude force in you 
 May chance to blot a white repute in me. 
 
 Am, The blot He thus rub out. (Offers to kisse. 
 
 Mor. He wash it thus. {Spits. 
 
 Am. How can the eye that sees not love the light ? 
 Blame your own beauty if you blame my Love. 
 
 Mor, I blame th' Expression. 
 
 K 145 
 
Am. If the thing be good. 
 Expression makes it better. 
 Mor, Yes, if chast, 
 Am. Chast Love is nothing. 
 Mor. Nothing to th' unchast. 
 Forbeare I pray, and feare a neere example. 
 Do you not know the King hath taught the Passions 
 Within this Floating Isle more modesty. 
 By banishing your child Concupiscence ? 
 
 Am. Others perhaps shall quickly know I know it, 
 And that I know it as rough tyranny. 
 What for a trick of youth such Discipline ? 
 Doth breeding Subjects call for Banishment ? 
 Or giving life deserve a civil Death ? 
 Hold ; stand ; in vain you strive ; I am resolv'd ; 
 Should now the King look on, and call a Kisse 
 Treason, should poyson punish this sweet touch. 
 Thus far I durst presume. 
 
 Mor. Shame on your rudeness. {Ex, Mor, 
 
 Am. Are not our Eyes and Lipps and touch our own, 
 Not to be us'd without a special warrant ? 
 At length we shall not satisfie meere Nature, 
 Nor spit without a Counsel. If my Girle 
 Pertake my spirit, then like me she'l try 
 What fury Love can in the Passions raise. 
 To shake this Stoick from his chaire of Rule, 
 lie move my Fellows. 
 
 146 
 
SCENA II. 
 
 Enter to him Irato, Malevolo, Audax. 
 
 Ir. How ? not fight this Duel ? 
 Duel forbidden to the Valiant ? 
 
 Am. (aside) Some other cause, it seemes, moves these already. 
 
 Mai. Be sure, Irato, by Prudentius law 
 Personal Valour now is nothing worth. 
 Hope with his pen, Sr. Timerous with his knife. 
 Or Desperato's man with single Halter 
 May passe in equal ranke with you, or me, 
 Or Captain Audax. 
 
 Au. Not with me, I tro. 
 
 Mai. Yes, if this Law should stand. 
 
 Am. Not so however, 
 
 Mai. Not if? 
 
 Au. If to a generous passion ? 
 
 Am. I see these sparkes are glowing. Noble Sparkes, 
 Let Amorous adde fire. Love burnes with Hate. 
 Thy Hand Malevolo, and 'gainst the King. 
 
 Ir. Why what's your grief ? 
 
 Am. My Daughters Banishment. 
 
 Mai. Great cause ; yet none need press a single grief : 
 We finde our selves all pinch'd of liberty : 
 We walk in chaines, call'd Justice, Temperance, 
 Such rusty curbs ; and none can further start 
 Then the strict keeper will allow us length. 
 
 Ir. Tis so ; we're us'd like Dogs, or ring'd like Beares ; 
 Whither Prudentius leades us we must follow : 
 But if we take a loose, or swell and roar, 
 
 147 
 
We must be whip'd for't ; Sirs, Prudentius whips us. 
 
 Am. Can this be brook'd by them that draw the Sword ? 
 
 Ir. And amongst them, by one that will exact 
 Life for a word, pay death for crabbed lookes ? 
 
 Au. And amongst them, by one that scales the wall. 
 That swims in Armour, flies against the mouth 
 Of thundring Ordinance ? must also He, 
 Must He be ordered by a sit still thus ? 
 
 Mai. So he hath been. For my part, if I broach 
 Some biting libel, venomous word or Book 
 Against some prosprous Object which I hate. 
 My Eares are questioned. Locks which I have scorn'd 
 Must hide my Eare stumps. 
 
 Ir. And m e thinkes I spy 
 Some want upon your Nose. 
 
 Mai. Is your spleene up ? 
 Rage for your selfe. You also may remember 
 Brave Lord Irato when you hardly kept 
 Your Neck. Some fellow Peers, for as few blowes. 
 Have lost it quite. 
 
 Ir. My Veynes will burst. 
 
 Mai. And Captaines 
 Not to be numbred ; All as bold and stout 
 As Audax here, for undertaking reskues, 
 And following them too far in open streetes. 
 Have been casheered of Liberty and Life. 
 
 Au. But shall not be again. He hang the Law. 
 
 Mai, Then as for you, Sr. Amorous, you may talk 
 Not onely of your Daughters Banishment, 
 But of your Sisters whip'd, your carted Aunts, 
 148 
 
And Mulcts upon your seUe. 
 
 Am. The truth to tell, 
 My hard restraint is worst of all. I live 
 (If it be life) confin'd to mine own Bed : 
 Prudentius bridles up my mouth from kissing, 
 Yea and from speech, and calls that stinting manners. 
 I cannot cast a faire inviting look, 
 But he pulls back the Nerve. I scarce dare think, 
 Or sigh beyond my stint. One Sigh a day 
 Is all that I must spend for her that keepes 
 And may command my breath. Prudentius 
 Locks up my winde like Mollis ; 'tis calm'd. 
 And may not issue forth to bear a whisper. 
 
 Ir. Mend your comparison. Prudentius 
 Like Molus f No, ^olus sometimes 
 Permitts a Tempest ; does Prudentius so ? 
 
 Au. The Passions cannot stretch beyond his line. 
 But they are censured. Perturbations call'd. 
 Breakers of Peace ; if calm'd, they nothing are : 
 We lose both Name and Nature by restraint. 
 
 Ir. For what's a Lord I ask you but his Anger ? 
 
 Mai. Or what's a great man but oppression ? 
 
 Au. A Captain but his Cutting ? 
 
 Am. And a Knight 
 What but his Pleasure ? O this frost of Reason 
 Hath numd my Joynts. I that with sprightly vigour 
 Dancing to please my Mistress, could have rose 
 To fetch her from the Moon (had she been there) 
 Or as she stood salute her, now have lost 
 Those active legs, and not by doing service 
 
 149 
 
To any Creature but Prudentius. 
 I live a Hermite in the Court ; to me 
 It seemes a Colledg or a Nunnery. 
 Ir. To me a Prison. 
 
 Au. A meer Schoole to me. 
 
 Mai. To me an Inquisition : worse : a Hell, 
 Where Objects still we meet, and may not reach. 
 You Amorous like Tantalus behold 
 Two red white Apples in a well made face. 
 Which you as soon may touch as reach the Sun ; 
 Which doth but scorch the gazer. 
 
 Am. He to Hell : 
 Tis lesse to sterve for Apples than for Cheekes. 
 
 Mai. You being stir'd Irato thirst for blood. 
 And thirst you may, but not be satisfied : 
 You must take blowes and beare'em ; your Reward 
 (O poor ! ) is to orecome by suffering ; 
 As now I kick you ; stand : you must not rage. 
 For this is Patience ; now I pull your Nose ; 
 You must not fume, least you impatient prove, 
 
 Jr. Let me kill thee, or serve Prudentius still, 
 
 Mai. You must keep Peace. I speak but as a Friend ; 
 And onely tell what you have told your selfe. 
 You Audax, like Ixion, though you dare 
 To set on Heaven, must wheele about your selfe 
 When Reason bids you. 
 
 Au. Audax will run on 
 Though thunder meet him. 
 
 Mai. Yes ; but I my selfe 
 Like Titius vainly feed the Vultur Hate 
 150 
 
With mine own heart, and wreck it not on others, 
 Those Favourits which I hate. Shall this be ever ? 
 
 Ir. How long shall I like to a painted George 
 Advance my idle Sword ? What ! must I strike 
 Like lack o'th' clock-house, never but in season ? 
 
 Mai. How long shall I like a grim Statue stand. 
 Look hatred and use none ? Prudentius 
 Hath he Medusa^s head ? 
 
 Am. Hey ho, how long ! 
 
 Au. How long shall I like a fell Mastiff held. 
 Yelp for the glorious danger that I love ! 
 Water it selfe if bounded in too streight. 
 Will foame and swell and breake thick bonds of Rock. 
 I wish we Passions were as strong as water. 
 
 SCENA III. 
 Enter to them Hilario Singing, Dancing and Passing by. 
 
 My limbs I will fling 
 
 Out of joynt, and sing. 
 And dancing will shake my haire 
 
 Not bow at each beck. 
 Nor break my neck 
 With sorrow and deep despaire. 
 
 Such a chirpin din 
 With mirth within. 
 And a head not needing a cloute. 
 Is much better far 
 Then a careful chaire. 
 And a wreath of thornes without, (Exiturus, 
 
 151 
 
Am. The Boy may be our Tutor. Hilario iny,Boy F 
 
 Hil. Sir. 
 
 Am. We were taking care how thou may'st be merry thus 
 alwaies ; never be check'd for drinking, for singing, or for 
 playing thy prankes. 
 
 Hil. I imagin your design: and thereto promise, give, 
 grant, let, set and submit my full assent and consent : In 
 witnesse whereof here's my hand with a clap, and my scale 
 with a kisse ; Your son and servant Hilario, 
 
 Am. But stay, whence now ? 
 
 Hil. From my blubbering Sister Concupiscence; who 
 desired me forsooth to arme and conduct her to Lady Phancy. 
 
 Am. And whether bound ? 
 
 Hil. I go to be merry with or upon Melancholico and 
 Desperato, either to quicken their dumps, or by laughing at 
 their dulnesse to heighten my selfe. 
 
 Am. Where are they ? 
 
 Hil. Not far ; close by ; here at the Hart. 
 
 Mai, Coiurteous Sir, send them hither. 
 
 Hil. I shall or will Sir. 
 
 Mai. We must no longer ripe up greivances, (Ex. Hil. 
 But think of Remedy. 
 
 Au. Passions must not stay. 
 
 Ir, Why with a murraine do we stay to say so ? 
 
 Mai. In briefe do all consent to free themselves 
 From this oppression? 
 
 Ir, What a Question's that ! 
 
 Am, Give a Command that it be ask'd no more. 
 
 Au, We all consent. 
 
 Mai. All are not here. 
 152 
 
Am. Indeed 
 We want two serviceable men now sent for. 
 
 Jr. Delayes intolerable ! 
 
 Am. We want besides 
 Sir Timerous Fear-all, 
 
 Au, Wee'l force that dowty Knight 
 To know his good when all is done ; and so 
 Prevent his Treason. 
 
 Ir. Consultation too. 
 
 Am. And where is Livebyhope ? 
 
 Mai. No matter where. 
 His hopes will make him turn to any side 
 That shall succeed. 
 
 Ant. For femal Passions, 
 Their fortune lies in ours. 
 
 Mai. Then to proceed. 
 The way to free our selves lies, thus, or thus ; 
 Kill, or dethrone Prudentius. 
 
 Ir. I begin 
 To think on St. Raviliack, and St. Garnett. 
 
 Au. The boldest way is safest. 
 
 Jr. Yes, if bloodiest. 
 
 Am. Or if he will escape — 
 
 Ir. Let him go far enough. 
 
 Mai. Then who shall do the feate ? 
 
 Au, I. 
 
 Ir. I, or else 
 He kill some other ; what ? should I forget 
 My ancient Trade of killing ? 
 Mai. Let him doo't 
 
 153 
 
Who first hath opportunity. 
 
 Am. To this 
 We all must sweare. (They lay two Swords across, 
 
 Ir. By all the wounds which on my flesh are scor'd. 
 And all the ghosts I've made ; 
 
 Au. By all attempts 
 And all the mines of Bullets in my Entrals ; 
 
 Mai. By all my pangs of hate and black designes ; 
 
 Am. By all the goodly Nymphes, and Morphe chief. 
 
 ScENA nil. 
 
 Enter to them Prudentius, Intellectus Agens, and 
 Livebyhope with Attendents. 
 
 Pru. D'ee long for action? have ye too much Peace? 
 Orecloy'd with blessings ? you Malevolo 
 Bend hate against th' unjust. 
 
 Mai. My hand is crampt ; 
 Strike Audax. 
 
 Au. O his brow ! I turn to feare. 
 
 Pru. You Amorous love true beauty, Honesty. 
 
 Mai. Thy spleene Irato. 
 
 Pru. Thou Iralo fight 
 Meerely for publike peace. 
 
 Jr. Sweetnesse ! 
 
 Mai. Witchcraft ! 
 
 Pru. Audax, be bold, but stay till I have bid. 
 
 {Ex. Pru. & Int. & Lively, following. 
 
 Au. S't Livebyhope, 
 154 
 
Liv. I must attend his Majesty. 
 
 Int. Goe back^ and secretly oreheare this meeting. 
 
 (Liv. returns. 
 
 Ant. Ha ! What Schooling call you this ? 
 
 Mai. What Vision? 
 That Eye of subtil Intellectus Agens 
 Troubles me somewhat ; and I doubt of Liveby. 
 
 Ir. Now I could kill my selfe. 
 
 Au. Now I Prudentius ; 
 He came upon us like the Basilisk, 
 Or like a Wolfe : but had we seen him first 
 
 Mai. You could not do it then': never by day. 
 
 Am. Why so ? 
 
 Mai. You saw the cause. His flaming Temples 
 Strike with such charming Power, such secret Spells, 
 That if you see the Light upon his Face, 
 Your spirits quaile ; it must be done by night. 
 And Desperato, he must be the man. 
 
 Au. Why He above All Us ? 
 
 Mai. Tush, we are foyld ; 
 Already foyld ; and may be so again. 
 Besides Irato spends himselfe : hee's now 
 So full of heat, I doubt hee'l then grow cold. 
 But Desperato to his mischeif goes 
 With art and argued resolution. 
 Strong in cold blood. 
 
 Ir. I perfectly abhorr 
 All Judgement, Plotts, and Consultations 
 To can vase thoughts, to toile and vexe the head 
 In weighing meanes, and picking out the best, 
 
 155 
 
This is as bad as to have serv'd Prudentius. 
 
 Mai, And how thinks Audax ? 
 
 Au. So. Or else I'm mad. 
 To plot is base ; and to demurr contrivance 
 Of things that should be done, as soon as thought, 
 Is foolish too. What turn our powder up, 
 Then smother't under ground, then by degrees 
 Give fire ! Such creeping mischeife hath no luck. 
 
 Ir. Come Martial Law, come Captain Martial Law. 
 
 Au. And wise Malevolo, when have you e're heard 
 Of great attempts without the hand of Audax f 
 Come wee'l too't presently. 
 
 Mai. Even as you please. 
 
 Liv. (in secret) I sweat with hearing. 
 He now run with this 
 Least I may come too short of telling more. 
 
 Am. Onely this word. 
 
 Liv. Then yet I'le stay. 
 
 Am. Be sure, 
 If you miscarry we are all undone. 
 Goe with Ulysses in this night-attempt. 
 Be each of you to him a Diomed. 
 
 Mai. Stay till they come. 
 
 Am. Lo here they are. Who else ? 
 
 156 
 
SCENA V. 
 
 Enter to them MelanchoHco, Desperate and Sr. Timerous. 
 
 Ir. What and Sr. Timerous too ? Come, mend your pace. 
 What ? doth Prudentius moderate your feet ? 
 And make you snayles as well as slaves ? 
 
 Mai. Free Passions, 
 (So ye must be) we know your greivances. 
 Brother Melancholy, discreet you are, 
 But not expressive ; unprefer'd you are. 
 Because precise ; but say, would you with State 
 Infold your armes ; look sad, and feele content ; 
 Live careful over bags, retire your selfe 
 To solemn griefe in Temples of delight, 
 Sigh in a Sisters bosom, and complain 
 Of Persecution at a plenteous Feast ? 
 
 Ir. Yes, yes : I'le answer for him. 
 
 Mel. Sooth, you may. 
 Sadnesse is pleasant, but the cause is not. 
 
 Au. And Desperato, once my old Comrad, 
 Once Noble, and again to be the same, 
 But now as void of cash as of implo}mient. 
 Would you, in Peace forgot, bard of a Pension, 
 Having no lands but bare high-wayes, now run 
 All hazards for new Fortune ? 
 
 Desp. Yes apace. 
 
 Ir. Why parly then ? can he not first draw blood ? 
 Do Cutters ask what money have you first ? 
 
 Tim, Blood and Cutters ? his speech is rough. 
 
 157 
 
Mai. Hee's mad. 
 Say on. 
 
 Ir. Nought's done through such long talke. 
 
 Mai. Such Choler. 
 
 Au. Wouldst thou have power to raise more flames then 
 Nero, 
 To fire the World, prevent his final doome. 
 Stare awfully, stab others with applause. 
 Hang, drown thy selfe, to immortality. 
 
 Desp, Such change I long for ; rows'd from Lethargy 
 I am reviv'd. 
 
 Au. Thou lyest, thou art not yet. (Desp. offers to draw. 
 Hold, hold thy hand : I did but tempt thy mettle, 
 To search the truth. 
 
 Desp. And Sir, 'tis well you say so. 
 
 Ir. This Bully's right. Why now I'm pleas'd : 
 
 Am. Sr. Tim. 
 My fellow Knight, you know (but do not tremble) 
 How oft the King hath misimpos'd on you 
 Those dreadful, those horrible, terrible — 
 
 Tim. Good Sir. 
 
 Am. Those heart-labouring imployments, 
 Which Audax beg'd. 
 
 Tim. I pray. 
 
 Am. He sought thereby 
 Meerely to vexe and to disgrace your spurr. 
 But wouldst thou hug thy Pillow or thy Love 
 Without disturbance, or the noise of danger ? 
 How say'st ? 
 
 Tim. I love to live, and love in safety. 
 158 
 
Mai. Then in a word — 
 
 Au. He first kick hence this Knight, 
 Hee'l prove a sive through feare ; his trembling humour 
 Will shake our secrets out. 
 
 Am. Which to prevent, 
 He stirs not from this company. 
 
 Mai. Then know. 
 Our common medicine is Prudentius ruine. 
 Last comers, do ye twist in full consent ? 
 
 Mel. & Desp. We do. 
 
 Ir. Then kisse the Sacramental Sword. 
 
 Am, St. Tim. you came unsought, but being come, 
 You must consent, or will be beaten too't. 
 
 Tim. I, I do consent — but caution must be had ; 
 This is no common sport : what Engines use ye ? 
 
 Au. Not you, be sure. Will Desperato joyne 
 With me and this brave Count ? 
 
 Desp. Yes, and strike home. 
 
 Mai. Then for the time : we think close midnight best. 
 
 Mel. And fittest ; 'cause the crowned Fox is watchful. 
 
 Tim. Be sure you take disguise to passe unknown, 
 Though'it be night. 
 
 Au. O wit and valour both ! 
 Vizards to Passengers will be but signes 
 Hang'd out to move suspicion ; and to leave 
 Him ignorant whom we assault is losse 
 Unto the glory of our bold revenge. 
 
 Mai. What shall be done with Memor the Recorder, 
 One whom I hate, yet have no reason for't, 
 Like an old debt-book, or mine own Conscience ; 
 
 159 
 
Shall he be blotted out, or shall he stand ? 
 
 Am. Alas he's all Record, Example, Custome, 
 What's done Quadragesima primo Henrici tertii 
 Tricesimo primo Henrici octavi ; 
 And these sute more with Passion then with Reason. 
 
 Mai. What shall be done with Common sense the Judge ? 
 
 Am. He also more inclines to sense then Prudence, 
 Leanes to the Commons rather then the King. 
 
 Au. As for the rest, they ne're shall trouble us ; 
 Cut off the head, we need not feare the Members. 
 
 Mai. Who shall succeed ? I mean, in place, and shew. 
 Not in the tyranny of strict Command ; 
 Who shall assemble, lead, incourage us. 
 And give some fashion to our Commonwealth ? 
 
 Am. What say to Fancie? will not Fancie do't ? 
 
 Au. No better choice : for Fancie neerest is 
 To unyoak'd Passion. 
 
 Am. And 'tis most proper. 
 That since by Passion this revolt is made 
 From Reason unto Sense, the Rule should passe 
 From man to Woman. 
 
 Au. She, she, Fancie she. 
 
 Liv. (in secret) O now for wings like thought, this to relate 
 First to the Agent of Prudentius ; 
 And then to beare first newes to new Queen Fancie. {Ex. Liv. 
 
 Au. She, Fancie's Queen. 
 
 Am. She'l be a pleasant Mistresse 
 Rather then Governesse, leading each Passion 
 Whether himself e inclines. Nay she'l invent 
 New Objects for their several content. 
 160 
 
SCENA VI. 
 
 Enter to them Groome of the Chamber. 
 
 Groo, Silence through all the Court, the King would rest. 
 
 Desp. Let him Eternally. 
 
 Mai, The time growes nigh. 
 You three to th' task of Blood : the rest to Fancy. 
 
 (Ex. Passions. 
 
 Groo. I doubt this earnest talk portends no good, 
 The businesse hath been hot. 
 
 Enter from the Bedchamber Prudentius Crown'd, and 
 Intellectus Agens. 
 
 Pru. We would be private. (Ex. Groome. 
 
 Livehy the Relator is most creditable. 
 
 Int. A right ingenuous man. 
 
 Pru. And you have sent him 
 To take advantage of the changing State, 
 With Caveat to reserve his heart for Us. 
 
 Int. The Pinch and my best thoughts did so instruct me. 
 
 Pru. Tis well, I dearely thank your sharp observance. 
 Suspecting Treason by their startled brows ; 
 And then your art of finding out, and now 
 Your Providence for our Restablishment. But O, 
 O this ungrateful Rout, whom I have taught 
 Both how to Feare and Love, and what to Loath, 
 Wherefore to Greive and Joy, and in what place 
 To rouse their anger and audacity 
 By Rule and Circumstance, and with such Sweetnesse 
 As might befit a Wooer more then King. 
 
 L 161 
 
Have I these Vipers bred within my Brest 
 With greater Care and Pangs then can a Mother 
 The Childe within her womb ? have I broke sleep, 
 Toss'd after slumbers, early rose, and spent 
 The day from Sun to Sun in painful Counsel ; 
 Sent Birds about their Coasts, sent Eyes and Tongues 
 Abroad the world, to watch and guard, and work. 
 And keep all safe, and make them great, for This, 
 For This Reward ? Ask Heaven and Earth, if I 
 Have not with utmost care procur'd them Bread, 
 Cloth, Health, Peace, Manners, and Religion ! 
 For Prudence is the womb, and Forg of all 
 This mortal blisse. What ere I took from Them 
 Was for their use ; like Vapour now exhal'd. 
 And soon return'd in Showers to fat their Land. 
 Oft have I bore them under both these wings. 
 One under each, when they inclin'd to Fury, 
 Would push each other down a Precipice, 
 Not steep like th' Alpes, but steep on either side. 
 There on a narrow ridg, an edg, a Thrid, 
 (Such is the meane, so plac'd betwixt two Gulfes) 
 I bore them in their Strife. For this and more 
 They have not pay'd (what's cheaper ?) Single Duty ; 
 Nothing but Grudgings, Whispers, Evil words : 
 These are their Thankes. 
 
 Int. The greater glory yours : 
 What Crown like This to govern out of almes ! 
 
 Pru. But now they seek the Crown ; my life they seek. 
 
 Int. They'l beg hereafter that you'l take the Rule, 
 Which now they wrest out of your hands. 
 162 
 
Pru. Perhaps. 
 
 Int. Meane while your life is safe. 
 
 Pru. And while 'tis safe 
 Though they forget their Duty, He not leave 
 A Fathers care, but will be still a King 
 In love, though not in power. 
 
 Int. This is a signe 
 Of futiure greatnesse. Then cast off this Crown 
 As but the sheddings of renewing State, 
 Now to be burnished. Leave it on your Pillow ; 
 For that they seek. But it retum'd shall be 
 With double service both of Heart and Knee. 
 
 Pru. Be Thou my Prophet. 
 
 Int. Ware ; the Caitiffes come. 
 
 SCENA VII. 
 
 Enter Audax, Desperato, Irato with swords : the first 
 bearing a Torch. 
 
 Au. This Torch must out, or some must blind their eye : 
 And look not all at once, least all be struck. 
 The Chamber's here. 
 
 Desp. Come set your Points 
 And Postures right ; stand sure. 
 
 Pru. Why should not I 
 Step in, and daunt them ? 
 
 Int. Tis not safe to tempt 
 United Impudence too far : withdraw. 
 
 Pru. When Folly's ripe, He to my Diligence. 
 
 163 
 
Int. And I to serve you with Intelligence. 
 I'le guide you to some Cloyster. 
 
 Ir. Now : there's the Nest. (Ex. Pru. & Int. 
 
 Desp. But what ? the Eagle's flowne. 
 
 Ir. Damn'd Trechery ! 
 Treason amongst us Traytors ! 
 
 Desp. Lesse Resolution 
 Then mine had serv'd this Task. 
 
 Au. How'ere my Lads, {Brings forth the Crown. 
 
 Our Labour is not lost. Here's what we seek for. 
 
 Ir. Thus when the Beaver smells the Hunters aime, 
 He throwes away the price of his escape. 
 
 Au. Now shall I offer what affront I please. 
 
 Ir. lie stab with honour at what word mislikes me. 
 
 Desp. No Peace shall stand unlesse our pleasiire make it. 
 
 Au. Fancie, we come. Stay, hark, stand, hark. This 
 
 sound (Mustek begins softly. 
 
 The Sirens make, 'cause Fancie shall be crown'd (Ex. Omnes. 
 
 Finis actus Primi. 
 
 ACTVS IL SCENA I. 
 
 The Scene turns to Fancies Court. 
 
 Enter Concupiscence and Fuga. 
 
 Cone. The Day appears in Scarlet ; and the Sun 
 Seconds the luster of our rising Queen. 
 I nere long'd more for night, then for this morning. 
 164 
 
Fug. Twill be to you a double day, and bring 
 Your Mistresse Majesty, you Liberty. 
 
 Cone. Fuga, the case is alterd ; he that banish'd, 
 Himselfe is vanish'd. Thus the King and I, 
 Or I and he, are up and down like Buckets. 
 Ha wench ! these Moral men are taught, I tro, 
 What 'tis to wrong kind hearts. Return with me 
 Periwigs, Powders, Fucuses for Ladies, 
 Chioppiens for short, for crooked Farthingals ; 
 For tainted. Artificial breath ; Teeth moveable ; 
 Such as may serve a Family by turns. 
 To eat, and laugh abroad : now wellcome helps 
 For all decayes of Nature, Arts for allurement ; 
 Be licenc'd Ladies for Variety 
 Now to mistake your Servant, Usher, Page, 
 For your own Lords, and without Heresie 
 In marri'd State. 
 
 Fug. Fie Madam how you talk ! 
 
 Cone. How talk I Madam Simpers ? do not thus 
 And broader too as mincing Dames as you. 
 When met together ? Do you see your Servant ? 
 
 SCENA 11. 
 Enter to them Sr. Timerous with a Paper, 
 
 Cone. Sr. Timerous Fear-all inches and inches to you 
 lust like a spy. 
 
 Fug. And still he comes in secret 
 Least he be spied. 
 
 165 
 
(He steals to Fuga and offers the Paper., she refuses; 
 Concup. snatches and reads it. 
 
 Cone. What's this ? a silent motion ? 
 The Bill hung out will shew us what it is : 
 
 Lady, I dare not with the praise of arts 
 With any thing but Love assay your parts ; 
 Which are so rare, that when I strive to write. 
 The scant Expression seems not Love but spite. 
 Well wrot Sr. Tim. 
 
 Fug. You cannot say well spoke. 
 
 Cone. Can you not use your mouth ? no way, Sr. Tim. ? 
 Why do you love ? you are not fit to love ; 
 Think me your Mistresse ; now addresse your selfe 
 In form befitting. 
 
 Tim. Hum I (He offers to Salute and steps back again ; 
 
 Cone. I must make up she makes to him. 
 
 Your will with my performance. 
 
 Tim. Hum — I fear 
 Fuga will frown. 
 
 Cone. Thy Mother was a Fuga. 
 Nor give nor take ? not in a faire Salute ? 
 Tongue-tide and Lip-bound too ? O that it were 
 In fashion for my Sex, my Sex, to wooe. 
 
 Fug, Lady, you seem to me in word and action 
 Too loose and open. 
 
 Cone. My Complexion 
 Is I confesse the same with Messaline's ; 
 We might have layn together in one Egg 
 As well as Helena and Clytemnestra. 
 166 
 
To me no such desire as of ovir Like, 
 
 No Joy like Union. But your eares and age 
 
 Want breeding yet ; 
 
 I'm sorry for offending ; 
 
 I thought I knew my Sex ; but if I do not, 
 
 I know my selfe. 
 
 SCENA III. 
 Enter to them Hilario. 
 
 Hil. What here ye whirlygigs, while Queen Fancie calls 
 you ? Where's Concupiscence , where's Concupiscence ? After all 
 your Starching, Quilling, Turning, Sleeking, Pinning ; after 
 your Jury of Pedlars, Tire-women, Lacemakers and Semsters, 
 still where's Concupiscence? Your Lady Fancie findes many 
 greivous defects ; there wants a Pin or two at least. One of 
 her ribband Fancies are loose ; a long haire hath unweav'd 
 it selfe out of its curl'd Spheare, and passionatly broke forth 
 out of Order. Fly, fly, ye Baggases. (Ex. Cone. 
 
 Fug. Baggases ? 
 
 Hil. As for my Sister, shee's one I'm sure : She colours for 
 it ; her willow gowne with ay me forsaken wretch is a 
 Challeng, a meer Challeng to all pittiful-minded Amoroses : 
 She's true touch, all the world can tell. Wu'd you were so 
 too Lady for Sr. Tim's sake. Stay Fuga, you must stay one 
 minute ; for I must shew on you how Sr. Tim. must wooe. 
 
 Fug. I see every one's ready to be a Dunces Teacher. 
 
 (Singing and Dancing he drives her to the brink of the 
 Stage ; She returns to escape. So twice or thrice. 
 
 167 
 
Hil. Thus Sr. Ttm. This is Loves Trenchmore. 
 
 Fug. Fie on you all. {Ex. Fuga. 
 
 Hil. A prity wench, Sr. Tim, but that she's sawc'd 
 With some of her Fathers Humour ; this coyness calls her 
 Malevolo's Daughter. But what of that ? 
 Every coy lasse is of Cockeril condition, 
 And must be woo'd as Cockerils fight, chase and retreate ; 
 And then sheel love you like your shadow ; 
 Fly thou, sheel follow ; follow thou, sheel fly. 
 For I say no, and for her no say I. 
 
 Thus when a long time ye have turn'd backs one to another. 
 Ye may at length turn faces. 
 
 Tim. Sr. I shall sometimes 
 Repaire to your wit for my direction. 
 
 Hil. You may — ^and I shall readily afford it to your folly 
 For mine own merriment. (Ex, Tim. 
 
 Enter Hilario's Boy. 
 
 Boy. The Queen's at hand. 
 
 Hil. And they not ready yet with their tedious Phantas- 
 ticalia ! 
 
 SCENA IIII. 
 
 Enter also Fancie, Concupiscence going backward before, 
 carrying an Umbrella over her, Fuga and Memor following. 
 After a while the Solemnity. 
 
 Mem. lust In that Posture, Madam, as you walk'd, 
 Horatius kill'd three men. 
 168 
 
Cone. Three ? what no more ? 
 Why, I have kill'd three hundred, would three thousand. 
 
 Fan. Where's that appearance which we have expected ? 
 And where's my glasse ? 
 
 Fug. You have one in your watch. 
 
 Fan. That's not big enough. Run Fuga ; come hither 
 Concupiscence, pin this handsomer. 
 
 Ir. Au. Desp. (within) He beare 
 The Crown or nothing. 
 
 Mel. (within) I the Crovim or nothing. 
 
 Liv. (Enters and out again) He fit each Passion to his 
 own content. 
 
 Hil. Boy, fill up the Time with noise. 
 
 (Boy Sings. 
 
 Hail thou great Queen of various Humours, 
 Some loving hearts, some raging tumours. 
 Some sadder soules embracing Rumours ; 
 
 Such a m.ixed crew 
 
 None yet ever knew 
 
 So steady and true 
 As these in heaping honours on you. 
 
 Enter in the midst of the song Amorous ushering the solemnity, 
 Irato hearing the Sword, Malevolo the Sceptre; then six 
 others hearing six Crowns, two in a rank. First Audax 
 on the right hand hearing a Crown of Gold, and with him 
 Poet Ovidian a Lawrel : then Desperato a Turkish Turhant, 
 and with him Timerous a Persian Cydaris : Lastly Live- 
 byhope a Crown of all colour'd feathers circled at the 
 bottome with Pearle, and with him Model her Tireman a 
 
 169 
 
Coronet of black beaugled wire set with black and Silver 
 spangles. Having done obeysance, they stand and present 
 in Order. 
 
 Am. Great goddesse, most ador'd of men, behold, 
 Amorous thy lovingst Passion, brings the rest 
 To offer at thy Feet Ensignes of State. 
 
 Ir. I that unsheath'd my anger with my Sword 
 To make thee great, present this Sword of Justice. 
 
 Mai. I that with Plots have wrung this awful Scepter 
 From other hands, will hold it fast in thine. 
 He finde or make new matter of great ruine 
 To raise thy Throne, 
 
 Au. This massy Crown of Gold, 
 The price of nightly danger, won by Audax, 
 Left by Prudentius, let it crown thy Temples. 
 
 Ovid. Else let thy shining brow recrown this Lawrel, 
 Worn but by Ccesar Monarch of the world, 
 And thy Ovidii, makers made of thee. 
 
 Desp. Let Desperato wrap thy femal head 
 With linnin State, the Crown of that grand Seignior 
 Who worships most these two. Woman and Fate. 
 
 Tim. But Tinierous brings the Persian Cydaris, 
 Which drop'd from Xerxes Temples in his flight. 
 
 Liv. Liveby a Crown of Feathers here presents 
 To represent the light and easy yoak, 
 Which all the Passions hope. 
 
 Mod. Model thy Tireman 
 Offers for company this Crown, not costly. 
 But yet of prety Fancie, new Invention. 
 
 Fan. We thank the wit and paynes of all your service. 
 170 
 
We'l weare these Crownes in turn, and try them all. 
 Liveby, reach hither. — ^Where's Recorder Mentor ? 
 
 (Liv. reaches his feathered Crown. 
 
 Mem. Here. 
 
 All. First take this, the chief true real Crown. 
 
 (Au. reaches the Golden, Mai. the Scepter, 
 
 Mai. These were the honours which Prudentius wore. 
 
 Fan. Were those his honours ? they shall ne'er be mine. 
 Those onely I except. 
 
 Ir. Wisely excepted. 
 
 Am. Great Lady, say not so : put on this Crown, 
 And with your Head crown it : then let your Hand 
 Give Life unto this Scepter, and to Us. 
 
 Fan. He rather not be Empresse, then assume 
 Or that, or this. 
 
 Au. Say so ? 
 
 Hil. Prettiest of pretties ; 
 We here would have a Queen, and she'l not weare 
 The Badg and Ensigne that should make her so. 
 
 Fan. Is none a Prince, but she whose head supports 
 The burden of a Crown ? 
 
 Liv. Indeed Authority 
 Lies not in this : then Kings could do no more 
 Without the leave of this Authentick toy 
 Then can a Constable without his staff. 
 
 Fan. A Crown would crooke my neck, which for a Realme 
 I would not marr. 
 
 Hil. Nor marr that Ruff for three. 
 
 Fan, If this condition needs must be inforc'd, 
 I willingly resign what you conferr. 
 
 171 
 
Mai. Then some of us shall be a gainer by it. 
 
 Am. Do not so slight the labour of your Servants, 
 Who ventur'd far to gain this wreath ; in which 
 Lies the significance of all the rest. 
 
 Ir. Let her refuse once more. 
 
 Fan. My Noble friends, 
 It signifies too much, too great a Care, 
 Too high Command. Should my free wandring thoughts 
 Be hoop'd and compass'd in with weight and care, 
 Or should that staff keep down your sprightly humours, 
 Fancie might then be stil'd Prudentia. 
 No ; though I reign, provide your selves live free. 
 This onely is my Law, that each man use 
 His proper humour, be it Vice or Vertue, 
 Inordinate or stay'd. Who mindes his pleasure 
 Shall best deserve ; my selfe will teach him how ; 
 And guide him in't. For your own sakes and mine. 
 Offer no more that badg of Tyranny. 
 
 All but Ir. Mai. Au. & Desp. Fancie beyond all Fancie. 
 
 Ir. Plage on Dissemblers ; 
 First on her selfe ; then on these rascals here ; 
 Who first perswaded her to take the Crown, 
 And then admire her for refusing it. 
 
 Liv. Pleases your highnesse with your radiant haire 
 To grace some other badg of Majesty ? 
 
 Fan. To shew I do not quite reject your Favours, 
 Nor slight the proffered Rule, reach me the Lawrel, 
 
 (Liv. reaches the Crownes in turn. 
 And then the glass. — (she lookes. 
 
 Mem. Ev'n thus did mighty Ccesar I 
 172 
 
Fan. Tis too Imperious This. 
 
 Mem. Wit beyond Ccesars ! 
 
 Au. Excellent Lady ! 
 
 Fan. Tis too Imperious 
 If rule it mean ; if height of wit, too low : 
 Tis like a Tavern-Bush and begs for sale, 
 Which Fancie scornes. Small Poet, take it you. 
 
 What's next ? the Turbant. What a Turk am I now ! 
 
 Had I with this a large Seraglio, 
 
 I'de lend them to Sr. Amorous. The next. 
 
 This Persian Cydaris hath made some Sophies 
 That scarce were wise before : when I sit next 
 
 In Solemn Counsel, He weare This. ^But now ; 
 
 This feather'd Crown like a Mercurial hat 
 Shall lift me from the ground ; herein He grace 
 
 The present Fashion. The Tiremans Coronet 
 
 May be in Fashion too ; and pitty 'tis not ; 
 
 I like it well. But Liveby, tis your Favour 
 
 That must take place, and give us Majesty. 
 Set it on firm, and somewhat glancing. — So. 
 I marry Sir ; why this befits us right. 
 
 Hil. Wu'd I had brought my Fooles Cap to present her. 
 My fooles Cap would have gotten the start of Favour 
 From Lively for ever. 
 
 Fan. Thankes Liveby, and He study a Reward. 
 
 Liv. Your humblest Creature. 
 
 Fan. This fits the Quality 
 Of our intended Rule, which shall be light, 
 Light as your Liveby said, and soft and sweet, 
 And various, and pliable to every passion. 
 
 173 
 
I'm bound to All, and much to Amorous, 
 And most to Liveby. For besides this present, 
 You brought me tidings first of this advancement. 
 And Crown'd me in my Eare. Who likes the newes. 
 
 Must needs regard the teller. One I misse 
 
 Amongst the Passions, Melancholico, 
 
 Liv. He sullen grew because he might not beare 
 The massy Crown. 
 
 SCENA V. 
 
 Enter to them Melancholico bringing Fancies Picture 
 Crowned with Gold. Painter and Musitian 
 
 Cone. Now he hath brought himselfe. 
 
 Fug. And somewhat else. 
 
 Mel. Although I wanted grace 
 To plant the massy Crown upon your head 
 In the true substance, yet I found a way 
 To crown you in this Picture. Here's the Painter ; 
 And here a try'd Musitian ; men of Arts, 
 Which Melancholy much affects. 
 
 Fan. And I. 
 But mende your peice. That Crown delights not me. 
 Some sudden businesse calls me to conferr 
 
 With certain Femal Artists ! Liveby, 
 
 Take you the keeping of those Ornaments. 
 
 {She offers to go forth. 
 
 Mai. What ? have we made a shittlecock our Queen ? 
 
 {She returns, 
 174 
 
Fan. Stay, I had quite forgot to strew mine honours 
 On these deservers. You Malevolo 
 Be our chief Counsellour ; be you Irato 
 The Lord Controwler : Livebyhope shall be 
 The Master of Requests : you Amorous 
 Shall be the Master of our Ceremonies ; 
 For which here's Poet, Painter, man of Musick, 
 And man of Properties : I give you leave 
 To use them for your selfe in wooing Morphe. 
 But you my Poet whom I well respect, 
 Shall be my Secretary, and you shall turn 
 The long-breath'd stile of Proclamation 
 To Lyrick Verse. 
 
 Liv, Most understanding Queen ! 
 
 Ir, A prety Curr ! my hands now itch to try 
 Whether he be true Spaniel breed, or no ; 
 O I c<vild beate and kick him, and see whether 
 
 He'l fawn then to. You were not best to flatter 
 
 Your selfe into an Earldom, one degree 
 Above mine Honour. 
 
 Tim. Take heed my Lord : he's likely to be great ; 
 A Favourite can hurt. 
 
 Ir. What then ? must I 
 Therefore take heed ? bid me take heed again, 
 And it shall be the last, last Caution, 
 You ere shall give. What ? give a Lord good Counsel ? 
 
 Fan. The rest if they themselves can finde a way 
 How I may pleasure them, I'm crown'd their servant : 
 You know your Law ; each man pursue his humour. 
 He rule by Fancie since I am Queen Fan ; 
 
 175 
 
And use as little wisdom as I can. 
 
 Au. And so it seems. 
 
 (Ex. Fan. with her women. Am, Liv. Mem. Poet, 
 Mus. Tireman 
 
 Hil. Ha ha ha ha ha ha — 
 How merry shall I live ! (Ex. Hil. 
 
 Paint. Sr. Shall I mend 
 This piece ? 
 
 Mel. Mend ! marr, or break it if you will. 
 Now shall I turn far more precise than ever. 
 And praise Prudentius dayes throw discontent. 
 
 Au. Slighted ? contemned ? bafled ? fooles preferd ? 
 I'm well rewarded. (Ex. Mel, and Paint. 
 
 Ir. Hark Sr. Timerous, 
 You gave me Counsel. 
 
 Tim. Out of Love indeed Sir. 
 
 Ir. You gave Prudentius warning to escape. 
 
 Tim. Not I, indeed not I, Sr. Amorous knowes. 
 
 Ir. How ere He kick thee now, cause tis my humour ; 
 lie take thee to be Liveby, tis my Humour. 
 
 Tim. The Queen shall know how you have kick'd my 
 Knighthood. 
 
 Ir. I kick'd thy breech, two foot above thy Knighthood. 
 I trust I shall have cause to kill thee too. 
 Mean while, to stir my choler, lie controwle 
 Roughly, most roughly. 
 
 Desp. I to feed my humour, 
 (For little I shall have to feed my body) 
 Must run some desperate course. The stream of Favour 
 Runs crosse from me, to Hope and Amorous. (Ex. Desp, 
 
 176 
 
Au. Did we expose our selves to utmost danger 
 To gain a Crown for Her that more regards 
 A Cap and Feather ? 
 
 Mai, I her Counsellour 
 Who alters with each puff, more flickering 
 Then Flag or Streamer ? Then He write on Sand, 
 Or print the Aire. But still I wonder much. 
 How Liveby being absent from our Counsels, 
 Carri'd the first Intelligence, His telling 
 In Her esteem outweighs our Action. 
 
 Au. This shewes what women love, the Tong and 
 tatling. 
 
 Mai. How sayes this man of Fate ? is Livebyhope, 
 That primrose thing, that forward bud, long liv'd ? 
 
 Tr, Ha ! I think no ; unlesse I may controule him 
 To be no Favourite. 
 
 Mai. Men of that calling. 
 If I might counsel them for their best safety. 
 Ought not to live too long. For we can hate. 
 
 Au. Challeng. 
 
 Ir. Or stab. 
 
 Au. And call these things our Humours. 
 
 SCENA VI. 
 
 Enter to them Intellectus Agens. 
 
 Int. The safest Armour is unweapon'd boldnesse. 
 Thus priviledg'd He trust their savage hands. 
 
 M 177 
 
All happlnesse, that is, true Liberty 
 
 Unto the Passions ; how d'e like your choice ? 
 
 Au. First tell us where Prudentius hides himselfe. 
 
 Int. Within a Sanctuary, where his thoughts 
 Are sequestred from earthly cares to heaven. 
 
 Au. Our choice we like beyond Prudentius^ 
 Just so, as Fancie Livebys feather'd crown 
 Beyond my Golden. 
 
 Mai. We like the power of chusing 
 
 Ir. And some variety though join'd with loosing- 
 
 (Ex. Passions. 
 Int. Who ere Usurps, considers not his task, 
 How he must sooth the lowest of his villaines. 
 Give highest place and all to every one. 
 Else all will be displeas'd. The King shall know, 
 What seeds of discontent and headlong folly 
 Appeare already in this warring state. 
 Clos'd in too safe, they broke their hedg ; what lesse 
 Then wandring now through wretched wildernesse ? 
 
 (Ex. Int. Agens. 
 Finis Actus secun. 
 
 ACTVS III. SCENA I. 
 
 Enter Memor and Sr. Timerous. 
 
 Mem. I think your cause exceeds the Cognisance 
 Of Common sense. He like a Juryman 
 Can onely finde and judge the outward fact : 
 178 
 
As whether now your kicks look white or blew ; 
 
 Whether his threatning words were high or low ; 
 
 What savour foUow'd, whether sweet or sowre ; 
 
 Whether the kicks were Rough or gentle ; (Rough 
 
 Your Crinkling sayes.) These with some other notions 
 
 Thereto belonging, as the quantity, 
 
 The Figure, Number, the swift motion, 
 
 Or ceasing of your kicks ; these he can judge of. 
 
 But as for higher speculations 
 
 Of Passions rising out of meer conceit. 
 
 How it was rais'd, what punishment is due, 
 
 This properly belongs to Fancie's audience. 
 
 Was there no cause ? 
 
 Tim. None giv'n, but apprehended. 
 
 Mem. The worse for you ; this shewes there was no 
 malice, 
 But single heat. Were the kicks thick and many ? 
 
 Tim. Six strong ones in one instant. 
 
 Mem. Still the worse. 
 It shewes meer heat. What said he, 'twas his humour ? 
 
 Tim. Ev'n so. 
 
 Mem. Yet worse. 'Tis Law, that ev'ry Passion 
 May follow his own humour. Anger's his. 
 Besides he's writ a Lord : all things considered, 
 I give you counsel to be patient. 
 To ask if he be pleas'd to give you more ; 
 To break a Tooth, pull Haire, strik out an Eye. 
 
 Tim. Accept my thankes : I see the Law it selfe 
 Is very Timerous against great Persons. (Ex. Tim. 
 
 Mem. I now can see no use of Law at all, 
 
 179 
 
Law is casheer'd : where all things are permitted 
 What need of plea ? what can be call'd unjust ? 
 And are not these the Popular dayes we look'd for. 
 When we expected Cunning should be Soveraigne ? 
 
 SCENA II. 
 Enter to him Malevolo. 
 
 Mai. In mischeif we must use the men we hate. 
 You are the man I seek. Have you consider'd 
 Those State-projections ? 
 
 Mem. Sr. we want some Lawes, 
 Such as were made for certain Lord Protectors. 
 
 Mai. Indeed this lawful murder is an Art 
 Of Excellence, and yet as easie too 
 For Statesmen Lawyers as Physitians. 
 
 Mem. An Art familiar in the Roman State, 
 As ancient too as the first Monarchy. 
 O I could tell you Lawes worth millions to us. 
 By faire intrapping of the wealthy Clergy. 
 
 " Mai. Have you no model to insnare a Prince ? 
 
 " Mem. Henry the third, though wise and valiant, 
 " Was caught in a strong line knit by himself e, 
 " Here i'th' mad Parliament, 
 
 •' Mai. As how ? 
 
 " Mem. Twelve Peers 
 " Under pretence of evil Officers 
 " And grand abuses, were selected out, 
 " Strengthen'd with Lawes to prune Prerogatives, 
 180 
 
" To tutour and reform the State ; to size 
 
 " The Kings expence, and to appoint him Servants, 
 
 " Both menial and forinsecal. 
 
 *' Mai. Is't possible 
 *' The King should seale to this ? 
 
 " Mem. O Poverty, 
 " She to Obedience is the Lay-mother, 
 *' As some say Ignorance is the Clarklike. 
 " Betwixt Superiours and Inferiours, 
 " Look either way, this rule is mutual, 
 •' The poorer must be servant to the richer. 
 " Henry brought low with various Action 
 " Could not subsist without their subsidies. 
 *' Keep thy Prince poor, then thou shalt rule thy Ruler, 
 "And subject thy Commander. 
 
 " Mai. This we try'd 
 *' To fasten on Prudentius : but he 
 ** Too wise, too frugal was. Now Fancie 
 " Through giddinesse of minde, and vast expence, 
 •' Will prove lesse wary and more Prodigal. 
 
 Mem. Let some insnareing Law be once propos'd, 
 Fancie will yeild, not ponder. 
 
 Mai. Well, think you ; 
 lie speak and speed. O 'tis the praise of hate 
 To practise ruine and pretend the State. 
 
 Mem. But Sir, I trust upon your furtherance 
 
 (Mai. about to go. 
 About impropriations. 
 
 Mai. You He remember 
 First, or my selfe I ever shall iorget. (Ex, Mai. 
 
 181 
 
SCENA III. 
 
 Enter Fancie in a Cydaris, Concupiscence, Fuga, Hilarlo 
 before them. 
 
 Fan. The Cydaris well fits me ; now must I 
 Answer this Persian Crown with mutual fitnesse. 
 What thing was proper to the Persian Kings, 
 Say Memor. 
 
 Mem, Persian Kings did wed their Sisters. 
 
 Fan. Though in my Person thus I cannot wed, 
 He licence others. You Hilario 
 May, if you please, enjoy your lively Sister 
 Concupiscence. 
 
 Hil. I thank your Majesty 
 Both that I may, and may not ; for to me 
 Nothing so pleasing as is Liberty. 
 
 I would not be bound to that neither, though I love it best ; 
 If I were, I should long for the prison. 
 Bind me to be rich, I shall play at Duckes and Drakes with 
 
 peices ; 
 Bind me to my good behaviour, I shall feele an itching desire 
 to beate the Justice. 
 
 what a Prentise should I make ! I should run away no 
 
 oftner then I came in sight 
 Of the threshold. And most of the Passions, I think, have a 
 spice of this humor. 
 Fan. But can no bond please you like Liberty ? 
 Hil. Neither bond of Matrimony, nor bond of friendship. 
 Nor bond of Usury, nor bond of iniquity ; 
 
 1 rejoyce in the present, I desire nothing, and therefore would 
 
 be tied to nothing. 
 182 
 
Fan. Concupiscence your Sister's of another minde. 
 
 Cone. I could well indure to be bound, so I might be loose 
 too. 
 
 Fan, The Theme which I propos'd was Royalty, 
 No lesse then Persian. Then Concupiscence, 
 How ist we are so thinly waited on. 
 By Femal Passions ? are there no more women 
 Of Passion kind ? 
 
 Cone. Of Passionate enough. 
 But to say Truth, the Femal Passions 
 As soon as they are born, turn all to sins ; 
 And they are all my Children. 
 
 Mem. Then have you 
 More Daughters far than Danaus, or Margaret 
 Countesse of Henneberg : whereof one did equal 
 The weekes, and th' other the dayes of the year 
 With numerous issue. 
 
 Cone, I have more by thousands. 
 I'm as Fruitful and quick of Delivery 
 As any Uermin, spreading as Potatoes ; 
 My race runs o'er the World. 
 
 Fan. Of what age are they ? 
 
 Cone. As old as my selfe very neere, 
 
 Mem. Then you 
 Continued a maide no longer then Quartilla. 
 
 Cone. O never at all that I can remember. 
 
 Mem. You beare your age exceeding well. 
 
 Cone. I hope 
 I shall be young forever ; I have the vertue 
 Of making old folkes young by touching them. 
 
 183 
 
Fan. Are none of those your Children ripe and handsome 
 And fit for our attendance ? 
 
 Cone. Pride my Eldest 
 She is the likeliest. 
 
 Fan. Let her be admitted. 
 
 Cone. She's now i'th Spanish Court; but when she 
 comes 
 
 Hil. Then the Court and her Mother will teach her to fall 
 both wayes, 
 Forward and Backward. 
 
 Fan, Till she return, is't not in Fancie's power 
 To change a Sex, and make some Passion Female ? 
 
 Mem. The like hath been ; I have heard of a Femal 
 By meer force of Fancy turn'd Male : So Iphis 
 A Maide, in love with a Maide, was transform'd 
 Just on the marriage Eve. Tiresias 
 Was Male and Femal annually by turns ; 
 Some Hermaphrodites have been both at once. 
 
 Cone. Wud I could live and turn Hermaphrodite. 
 
 Fug. Wud I could live and be of neither Sex. 
 
 Fan. What think ye of transforming Amorous f 
 
 Hil. He's undone then : he cannot shew his legs, nor use 
 his Postures 
 Nor Enjoy his Idol Morphe. No, change Sir Timerous, 
 He's as fearful as a Hare, and may be as changable : 
 He hath many Symbolical conditions of womanhood already : 
 He is Femal in every part but one, and half Femal in his 
 
 cloathes 
 Give me but an Inch of Ribband from Fuga, and I'le undertake 
 
 to present him 
 184 
 
The Lady Timida. 
 
 Fan. Fuga 
 Give him one of your changable Fancie's. (Ex. Hil. 
 
 Thus first our selves must whet our own Invention ; 
 Else others will not stir. Men do not strive 
 Methinkes to please me as they ought to do. 
 No other rarities these many Ages 
 But Powder, Printing, Seaman Card j and Watches ? 
 So much vain dotage for the fond Elixir ? 
 Why are not yet my Christals malleable, 
 To make our Gold no Gold, and soile the Di'mond ? 
 Why want I Instruments to measure out 
 The Year, the Day, the Houre, without the help 
 Of Sun, or turning of these tedious wheeles ? 
 Nothing to carry me but Barges, Coaches ? 
 Sedans, and Litters ? through the Aire I'd passe 
 By some new waftage : I must have my house 
 Convey'd by wheeles and sailes and plummets hung 
 In some deep pit, deep as the way is distant, 
 To hurry me, my Family, and it. 
 Whether I please. lie travel like the Snaile, 
 With all my house ; but swifter then the Faulcon. 
 
 Fug, Rare Lady ! 
 
 Cone. Ravishing Inventions ! 
 
 Fan. Why have not I my Beds stuffd all with wind, 
 Baths fiU'd with Maydew, Flowers preserv'd till winter, 
 As well as Snow till Summer : choisest Fruits 
 Growing and ripe in midst of January ? 
 Why have not I Ponds running through my Cellars, 
 For Bottles and for Fish call'd by their names ? 
 
 185 
 
Why not in drought an Artificial rain. 
 Scattered by spowtes, to cheer my Paradise ? 
 
 Mem. I wish you had these things ; I nere saw such. 
 
 Fan. Cheape I can have Saltan bellowes made 
 Within the Bowles of Andirons, where the water 
 Shall blow the fire by which 'tis rarified. 
 I will have Vaults which shall convey my whispers 
 In steed of Embasies to forreign Nations ; 
 Places for Ecchoes to pronounce a speech, 
 Or give a Suffrage like a multitude : 
 Consorts well play'd by water ; Pictures taught 
 By secret Organs both to move and speak : 
 We spend oiu: selves too much upon the Taylour ; 
 I rather would new mold new fashion Nature. 
 
 ScENA nil. 
 
 Enter Amorous and Liveby one way, Malevolo another way. 
 After awhile a Shew. 
 
 Am. Pleases your Highnesse to behold a Shew, 
 Wherein some Passions are display'd by Dreams 
 How they affected are by Day. 
 
 Fan. He see it. (Mai. & Mem. whisper. 
 
 What means that whisper ? 
 
 Mai. Tis an honest project 
 Thought on by Memor, out of love to Churches, 
 To buy back saleable impropriations 
 With charitable money. Doth it please you ? 
 
 Fan. This task was fitter for Prudentius 
 186 
 
Then Sense or Passion. This although I grant, 
 Yet take it with condition. Memor knows 
 Conveyance old and new, the Right and Wrong. 
 In things not sacred he may use his cunning. 
 In this he must be just. To you I say, 
 It was not seasonable to move this business 
 When Shewes were comming. 
 
 Mai. This your selfe did move 
 By asking. 
 
 Mem. Now. 
 
 Mai. Then make you here a Law, 
 That none these three dayes shall prefer a Sute 
 Or motion under forfeiture of life. 
 Me you shall finde content ; I'm no Troubler. 
 
 Mem. This trap is laid full right. 
 
 Liv. Stay, stay great Queen. 
 This Law will scale my mouth, and tie your hands. 
 And stop the necessary speed of businesse, 
 Whereby your Crown may be dissolv'd. 
 
 Fan. Away, 
 Away Malevolo, 
 
 Mai. My snare for Liveby 
 Is brok, but violence shall it supply. (Ex. Mai. & Mem. 
 
 You Memor have your wish. 
 
 Enter Amorous with the shew. 
 
 Morpheus in a Cloud-coloured Cassock with a wreath of Poppies 
 and a Caduceus from a black Cell. Then at his call, six 
 sleeping Persons in their night caps half down their Faces, 
 and in their wastcoates, representing in their clothes 
 
 187 
 
downwards Memor, Malevolo, Irato, Timerous, Hilario, 
 Desperate. Morpheus shakes his Caduceus over them sever- 
 ally as they stand in Couples. Being mov'd they fall succes- 
 sively into their proper gestures, and lastly all dance 
 together in those gestures, 
 
 Morp. I Morpheus King of Dreames, whose might 
 Can equal Fanci's in the night. 
 Have caused the night six dreames to send : 
 As I appointed they attend. (They enter from a black Cave. 
 
 Now Memor turn thy Books and prate. 
 Plead with thy hands and fees then take. 
 Shrug, scratch, Malevolo, and grin, 
 Grasp thy foule heart and feel thy sin. 
 Irato, bend thy fist and draw, 
 Offer to thrust, keep fear in aw, 
 Shak Timerous, offer to fly. 
 Begin to sink, offer to die. 
 Hilario clap thy hands and laugh. 
 Skip, leap, and turn, offer to quaff, 
 Despaire start, stand, and crush thy throat. 
 Then stab thy breast and groan death^s rlote. 
 
 The Dance. 
 
 (After the dance, Ex. Masquers, 
 
 Fan. Whose labour was this sport ? 
 
 Am. Livebys invention and my contriving. 
 
 Fan, For this I'le send you to your dearest Morphe. 
 Goe at what hour you please, and say I want 
 Her company at Court. You, Hope, for this, 
 188 
 
And for preventing that pernicious Law, 
 Ask what you will. 
 
 Liv. Grant the Monopoly 
 Of Watches, or of Beavers. 
 
 Fan. Take them both ; 
 And ask again. 
 
 Liv. When woodlands shall be turn'd 
 To other use, grant me a twelfth as forfeit. 
 
 Fan. Be it confirm'd. 
 
 Liv. I was about to ask 
 The Patronage of Churches in Sea-towns ; 
 Where popular choice maintains a Faction 
 Brought in with Merchandize from foreign parts, 
 But that were better taken to the Crown. 
 
 Fan. Take what thou wilt. Thou begst to give us share. 
 None can please all, the best the better fare. (Ex. Omnes. 
 
 SCENA V. 
 
 The Scene turns to feilds, walkes & scattered houses. 
 
 Enter Hilario, and then Sir Timerous with Fuga's 
 ribband. 
 
 Hil. By this way Sir Timerous should come ; whom I as 
 sent from his wrong'd Lady Fuga have engag'd in a quarvel 
 against Audax. And yonder comes the pittiful Earthquake 
 most lovingly trembling. 
 
 Tim. What should I do here? some desperate knave or 
 other, Desperate himself (it may be) hath rob'd me of my 
 
 189 
 
best weapon. I thought not to have fought with Steele, but 
 with Gold ; and to have brought this needy Captain to an 
 honourable submission by dint of Cash. What disasters have 
 I ? That unreasonably wicked, that divlish two fac'd Cutter 
 knew me too well : for when I drew this harmless blade, he 
 look'd upon it as slightly as upon a riding wand ; and bad 
 me familiarly put up that, and draw my purse. Certainly I 
 have too much of the Mother ; I am that which they call a 
 Coward, and all the world knows it. Wherefore (O Ribband) 
 I take it extream scurvily of Fuga, that she being of the 
 same temper her selfe, doth not consider her temper in me. 
 
 Hil. Now this Craven stands as ticklish on the point of 
 running as a Bowie on the top of a ridg. 
 
 Tim. Two steps further I'le move. I have been coming a 
 quarter of a mile these two houres at least ; and yet I sweat 
 till the very drops run a race ; my shaking feaver is turn'd to 
 a cold sweat, and that's a true Prognostication of death. 
 
 (Puts on his cap. 
 
 Good night to all the world ; for this is that fatal peice of 
 ground which I shall anon measure with my Carcasse. Never 
 a Bush nor Hole here ; though it be call'd Champion ground 
 I shall not fight : perhaps I shall make use of its plainnesse, 
 and give ground a mile or two; that shall be my way of 
 fighting. For if I the Challenger stand still on my guard, 
 it will not stand with mine honour : And then while I keep 
 my backsword point still in his face (I have seen the play at 
 cudgells) he will wheele about me, and falsifying a blow at 
 the head will strike me just on the legs where my heart lies. 
 Then shall I be quite spoiled for running away ; which I 
 think I had best do presently, for I hear him coming. O— — 
 190 
 
Hil. Now I see Sir Tim, thou art a Lad of mettle. 
 
 Tim. Mettle? I protest Sir I had rather drink this cold 
 iron fil'd small to dust and be a Lad of mettle so, then to 
 thrust it whole into any mans flesh whatsoever ; much lesse 
 into my Enemies. You see then what power Love hath, and 
 how Fuga is beholding to me. 
 
 Hil. Most dreadfully. 
 
 Tim. Is not the time yet past ? I think I may retire with 
 honour, and say he durst not meet me. 
 
 Hil. It wants yet halfe an hour. If you hold not out 
 your time, then he'l assault you openly in Court, and make 
 your shame publick, which otherwise will be but private. He 
 stand secretly by you, and if need require will step in and 
 part you. 
 
 Tim. Stand not far off I beseech you for when I am kill'd 
 
 I shall not be able to call. O my heart! — the Gyant's 
 
 coming O Hilario — 
 
 Malevolo passes by. 
 Mai. Saw you not here Irato ? 
 
 Tim. No believe me Sir ; no I thank heaven. Hilario ! — 
 Now comes Audax. O 1 have but a minute to live. 
 
 Irato passes by. 
 
 Ir. How now stinkerd, how does thy breech ? sawst thou 
 not here Malevolo ? 
 
 Tim. He past by in hast ; just now in hast. — ^Well. Two 
 Furies are past. He not wait for the third, go Love and 
 Honour whither they will. Hilario! — I fear he hath left me. 
 He raze my Flesh with a slight cut, and sweare I receiv'd 
 that wound in fight. But now I think on't better, I have 
 
 191 
 
an issue under my left arme ; He force that bigger till it 
 bleed, and swear that into a wound. For sure a fresh one 
 would be far greater pain. Soft, I am loath to suffer so much, 
 if I may chuse. — Hilario ? — 
 
 Hil. What a Champion are you ? not dare to look a man 
 in the face ? 
 
 Tim. Sweet Hilario, I consider thou hast no Sword to help 
 me: stretch thy wit, and invent some speedy way, how I 
 may escape with honour, and not fight ? 
 
 Hil. You cannot possibly escape fighting. 
 
 Tim. Sweet Hilario do not kill me before hand with 
 saying so. 
 
 Hil. Why then will you be rul'd by me ? 
 
 Tim. In any thing, any thing. Quickly for love of Life. 
 
 Hil. I have promis'd to furnish the Queen with a new 
 Lady attendant. 
 
 Tim. What then ? 
 
 Hil. Put on Womans apparel, you shall be she ; by name 
 of Madam Timida. 
 
 Tim. Ha ! Say on. 
 
 Hil. Then shall you be free, not onely from this quarrel, 
 but from all future beatings and challenges. 
 
 Tim. Safe and sound ! 
 
 Hil. Then shall you have perpetual accesse to Fuga, bully. 
 
 Tim. Safe and delicious ! 
 
 Hil. Then to steale her affection you may habit your selfe 
 like her. 
 
 Tim. Safe and wise ! 
 
 Hil. Then as for your honour, who can upbraid you when 
 you are no where to be found : twill be suppos'd by your 
 192 
 
sweet friend, that you died in her quarrel, Audax if he 
 himself talk will be dangerously question'd. 
 Tim. But will you be secret ? 
 Hil. For mine own sake, mine own sake. Sir Tim, 
 Tim. Dearest Hilario, thou art my preserving Angel. 
 Hil. Make hast, before you can new cast your selfe He 
 come to present you. {Ex. Tim. 
 
 Poor snake, I delivered no Challeng ; I onely frighted him to 
 a more willing Metamorphosis. 
 
 SCENA VI 
 
 Enter by him Concupiscence in a Citizens habit. 
 
 Cone. Hey ho for a husband ; Two, three, or more, 
 As many as I meet ; 'tis fit, that we 
 Ladies Attendant should be qualified 
 For three at least. 
 
 Hil. ^Vhat ere the habit be, this is the Face 
 The Voice and language of Concupiscence, 
 Why, how now Sister, taking the Aire alone ? 
 
 Cone. A safe Conscience never feares any man. 
 
 Hil. I think thou fear'st not any, but lov'st all. 
 Such was thy wont ; and hast thou now a Conscience ? . 
 
 Cone. Be grave or silent, know I'm rectified. 
 
 Hil. Pox on your train : by feigned honesty 
 You seek to wooe me. I'le unvaile you streight. 
 What think you of two husbands, three, or more, 
 As many as you meet ? 
 
 Cone. Why didst thou hear me ? 
 
 N 193 
 
it 
 (t 
 
 Hil. Ladies Attendant should be qualified 
 For three at least. 
 
 Cone. That I spoke merrily. 
 
 Hil. If thou hadst ten, thou still would'st cry more 
 Hymens. 
 
 Cone. If so you think, think on, I think so too. 
 Hil. But when will all thy maidenheads be spent ? 
 
 Tell me sincerely, truly, and bodily. 
 
 " Cotic. They come again like Teeth, I'm breeding now. 
 
 " Hil. Then are thy maidenheads like Hydra's heads, 
 " Not to be tam'd but by a Hercules. 
 *' Who has the next ? 
 
 " Cone. I am resolv'd to part it 
 " Betwixt a Courtier and a Citizen : 
 " The Courtier has the maide, the Citizen 
 " Shall have the head. 
 
 Hil. Sister, I cannot wed you, 
 You have too much complexion for my use ; 
 But He provide you one shal beare the name 
 Of Husband. 
 
 Cone. Let him be honest, quiet. 
 
 Hil. Of your own garb, say he be Melancholieo, 
 And so He rid my selfe of Fanei's match. 
 
 Cone. I care but for his shadow having Servants. 
 
 Hil. Farewell Carnality. 
 
 Cone. Hilario thinks {Ex. Hil. 
 
 He took me, when alas twas my intent 
 The Boy should overheare, and so become 
 If not a Husband, such an Officer. 
 
 194 
 
SCENA VII. 
 
 Enter to her Audax. 
 
 Au. What's here ? Concupiscence ? 
 
 Cone. Nor stare, nor startle ; 
 As I hope to look faire, I'm nothing chang'd 
 In minde or body. No where', but in habit. 
 
 Au. And why in This ? 
 
 Cone. O for Variety. 
 Fancy permits all change. This dresse sometimes 
 Pleases the Courtier better then his Ladies. 
 
 Au. Is it but so ? come then my Paphian drum 
 I'le brace thee close. 
 
 Cone. Soft Sir, you march too feircely. 
 I have a task which first you must perform ; 
 I fear you will not do't ; you do not love me ; 
 Promise me first ; the task I can assiu-e you, 
 Befitts yotu: Valour, and will pay it selfe. 
 
 Au. Is it to kill the Queen, that thou may'st reign ? 
 
 Cone. No, nor her maide ; thou shalt but use her kindly. 
 ^ Au. Speak plain, be bold. 
 
 Cone. Then thou shalt ravish Fu^a. 
 She twits me with my Servants, Favours, Lookes, 
 My Words, and scapes : in This you bear a shares 
 If this to me bring shame, you are not free. 
 
 Au. Is this your heavy task ? no more but This ? 
 Onely to ravish ? is not the work Reward ? 
 I'le do't effectually ; Her selfe shall thank me. 
 
 Cone. But I'le outthank her far ; lie ravish thee. 
 With fast embraces. Take this kisse in earnest 
 
 195 
 
Of futtire payment. Though I seeme a Vestal, 
 To thee I'm Venus. 
 
 Au. Venus, be secur'd. (Ex. Au. 
 
 Con^ Then, when her fruit shall swell, and I stand 
 simpring. 
 Tum'd to a seeming Saint, O how He triumph 
 In grave reproofe, and holy Admonition ! 
 This 'tis to be too chast. ^here come the Stagemen. 
 
 SCENA VIII. 
 Enter to her Malevolo, Irato, Memor. 
 
 Mai. Sir you and we were acted at the Court. 
 We loosers are made laughing-stocks, and sport 
 For open Stages. 
 
 Ir. Tell my Sword the Author ; 
 That it may write his doome upon his flesh. 
 
 Mai. This Creature can informe us. Who I pray 
 Were your late witwrights in the Masque ? 
 
 Cone. Hope pend it, 
 My Father Amorous (without offence) 
 Contriv'd the Shew. (Ex. Cone. 
 
 Mem. This trick Malevolo 
 Was chiefly meant to you, because your pen 
 Hath scourged the Stage. 
 
 Jr. However Lord Irato 
 Shall act a red Catastrophe on Lively : (Ex. Ir. and Mem. 
 
 Mai. lie watch his haunt and hunt him to his fall ; 
 You Amorous too. This mirth of theirs at last 
 196 
 
Shall close their sweetnesse with an Aloed tast. 
 
 These once remov'd, who can be great but I ; 
 
 Whose word shall sway but mine ? Then power is sweet 
 
 When Rubs are made the staires to mount our {eet. {Ex. MaL 
 
 Finis Actus 3. 
 
 ACTVS nil. SCENA I. 
 
 Enter Desperato in a Physitians habit. 
 
 Desp. Whatever chang succeed, still wretchednesse 
 My old inseparable mate hangs on. 
 Therefore I seem ridiculous ; my grief 
 Is others mirth ; Malevolo sayes I'm acted. 
 Henceforth He finde new Company : since Fate 
 Barrs me from others happinesse, lie spread 
 My misery to others ; and He thrive 
 Meerely in spite, to make men miserable. 
 This is my humour ; 'tis begun already. 
 The Gold I took from Timerous, if question'd, 
 I can defend ; I took it in my humour ; 
 And that's good law ; I took it in a humour 
 Most desperatly bent ; and it hath made me 
 Such as men see, an able man for mischief ; 
 Clad me in th' outside of a mystery, 
 Furnish'd my shelves with Pots, with Boxes, Names, 
 Slight Medicines, and strong Poysons. Time hath been. 
 When I in War serv'd Death a Prentiship ; 
 
 197 
 
There leam'd to open Veynes, to lance and kill ; 
 Now I am free o'th' Trade ; a Soldier then, 
 Physitian now ; He do the selfe same work, 
 But now more Artificially. 
 
 SCENA 11. 
 
 Enter to him Melancholico. 
 
 Mel. The godly 
 
 Are in distresse ; the wicked, that usurp 
 
 The Childrens right, do here grow fat and prosper ; 
 
 Wherefore I thought of drowning. Verily 
 
 Unlesse that Conscientious Lawyer, 
 
 Good Memor, from Gebought Impropriations 
 
 Had thus deducted and distributed 
 
 The better part to us oppressed Brethren, 
 
 Affliction some, and some Devotion 
 
 Had brought me to despaire. Now He not see him. 
 
 Desp. Methinkes dejected Melancholico 
 Should prove fit Timber for my fatal work. 
 What, Melancholico ? not know your friend. 
 Whose med'cinal skill cures Body, Minde, and State ? 
 I trust thou art not over lucky ; art ? 
 Do'st feel no misery ? I thought ere this 
 I should have had thy custome. 
 
 Mel. Verily 
 My sicknesse could but little cure your purse. 
 
 Desp. It might have brought me practise howsoever, 
 And that's the onely Fee of new professours. 
 198 
 
Mel. But are you then indeed a true professour, 
 And one of Us ? Sooth I professe sincerity. 
 
 Desp. Hath not the same which caus'd sincerity, 
 Caus'd a foule spleen ? no Hypocondrick Vapours ? 
 
 Mel. For that a godly Lawyer gave me physick : 
 
 Desp. I'hen take it next from a Divine. 
 
 Mel. That Lawyer 
 First took it from Divines, then gave it me. 
 And I can give you counsel to your physick : 
 You have a fair advantage in mens sicknesse 
 To prick the Conscience, and to let them know. 
 Their onely way is to releive the Brethren, 
 And raise their stock of holy usury 
 For new Plantations. You shall have a share. 
 
 Desp. This is a verier rogue then I my selfe. 
 
 Mel. And what I pray mov'd you to turn Physitian ? 
 
 Desp. Want set me on, a booty set me up. 
 Now let me know of mutual curtesie, 
 What was your Dos ? 
 
 Mel. 'Twill buy all yours ; 'twas Gold. 
 
 Desp. Why then, thou'lt run unto presumption, 
 Not to despaire. I heare you are to marry ; 
 Which if thou dost, then thou wilt come to me, 
 For Ratsbane, Hensbane, some such wholesome banes. 
 To cure thy bands of Matrimony. 
 
 Mel. Hence. (Ex. Desp. 
 
 199 
 
SCENA III. 
 
 Enter to htm Hilario and Concupiscence. 
 
 Hil. Friend Melancholia), 
 How is't ? Sister, stand by a while. Methinks 
 Upon a sudden you are grown brisk and cheereful. 
 Fit company for me, nay for a wife. 
 
 Mel. You'l never leave your waggery and jeastlng. 
 " You call'd Peculiars rags of Popery. 
 
 Hil. Sometimes you are too sad and solitary : 
 Is this jeasting ? and solitarinesse 
 Requires due Recreation ; Is this jeasting ? 
 And Recreation much consisteth in 
 The yoak of a meet helper ; you may call 
 This jeasting too ? but is't not sport in earnest ? 
 
 Mel. The Saints allow no sport. 
 
 Hil. Then love in earnest. 
 You know you cannot well converse with men ; 
 Your lookes are indispos'd, your language sparing. 
 Your manners different. But to a woman 
 A long 'parenthesis of busi'd silence 
 Does passing well. Then in her company 
 You have a world, and none to contradict. 
 And in her Ear you may reform the Chureh 
 Or purg the State, as safe, as if you spake 
 Unto the Aire or whisper" d to your selfe. 
 For so she is. Think on a wife. 
 
 Mel. No wife. 
 
 Hil. Then on a spouse. 
 
 Mel. Now you say somewhat. 
 
 Hil. Now. 
 200 
 
He'l marry words not substance. The word whore 
 Would have spoil'd all. This blockhead suites with me 
 As frost with fire. But for your sake He thaw him. 
 
 Mel. Have you not injur'd that fair promising Sister 
 By leaving her alone ? 
 
 Hil. She meditates. 
 
 Mel. She walketh gravely, turns her eye devoutly. 
 
 Hil. The white's pure, the black as full of Adultery 
 As thou art of Hypocrisie ; she harbours 
 A good conceit of you. Shall she conceive Further ? 
 
 Mel. If that her name be right. 
 
 Hil. She was 
 Concupiscence, now call'd Temperance. Sister 
 This is your Husband whom I so commended. 
 
 Cone. I chuse not for my selfe. 
 
 Mel. Sister and Spouse, 
 If so you please, our hands shall us unite : 
 Matches are made in Heaven ; few words suffi.ce ; 
 The Night consummates. As for other rites 
 I hold them superstitious Ceremonies. 
 I had forgot her Portion. 
 
 Hil. She's a widow. 
 He shew you her Estate. 
 
 Mel. He first retire 
 And clasp her hand in zeale. 
 
 Cone. My Lord and Bridegroome. 
 
 Hil. The Divel and his Dam you are. Come Brother. 
 
 Mel. Once more. I like your Meditation, 
 But do not spend your selfe therewith too much. 
 
 (Ex. Hil. and Mel. 
 201 
 
Cone. Now I am double shelter'd in my heat, 
 With name of Husband, and this formal guise. 
 
 ScENA nil. 
 
 Enter to her Audax. 
 
 Cone. Now welcome Servant ; have you won the Fort ? 
 
 Au. Hell take her, she's a man. 
 
 Cone. A man ? 
 
 Au. Just so 
 I found, scarce left him so. 
 
 Cone. O you mistooke. 
 Sir Timerous is transform'd to wait at Court : 
 Twas Phanci's own device. O I could laugh. 
 
 Au. I made him so much woman as to cry ; 
 " Else I had made him woman with my Sword. 
 
 Cone. Alas poor Titnida. 
 
 Au. The thing so trembled. 
 No leafe nor ague like him. 
 
 Cone. Ha ha ha. 
 
 Au. Did you intend to put this trick upon me ? 
 
 Cone. No by the kisses which shall satisfie 
 Thy height forthwith, and pay thy errour full. 
 Besides I'm satisfied with this mistake 
 As well as with the right. Aspersion 
 Shall blot the name of Fuga full as much. 
 
 202 
 
SCENA V. 
 
 Enter to them Sir Tim. as Timida. After a 
 while Fuga, alike dress'd, 
 
 Au. What's this? the He or She? 
 
 Cone. No matter which. 
 
 Au. If.it be she, I'le ravish her : if he, 
 Then thou shalt do't. 
 
 Cone. Neither ; tis done enough. 
 
 Au. Tim hath a fine time on't. 
 
 Cone. Come, you have a better. 
 
 Tim. Is this to be a woman ? O I could teare, 
 
 (Ex, Cone. & Au. 
 As timerous as I am, my lawnes to rags. 
 And scratch my face, and stick my heart with pins, 
 Or streight turn valiant. Wud my Fuga knew, 
 What she hath scap'd through me. 
 And here she comes. (Enter Fuga. 
 
 Fuga, female habit and Strang sufierings 
 Have lent me tongue enough. Now I can speake ; 
 And boldly say I have deserved your love. 
 
 Fug. Wherein Sir Lady ? 
 Tim. Now in this your habit 
 
 1 sav'd you from a hideous ravishing. 
 
 Audax with whom I should have fought, came on me 
 With love more rude then rage, blasted my face 
 With breath like brimstone, turn'd my limbs like twigs ; 
 I live by miracle. 
 
 Fug. You came too neere 
 Unto a Sex from which you should keep further. 
 
 203 
 
Tim. Shall I not then be neer and dear unto you ? 
 
 Fug. Experience tells you what a boystrous thing 
 Tis to be ruffled by a man. 
 
 Tim. Still so ? 
 Why I have a been a woman for thy sake ; 
 I bear within these weedes a minde as tender, 
 White skin, blue veines, and armes as soft as thine. 
 
 Fug. But still you are a man, and I still Fuga. 
 
 Tim. Nothing can merit love from peevishnesse. 
 What shall I do ? I'le streight turn man again. 
 And suffer for my selfe. Farewel coy woman, 
 Ungrateful, and unwise. My ravishment 
 Is fairely past, but yours may be the next. 
 How ere when I appear my selfe, the noise 
 Of what is past will light upon your name. 
 I bore the loathsome suffering for thee. 
 Now shalt thou bear the foul reproach for me. {Ex. Tim. 
 
 Fug. Much I was overseen, too much extreamely ; 
 I could run after him ; but if he turn 
 I shall run back again. O I am lost ; 
 My Honour, Safety, and perhaps some liking. 
 All these are lost, with these I'm lost, lost Fuga. 
 
 SCENA VI. 
 
 Enter to her Amorous. 
 
 Am. This change of State gaines me small perfect pleasure. 
 Meer Meditation on Morphe's beauty 
 Will not suffice. Come Fuga, since thy Ocean 
 204 
 
Cannot be mlnish'd by some drops, give freely 
 What Audax forc'd. 
 
 Fug. That I am miserable 
 Is't not enough, unlesse I bear more burdens 
 Of common scorn, or (which is worse) true stayning ? 
 Good Sir, of all the Passions you are gentlest ; 
 Though you esteem me light, which I am not. 
 Yet take some weight unto your selfe. Consider 
 That after this you cannot worthy be 
 Of Morphe, never woe with confidence. 
 
 Am. Thus still a Female Sermon puts me by. 
 And I gain nothing by my Liberty. 
 Once more I ask. 
 
 Fug. Once was too much before. 
 
 Am. Once more. 
 
 Fug. First kill me. 
 
 Am. Then to make you quick 
 Is past ray cunning. (Ex. Amorous. 
 
 SCENA VII. 
 
 Enter Hilario, Concupiscence, after a while 
 Melancholico. 
 
 Hil, Joy to you Madam Fuga, you know why. (Ex. Hil. 
 
 Cone. If I could give you Joy of what I loath, 
 And you delight in, this if I could do 
 Without a sin, I would. 
 
 Fug. Is false report 
 Worse then true guilt ? how is't this filthy Strumpet 
 
 205 
 
Lookes like a Saint, and I as foule as hell ? 
 
 Cone. Lady, an Eye refin'd sees more then dull ones. 
 And Holinesse far clearer then Uncleaness. 
 I wonder what loose words and actions 
 Have pass'd from you, to give incouragment 
 To the kind ravisher ; for I have heard 
 None can be ravish'd without some consent. 
 Be humbled, know you fault, live chaster Lady. (Enter Mel. 
 
 Fug. Sure I should think I'm guilty. 
 
 Mel. Out upon thee. 
 Fie Temperance, what here ? wilt thou have Eggs 
 And rotten Oranges flung at thee too ? 
 What can you chuse no other company 
 But this lewde, crack'd abominable pelce ? 
 
 Cone. You see your company is scandalous, 
 I must take leave. (Ex. Mel. and Cone. 
 
 Fug, If there be any power 
 To see and judge, I challeng his assistance. 
 What have I done, unlesse too stedfast coynesse 
 Be now accounted loosenesse ? what's my Crime, 
 That such a general storme of loude disgrace 
 Conspires to bear down Innocence ? Hold heart, 
 Hold my weake spirits : for if this continue 
 I shall grow desperate. 
 
 206 
 
ScENA Vim. 
 
 Enter to her Malevolo. 
 
 Fug. Pitty me Father, 
 
 My name is stain'd beyond all patience. 
 
 Sir Timerous having foolishly put on 
 
 My shape ; in stead of me was rudely ravish'd 
 
 By blustring Audax. The reproach is mine. 
 
 You know a darksome cloud can much obscure 
 
 The face of water though as pure as Christal. 
 
 Mai. Audax shall rue this base attempt, whose shadow 
 Blots your opinion, and portends more danger 
 Unto yoiu- Person. Cast your cares on me. 
 
 Fug. I may communicate, not cast them off. (Ex. Fug.. 
 
 Mai. I thought to use him in a bold design 
 Gainst Liveby, and I will ; 'tis dangerous 
 Unto himselfe. If combat ruine one. 
 Vengeance persues the other : thus He make 
 The vanquished and the victor both my prey, 
 And whilst they fight, my selfe shall win the day. 
 
 ScENA IX. 
 Enter by him Irato and Audax quarreling. 
 
 Ir. What, you that Office ? know your turn ; give place 
 First to your betters. You be General ? 
 
 Au. Yes I. And know, that whilst I hold a Sword 
 To prove my worth, the Sun beholds none better. 
 Neither your Lordship nor Controwlership 
 
 207 
 
Can dastard me. 
 
 Ir. But I shall teach you distance. 
 
 Au. Make me draw back one inch, and gain this place, 
 Then thou gain'st That. Be calmer good Irato. 
 
 Ir. Unwing the Lightning, stop Araxes floods, 
 Then mayst thou stop my wrath, and guard thy selfe 
 Against my stroke. 
 
 Mai, Hold, hold ; what means this Fury ? 
 May I be Umpire in your difference ? 
 
 Au. Know it you may ; this feirce and haughty Lord 
 Crosses my aime, and stands Competitour 
 For what he understands not, to be General. 
 
 Ir. Not understand ? Give way Malevolo. 
 
 Au. You may be fit to quarrel in a Tavern, 
 But not to lead an Army. 
 
 Ir. Give me scope ; 
 Unlesse thou wouldst be broach'd on the same blade, 
 And coupled plimg in Styx ; open the way. 
 
 Mai. Why would you seek this Of&ce ? 
 
 Ir. Cause. I scorn 
 That any man should be prefer'd before me. 
 
 Mai. And why would you ? 
 
 Au. Because I can do service ; 
 And would gain honour, equal unto His. 
 
 Mai. There's yet no Army levi'd, there's no cause, 
 But doubtful Rumour. 
 
 Au. When there is. He lead it. 
 
 Mai. Yes, both alike ; while you contend for shadows, 
 Liveby will bear the substance from you both. 
 Rid him, then you may talk. 
 208 
 
Au, What sayes Irato ? 
 
 Ir. Agreed. 
 
 Mai. Then you shall take him now in th' Evening, 
 
 Comming from Intellectus : there's his haunt, 
 
 (Ex. Ir. & Au. 
 Now try your fury on a third ; for I 
 Stanch'd not this combat out of love, but hate. 
 To turn them hot, and mad, on Liveby's blood ; 
 That done, meet seas again ; I'le be no Isthmus ; 
 But spur their heat, and clap them on the shoulder. 
 For I my selfe first rais'd this bruite of war, 
 For fuel of some new commotion ; 
 Which luckily takes fire betwixt these two. 
 
 SCENA X. 
 Enter by him Amorous and Musitian. Then Morphe. 
 
 Mai. Now Amorous ; you sit in Fortunes lap, 
 Your Mistresse sits in yours ; you spend your dayes 
 In Honour, and Delight. 
 
 Am. I shall the more, 
 If with your liking. 
 
 Mai. Mine? I am your Theme 
 For mirth at Court ; one of your Hobbyhorses : 
 And glad of such preferment ; but I'le dash 
 And poyson your sweet delicates. 
 
 Am. Your hate (£*. Mai. 
 
 Shall not break off my Scene of Love. Stand there. 
 And send thy notes like shafts through Morphe's £are. 
 
 209 
 
Musitian Sings. 
 
 Sweet Morphe lend a feeling eare 
 To the soft straines wherein I hear 
 My soul, and sigh it out to thee 
 Composed of sweeter harmony ; 
 With one kind word or smile 
 Reprive the man a while. 
 Who life doth crave 
 Thy print to save 
 And feares to make his breast, thy Pictures grave. 
 
 Mor. (Above) Why do you trouble both your selfe and me, 
 With such fond circumstance of open wooing ? 
 
 Am. I'm glad at any rate to hear your voice, 
 Though sent in chiding. But my dearest Morphe, 
 I have a businesse to you from the Queen, 
 Besides mine own. 
 
 Mor. This you pretend to wrong me. 
 Though I be loyal, yet my loyalty 
 Ought not to make me Traytor to my selfe. 
 
 Am. If I be false or any way immodest. 
 Accuse and shun me. 
 
 Mor. Shall I then believe you ? 
 
 Am. Adde to that curse a greater if you can. 
 And may it fall upon me. 
 
 Mor. Well, I come. (Mor. descends. 
 
 Am. Now having liberty to act my will. 
 No Law but this vain curse to hold me in, 
 How shall I bear my selfe ? 
 
 Mor. What wills the Queen ? 
 210 
 
Am. She calls you to her company at Court. 
 She wants your privacy ; you likewise want 
 Her publick presence. O you wrong your beauty 
 By shutting such a Jewel from the gaze 
 Of solemne adoration. 
 
 Mor. Pray excuse me ; 
 If I have beauty, let me keep it well. 
 The various Fashions, and new Fancies there, 
 In the opinion of us plainer beauties, 
 Do but Sophisticate the Elements 
 Of native Colour, and distort the lines 
 Of proper figure. What should I do there ? 
 Say I am sickly, as this news hath made me. 
 Farewell Sir Amorous. 
 
 Am. Nay, tis not Modesty 
 But blunt stupidity to part so soon. 
 May I not walk and take you by the arme. 
 And passe a faire discourse ? what hurt in This ? 
 May I not feed my spirits with the aire 
 That fans your cheeks ? lighten mine eye from yours ? 
 Is this immodest ? 
 
 Mor. Hark. 
 
 Am. 'Tis the clash of weapons. 
 
 211 
 
SCENA XL 
 
 Enter Livebyhope persued by Audax and Irato 
 They speed him and pass along. 
 
 Liv. Help Amorous, help. — O — it comes too late. 
 
 Am. Ignoble Swords, and bloody butcherers ! 
 Who would believe that two such Hercules 
 Should joyn against a single Hylas thus. 
 
 It was not manly. Morphe O my life ! (Mor. Sownes. 
 
 This hideous sight hath struck her gentle spirits 
 
 With frighted numnesse. Water, spirits, help. 
 
 Enter Mus. and out again. 
 
 Out strip the wind, fly for a physitian. 
 
 rie rub her Temples, rouze her by the name 
 Which she best knows : Morphe. 
 
 Liv. O I 
 
 Am. Life there appears ; 
 Is there none here ? how should I save them both ? 
 Help there, 'tis but a Sowne. I feele some breath. 
 
 I'le bear her hence. O that my armes might clasp 
 
 Her living thvis, and willing. {Ex. Am. 
 
 ScENA XII. 
 
 Enter Intellectus Agens. 
 
 Int. Hence did thrill 
 
 That peircing noise. What's here ? see false mine eyes ! 
 Poor Liveby slaine ? then for thy Soveraignes favour 
 Thou diedst a Martyr. 
 212 
 
Liv. O, Intellectus help. 
 
 Int. He speaks ; ther's hope of life. If Art can save 
 A thrid so mangled, thus He bear thee to't. 
 Although my breast have \is'd to bear it's burden 
 Within ; and not without. — (Ex. Int. bearing Liv. 
 
 Am. {above) Looke carefully 
 
 Unto your Lady. Let the Physitian 
 
 First speak with me. ^Now to my second loade. 
 
 (He descends. 
 What ? vanish'd ? I have heard of walking ghosts. 
 Never of walking carcasses. Then surely 
 The Murderers have drag'd him hence. His blood 
 Will rise upon their cheekes ; and it shall speak 
 Lowd on my Tongue. 
 
 SCENA XIIL 
 
 Enter by him Fancie in a Turbant, Fuga, after a while 
 Musitian, Desperato. 
 
 Fan. Now in my Turkish Turbant 
 
 I walk to find Sir Amorous in his heaven. 
 Be not so deeply discontented Fuga. 
 
 Fug. Unlesse you cleare me openly, I die. 
 
 Fan. I finde you Amorous somewhat neare your Center. 
 Your Morphe fittest is to be a Queen. 
 I go to waite on her, and fetch her home 
 With me. 
 
 Am. Sweet Soul (that's all she is by this) 
 I cannot tell you in what world she is 
 
 213 
 
Nor where I am my selfe. 
 
 Fan. And why ? 
 
 Am. She's dying, 
 Frighted with such a dismal accident, 
 That when I tell It, I much fear your highnesse 
 Will be as weak as she. 
 
 Fan. Speak, I am arm'd. 
 Where's Livehyhopel 
 
 Am. The same I faine would know : 
 Last when I saw him, he was laid for dead. 
 
 Fan. How dead ? 
 
 Am. Tis so. Just now : not far from hence. 
 Two bloody Villaines, Audax and Irato, 
 Persued and sped him with two mortal wounds. 
 I ran to help ; Morphe felle in a Sownd ; 
 I bore her hence ; mean while his Corps was gone. 
 
 Fan. I am perplext beyond my power of bearing. 
 My arme is lopt, my Kingdom is all tumult, 
 The Passions taking vantage of my Law, 
 Follow their humours to their mutual ruine ; 
 And run like Vessels till they quite run out. 
 
 (Enter Mus. with Desp. Am. seem^s to talk with him. 
 
 Am. Mix some ingredient to excite her Love. 
 Doctor, thou shalt be rich. 
 
 Desp. rie fit you all. 
 Morphe for physick sends, Malevolo 
 Hath purchas'd me long since to give her poyson ; 
 Sir Amorous buyes a Love-pill : I my selfe, 
 Ev'n I, that will be Master in conclusion, 
 Intend to mix them all : then fight confusion. {Ex. Desp. 
 
 214 
 
SCENA XIIII. 
 
 Enter to them Audax and Irato, at length 
 Malevolo secretly. 
 
 Au. Pleases your highnesse to decide by choice. 
 Or leave it to our Swords, who shall be General ? 
 
 Fan. Then I am bound to honour one of them 
 For their good service. Bloodhounds, have ye murder'd 
 One worth you both ? and dare to ask reward 
 Of me ? of me so wrong'd ? So both will joine 
 In mutual revenge, and fall together. 
 Fight for't. 
 
 Ir. Fond Queen, what if our rage proceed. 
 To hew Sir Amorous for telling this. 
 You for distasting? all will be but humour. 
 
 Au. Then give us not occasion to proceed. 
 
 Fan. Proceed, I pray you, do. Lo, here's my breast. 
 Tent it ; to finde the greife which I conceive 
 For Livebys Death, and your more horrid Lives. 
 What, have ye siirfeited with blood ? good Amorous, 
 Do't thou, do't streight : what these refuse as Rebels, 
 Do as a Friend. Kill me, but kill me gently. 
 With some sad straine under this spreading Oake. 
 
 Am. I hope 'twil ease not kill you. Sing of Venus, 
 
 (Musitian Sings. 
 
 Once Venus cheekes that sham'd the morn 
 Their hue let fall; 
 Her lipps, that Winter had out born. 
 In June look'd pale : 
 
 215 
 
Her heat grew cold, her nectar dry, 
 No juyce she had hut in her eye. 
 The wonted fire and flames to mortifie. 
 When was this so dismal sight ? 
 When Adonis bad good night. 
 
 (Ex. Mus. 
 Fan. The same which turn'd her beauty, turns my Fancy, 
 
 Alas poor Liveby. ^What dee mean to thrust ? 
 
 Fie what a presse is here ? stand off ; for I 
 
 Am but a Cloud : your Elbowes peirce me through ; 
 
 Your hot and angry breaths will streight dissolve me. 
 
 (Enter Malevolo secretly. 
 And I shall crack into a showre of Teares. 
 
 Am. Alas she's crak'd indeed, the Queen's distemper'd. 
 Fan. Do you not see, and hear a Lamb there bleating ? 
 Pray kill him not, he bears the head of Liveby. 
 Au, In a mad world what use of place ? what businesse ? 
 Ir. Now had I any anger left, I'd shred 
 That Fidler into Atomes. 
 
 Au. O, I'm struck 
 (Plague on Malevolo that sets us on !) 
 I'm struck at heart with leaden heavinesse. 
 
 Ir. I feele my veins now curdled ; what successe 
 But Horror of this Fact ? 
 
 Mai. I see and hear (Ex. Ir. & Au. 
 
 Enough to grate me. O that plotts well laid 
 Should thus be dash'd and foyld. (Ex. Mai. 
 
 216 
 
SCENA XV. 
 
 Enter Melancholico with a Petition, after him Sir Timerous 
 in mans habit. 
 
 Mel. That naughty Boy 
 
 Hilario hath match'd me to the Divel. 
 
 Hell fiames are in her ; she hath stuck a brand 
 
 *• Into my bones ; I sue for just divorcement. 
 
 Am. Did not you snuffle till you match'd my Daughter ? 
 Peace, or you'l shame your selfe. 
 
 Fan. A pretty Picture, 
 Here's Day and Night united in one peice ; 
 Look here a Swan, look there a foule black Raven. 
 
 Tim. Justice great Queen against a multitude. 
 
 Am. That's hard to be obtain'd. 
 
 Tim. Against Irato, 
 Hilario, Desperato, Audax : 
 Some beat, some cheate, some rob, some ravish me. 
 
 Fan. What saist ? Go on and still that howling kennel. 
 I know you well, for all you are a Tortesse, 
 And have liv'd like a frog in diverse Elements. 
 Of what Gender are you ? Go learn of Proteus 
 How to do tricks. If you be dull and blockish. 
 You must be beaten. Come to me for Justice ? 
 Judge one another, or get you all to Lively. 
 
 Tim. He's in his grave. 
 
 Fan. And therefore get ye to him. 
 
 Tim, No doing's here : I'm gone. 
 
 Mel. And I: but whither? (Ex. Tim. & Mel. 
 
 Fan. No Amorous, Liveby sleeps, but Morpheas dead. 
 
 217 
 
Am. Heaven help you Lady. 
 
 Fan. But I can soon restore her. 
 " Take you the sent of a Travellers toes, 
 " The sneeze of a Sleeper fresh from his nose ; 
 " The fat of a Frier well fed with fasting, 
 " The lean of a Drunkard consum'd with tasting ; 
 " The juyce of a Lemmon thats civil at seasons, 
 " Twelve dancing Capers, ten lunatick Reasons ; 
 " Two dying notes of an ancient Swan, 
 " Three Sighes a thousand years kept if you can: 
 '• Some scrapings of Giges his Ring may passe, 
 «' With the skin of a Shadow caught in a glasse ; 
 " Six penyworth of Thoughts untold, 
 " The jelly of a Star before it be cold ; 
 " One ounce of Courtship from a country-Daughter, 
 " A grain of Wit, and a quart of Laughter. 
 " Boyle these on the Fire of Zeal or of Lust, 
 " With some beech Coales, least the Vessel burst. 
 If you can get these Ingredients, He compound them for you. 
 Then when she is perfectly recovered, she shall be married 
 In a rich cloth of Rainbow lac'd with Sun-beames. 
 
 Am. I hope Desperato hath given her other Physick. 
 
 Fan. Desperato ? is he her Physitian ? 
 Since hope is dead, we all must to despair. 
 
 218 
 
SCENA XVI. 
 
 Enter Model bringing a message. 
 
 Mod. Pardon the messenger if he relate 
 What he could wish were false. Morphe once was : 
 But after physick brought by Desperato, 
 Raging and crying Amorous, She died. 
 
 Fan. Lo now, believe your Cybill next. 
 
 Am. If madness (Ex. Fan. Fug. Mod. 
 
 Be now so near allied to prophecy, 
 I shall grow Prophet too. What angry Star 
 Thus frownes on all the Passions, most on me ? 
 Ere since Prudentius dayes, we onely toil'd 
 In wretched mazes of confusion, 
 Mischeif, and discontent. I have not pass'd 
 One hour in those delights whereof I dream't ; 
 And now the object of my happinesse 
 Is clean extinct. But how ? O there's the torment ! 
 My torment's doubled through my selfe the cause. 
 Curs'd be my heedlesse Love, which not content 
 With likely hopes, with honest wayes of wooing. 
 The wayes to long injojnng, headlong ran 
 To arts forbid. She had such Innocence 
 Ev'n in her body. Temper so unforc'd. 
 That violent mixtures tending but to Love 
 To her were poysons. Yet methinks, sometimes, 
 There's Death in Desperato' s looks ; perchance 
 He's divel in his dumps, as I in lust. 
 Where shall we finde the bottom of our woe, 
 Who but on Passion have no ground to go ! {Ex. Am. 
 
 Finis Actus IIII. 
 
 219 
 
Actus V. Scena I. 
 
 The Scene turnes to the house of Despair. A Table there laid 
 
 Enter Desperato. 
 
 Desp. Grow blacker yet my thoughts, grow blacker yet : 
 Your Plummets have not fadom'd the full depth 
 Of Passions misery. I have invited them ; 
 But I must chang their Cheere ; and make it stronger 
 Then food and bare discourse. I onely live 
 For others death, and then I'le fill the heap 
 With mine own ruine : rather with mine ease : 
 For now the Passions flow like shoales of Fish 
 Into my net ; they sue to me for Counsel ; 
 Ev'n to me ; whose joy is in their death. 
 Just so the fearful Deere persu'd with dogs, 
 Flies to the keepers lodg, a surer Fate. 
 To poyson is dull art ; my selfe am sorry 
 For doing ill so poorly ; my design 
 Is now more glorious ; for I'le make them act 
 Their death upon themselves, and thank me for't 
 Amidst their groanings. There have been with me 
 Fancie herselfe, distracted for her Liveby ; 
 Irato, Audax for massacring him ; 
 Sir Timerous and Fuga for impatience 
 Of their abuse. Unlesse Recorder Memor 
 Skil'd in the Law, have wayes to scape my Noose, 
 I doubt of none. I've bid them to a Feast, 
 But such a one, as Tantalus would shun ; 
 WTiere I shall feed on all the guests that come. 
 
 220 
 
SCENA II. 
 
 Enter Sir Amorous. 
 
 Am. Black Desperato, did I lay two thrids 
 Upon thy spindle ? hast thou cut them both, 
 Morphe's and mine? 
 
 Desp. Why Sir, I mix'd your Philtre. 
 
 Am. She lives not me to love nor to be lov'd. 
 Didst thou mix nothing else ? 
 
 Desp. You know sometimes 
 That Death and Cupid do mistake their shaftes : 
 Had I mix'd Poyson too and serv'd two humours, 
 Both mine and yours, it might be well digested. 
 
 Am. If I had not a dear request unto thee, 
 To give me of the same, I would exact 
 Thy life for hers, however it was spilt. 
 
 Desp. If I had not designed to kill some others 
 Out of meer kindnesse, thou shoulst try my skill 
 Of letting blood as well as giving physick. 
 But since I owe thee kindnesse out of hate. 
 Come to my Banquet, thou shalt have thy sawce. 
 There thou shalt meet thy friend Malevolo, 
 Who shar'd in this, and gave as much for Poyson 
 As you did for your Philtre. I dealt honestly, 
 And pleasur'd Both. Come, thou shalt have thy sawce. 
 
 Am. Divel, I thank thee. — (Ex. Am. 
 
 221 
 
SCENA III. 
 
 Enter Malevolo. 
 
 Desp, Now Malevolo. 
 
 Mai. To hate was still my hony : But this gall 
 Of being hated totally of all, 
 I cannot bear : for now I cannot hurt, 
 Having no Credit. Give me from thy store 
 A dram of Poyson. I have been thy friend, 
 Let it be strong. 
 
 Desp. First shake hands you must 
 With all the Passions, or at least make shew 
 Of formal reconcilement : stay a while. 
 My Guests and Cheer are coming. 
 
 ScENA IIII. 
 Enter to them Irato, Audax. 
 
 Ir. Have we found 
 
 This monster here ? we'l send thy ugly soul 
 Unto her fellow Feinds for tempting us. 
 
 Mai. I prompted you to kill. Were not you ready 
 To do as bad as I could say ? Meane while 
 I tum'd you from destroying one another. 
 
 Au. Twas for thine owne black Ends. 
 
 Mai. And say it was : 
 Might not I hate, as well as you might kill ? 
 My hxunour was as lawful. 
 222 
 
Au. Hadst thou kept it 
 Home to thy selfe. 
 
 Mai. I labour not excuse, 
 But accusation of your equal Crimes. 
 
 Desp. He sayes the right ; and hospitality 
 Doth now require, ye should deferr your Broyles. (Ex. Desp. 
 
 SCENA V. 
 
 Enter to them Fancie in the Tiremans Coronet, hair disheveld, 
 in black and Silver habit. Fuga, Amorous, Timerous. 
 
 Fan. Sir, here's a Crown, (and tis the worth of mine ) 
 Not to be match'd in all the globe of heaven. 
 Now shall I feed upon Ambrosia 
 Most divelishly. What gods are these two Mars-es ? 
 
 Am. Hell is broke loose ; here are more Feinds then two. 
 
 Fug. It shames me to look up ; through griefe I cannot. 
 
 Tim. Wud I could die a sleep in some darke hole 
 Unknown unto my selfe and all the world. 
 
 Am. Malevoh th' art damn'd. 
 
 Mai. How know you that ? 
 
 Am. And thou must sinke to hell now instantly 
 For killing Morphe. Thou shalt drink the same 
 That very Poysofi. 
 
 Mai. Wei, so you'l begin. 
 
 223 
 
SCENA. VI. 
 
 Enter Hilario before Melancholico and Concupiscence, 
 brought in a Sedan. 
 
 Hil. Now Sister you are right : now you can snuffle. 
 " As well as Melancholico. Care of fiction 
 " With help of somewhat else hath brought perfection. 
 " None come in Pomp but you : weaknesse is stately. 
 " Twere brave if these two beasts that draw without 
 " And these two rotten carcasses within 
 " Made it not look so Cart -like. My clean couple, 
 If you would be divorc'd, there's none can do't 
 Like Desperato ; he can seperate 
 At a world's distance ; that ye ner'e shall meet 
 To clamour me or others, or your selves. 
 
 " Fan. A pretty kinde of Coach ; one horse before 
 " And one behinde ! 
 
 Am. Horses ? why, these are Men. 
 
 Fan. I see it now ; it is the glass-mans pack. 
 " Have you good choice of Glasses, made in Figure 
 " Of Gims and Trumpets, or of Rats and Owles? 
 " Last time I saw the like, I bid a Gallant 
 " Begin a health, and after break his glasse : 
 " So did the rest ; but do not do so now, 
 " Least for a Glasse some should mistake a Lady. 
 
 " Hil. Femals are Venice mettle. 
 
 Am, These sad men 
 Use to be sumptuous in their Feasts. 
 
 Hil. And witty. 
 
 Tim. I fear 'twill be too great. 
 224 
 
Ir. Too tedious. 
 
 Au. Wellcome and bold I'le be. 
 
 SCENA VII. 
 Enter Desperato before his banquet served in covered dishes. 
 
 Desp, Aerious Queen, 
 
 Here are no Phcenix eggs ; had nature any, 
 
 You should have some : and eggs sublim'd with Amber 
 
 I thought too mean. I have not now selected 
 
 Rare filling meats, but rarely physical, 
 
 And swiftly curing all the maladies 
 
 Which time can throw upon the face of man. 
 
 Elach dish containes a general remedy, 
 
 Beyond th' Elixir, or the golden Liquour, 
 
 Though it were drunk in th' Antimonial Cup. 
 
 Open and try. 
 
 Am. What's here ? Knives, Bodkins, Daggers ? 
 
 Mai. Ropes, silken, hairy, hempen ? 
 
 Tim. Little papers. 
 Of witty, loving, raging, sleeping poysons ? 
 
 Desp. There's Wine to temper them. 
 
 Hil. So, where's the Wine ? 
 I still come somewhat merry to a Feast, 
 And still go merrier back. This is my messe : 
 All this to all. 
 
 Fan. Is this our entertainment ? 
 
 Desp. Could Art invent, or Wealth procure you better ? 
 The Greatest, Wisest, Stoutest and the fairest 
 
 p 225 
 
Have chose these Gates to relish their last palats : 
 
 Have you not heard of Mithridates, Cato, 
 
 Of Hannibal, and Cleopatra ? These, 
 
 These gods on earth have travl'd to their home 
 
 With such provision. Tast. One tast of these 
 
 Forever frees from Hunger, Thirst, Want, Griefe : 
 
 These are receites for immortality. 
 
 Tim. But through a mortal way. 
 
 Desp. That sleeping Dos 
 Will steal thy fearful soul insensibly. 
 
 Tim. Then that shall bear me hoodwink'd unto Lethe; 
 There I'le forget my wrongs. 
 
 Hil. Manners however ; 
 First let the Queen begin. I broke that Rule 
 
 My selfe, and therefore mum. Well danc'd yond 
 
 Scaffold. (He falls into a chaire, 
 
 Desp. These things the most of you desir'd ; All want ; 
 Y'are wellcome all. 
 
 Hil. No, no more I thank you. 
 
 Desp, Death to the wretched soul as needful is, 
 As sleep unto the w^eary. Why should men 
 Condemnd to misery thus toile to mend 
 Their Fates which cannot alter ? 
 
 Hil. This Desperato, 
 What a gift he has ! he never was at th' University ; 
 Never took Orders, and yet lectures as good Divinity 
 As commonly we finde in most Dutch Systems 
 Or City-conventicles. 
 
 Desp. Pleases your Highnesse 
 To chuse and give the signal, that we all 
 226 
 
May waite upon your dying. 
 
 Fan, Reach me then 
 The witty poyson. 
 
 Am. Me the loving mixt ; 
 That when I die, embracing her Idea, 
 My Soul may keep that print, and bear from hence 
 A heaven within me. He that stript of flesh 
 And lust still loves, will shew true love indeed. 
 But you Malevolo shall take my part. 
 
 Mel. My place in heaven is sure ; what need I hast ? 
 Yes, 'cause I live in hell. 
 
 Desp. Then take these banes 
 Mentioned before. 
 
 Hil. Do ; as good he poyson thee 
 As thou else drown thy selfe. 
 
 Mel. Poyson I have too much 
 Aheady, and in vain. Reach me your halter. 
 
 Hil, Hoh hoh hoh ; a halter ? a dagger, he's so rotten, 
 He'l ne're hold hanging. Now for my part, sleep 
 Kills me sufficiently ; He die before hand. 
 
 Cone. In lust I liv'd with man ; to kill that sin 
 Lend me that ponyard, so I'le manly die. 
 
 Fug. This Bodkin is my husband ; this alone 
 Shall know my flesh, and finde I was a Virgin. 
 
 Au, Come joyn Irato, as we liv'd lets hang. 
 Two nooses and one rope will serve us both. 
 
 Ir. Tis a dogs death, and therefore not unfit. 
 
 Hil. Hoh hoh hoh. 
 
 Mai. Choice I neglect, whatever can dispatch 
 Loath'd life is sweet. My hate would faine turn home, 
 
 227 
 
But cannot : Still me thinks I feele content 
 
 In seeing such a fruitful race of mischeife, 
 
 Because it sprung from me. If Fancies madnesse 
 
 Had not unhing'd the course of my design, 
 
 And brought remedilesse confusion 
 
 On all the Passions here at once ; unseen 
 
 Beloved and honor'd, I with Art and Pleasure 
 
 Had done what Desperato does by chance. 
 
 He onely held the Net ; I hunted in 
 
 The store of game : The praise is mine. And now 
 
 I die not with remorse of hate, but want 
 
 Of objects to be hated. Thus the worme 
 
 Having consum'd the Orb wherein It liv'd. 
 
 Doth lastly turn its hunger on it selfe. 
 
 Should I survive I could not finde more work, 
 
 Unlesse I leam'd to pitty what is done. 
 
 That's worse then death. 
 
 Desp. When I have rid you all. 
 If I slink off let all the world besides 
 Fling stones. In such good company to fall, 
 Must needs be lightsome. And before our death 
 A Hymne is necessary. Then sing good Fellow. 
 
 An Attendant sings in a base. 
 Come heavy souls oppressed with the voeight 
 Of Crimes, or Pangs, or want of your delight, 
 Come drown in Lethe's sleepy lake 
 Whatever makes you ake. 
 Drink health from poyson'd bowles, 
 Breathe out your cares together with your souls. 
 228 
 
Cool Death*s a salve 
 Which all may have 
 There's no distinction in the grave ; 
 Lay down your loads before deaths iron dore. 
 Sigh, and sigh out, groan once, and groan no more. 
 
 SCENA VIII. 
 
 Enter towards the end of the song Intellectus Agens with a 
 hook. Livebyhope and Morphe. 
 
 Au. Ha ! thou cotn'st to challeng : but thou art spirit, 
 I cannot wound thee. Stay some few short minutes, 
 Till I have quite undress'd me of my flesh ; 
 And stand on equal termes, then I will fight. 
 Else if thou canst, kill me ; and take my flesh ; 
 Then I'le kill thee again. Thus o're and o're 
 We'l kill each other and be ghosts by turnes. 
 
 Ir. My anger is not high : I onely guess 
 He comes to shew the way to following ghosts. 
 
 Fan. I gave him once a house, my most remote. 
 Perchance 'tis in Elysium, he invites me. 
 
 Am. But Morphe stands as if she bid me come 
 Like a clear spirit fitly to salute her. 
 
 Mai. Why should that sight fling Ice into this heart ? 
 
 Tim. and Fug. O horrid ! 
 
 Desp. Come what will, I can but die. 
 
 Mai. Hath this shrewd Scholer conjur'd up these ghosts ? 
 
 Int. I see you are amazd ; the snares of death 
 Are tangled on your hands : you think these sights 
 A pair of ghosts ; feel, and when you feel them 
 
 229 
 
True flesh, alive and warme, next you must know 
 They are a token sent from Prudentius. 
 
 Am. How ? from Prudentius ? hath he rais'd the dead 
 And wretched both at once ? and sent me Morphe ? 
 
 Fan, And giv'n me hope again ? a dainty show, 
 Who'ere contriv'd it. 
 
 Am. Be thou shade or substance, 
 Since thou appear'st in such a lovely shap, 
 My soul He mingle with thine airy hand, 
 And strive to suck from thence the hated poyson. 
 But soft, I may do rashly. 
 
 Int. Know once more. 
 These are not ghosts, nor ever were ; but live 
 Preserv'd with care, and sent with love from him. 
 Whom ye refus'd, yovu: King Prudentius. 
 
 Am. By heav'n, true flesh and warme. 
 
 Fan. Why speakes not Hope 
 If he have breath ? 
 
 Ir. Speak : free us from thy blood. 
 For which we have been angry with our selves. 
 
 Au. Speak, if thou canst, thou must. 
 
 Liv. I fear'd to startle. 
 Unsettled heads with unexpected speech. 
 High Mistresse, your distracted griefe for me 
 Had almost kill'd me when I was recover'd. 
 
 Fan. I am recover'd by this voice. Then tell me 
 Thy preservation. 
 
 Liv. Audax and Irato 
 Know how they left me. 
 
 Au. Kill us for amends : 
 230 
 
Liv. Alas your death's would profit me no more 
 Then mine could you : but gracious Intellectus 
 Found and releiv'd me, while Sir Amorous 
 Carri'd in Morphe. 
 
 Int. Him I took up gasping 
 Temper'd like Ice before it thaw and crack, 
 In such a glimmering state of doubtful life 
 As Candles have before they blaze and vanish. 
 
 Mai. These ropes will all be mine. 
 
 Int. And her I sav'd 
 By looking on her mixt and poysnous physick. 
 The simples I extracted, and gave out 
 The same efiect which likely would have foUow'd. 
 
 Am. Pardon my fault, I nothing mixt but love. 
 Those villaines added poison. 
 
 Mor. Heav'n forgive 
 As I forgive you all. 
 
 Am. Give me some poyson. (Int. Liv. and Mor, stay him. 
 You stay me too ! 
 
 Mor. Although I love thee not 
 Beyond an honest man, I cannot see 
 Thee die neglected. 
 
 Hil. What a coile is here 
 With ghosts ? I cannot take my rest for ghosts. 
 People, y'ar wellcome to this world. How fare 
 My fellow sleepers, ghosts, your Countrymen. 
 
 Int. Thank not my care for this, but thank Prudentius ; 
 Ask not what Genius sent me to releive 
 Expiring Hope, it was Prudentius : 
 Ask not what star compell'd my timely visit 
 
 231 
 
Of Morphe poyson-trap'd, it was Prudentius. 
 
 From him proceeds their preservation ; 
 
 And yours in them. Snatch'd from the jawes of death 
 
 As lights blown in again you live through him. 
 
 This is your cast-away, your drosse, Prudentius. 
 
 Ir. I think we wrong'd him in our heedlesse anger. 
 
 Au. And yet his love seems payment for desert. 
 
 Fan. How shall I rule this craz'd and tottring State ? 
 
 Mai. I smell in what half point the wind is turning. 
 One breath will carry all the Passions 
 Back to Prudentius sailes. Now for a fetch. 
 Well, I'le prevent them all. Call back Prudentius, (alowde. 
 Let's sue to him for grace. 
 
 Au. Call back Prudentius. (alowde. 
 
 Mat. Tis quickly done. If this way lead to peace 
 I opend it ; but still I would stand safer. 
 Audax, you have a Drum. Now do not you 
 And Lord Irato end your businesse sneaking. 
 
 Fan. Liveby you kept the Crownes : go with him Amorous, 
 Carry his own : I ne're esteem'd the Golden. 
 I can be Queen alone, and govern subjects 
 Of mine own making ; more then Kings can muster 
 Or Earth bring forth. 
 
 Am. I'le take Recorder Memor 
 To lay our sute in form. Then on our knees 
 We'l beg to serve him so, ev'n so forever. 
 
 Hil. Come, to our old new Sun. 
 
 Int. He's in his Court ; 
 And now me thinks his presence guilds the walls. 
 
 (Ex. Int. Liv. Am, 
 232 
 
Mel, Though weak we'l go along. 
 
 Cone, Weake legs can kneel. 
 
 Desp. This peice of mine own banquet He assume 
 And walk in penance of a solemn halter. (Ex. Om. praeter Mai. 
 
 Mai. He go some neerer way, and recompence 
 My forward breach with much more forward duty. 
 For this Event spun out by Intellectus 
 Makes me think honesty may weigh with cunning. 
 Some sheep, some Fox will make a perfect man. 
 Howe're, me thinkes, these Sword-men might compoimd 
 Our Peace in Armes, and plead with violence. 
 
 SCENA IX. 
 The Scene returns to Prudentius his Court. 
 Enter one way Prudentius, Memor with the Crown, Intellectus, 
 Livebyhope, Amorous with the Sword. By another way 
 Malevolo soon after, 
 
 Mem. Without a Seizin no possession. 
 Your Crown is undefil'd, untouch'd. 
 
 Pru. Place thou 
 The world in my ballance, place in theirs 
 All Levity, then weigh them both. Next tell me 
 How ended those commotions vrhich arose 
 Betwixt the third King Henry and his Rebells ? 
 
 Mem. He sentenc'd his Metropolis to flames 
 Their goods to his Exchequer, and their lives 
 
 Pru, No more. Should I do so ? do not I know 
 
 What doomes have pass'd upon untrusty Lawyers ? 
 
 233 
 
Mem. I Sink before your mercy, be't like Henries. 
 
 Mai. Kneeling is but a Subjects Complement. 
 I sink. 
 
 Am. And I. (a Drum. 
 
 Mai. We might have stay'd to hear 
 What means this Drum. 
 
 SCENA X. 
 Enter Irato, Audax. 
 
 Au. We have descri'd a Fleet ; 
 
 And therefore call'd to armes. 
 
 Ir. Submissively 
 We prostrate our repentance with a sute, 
 That I and Audax may decide in Duel, 
 Who shall be sacrific'd for both to justice, 
 And the Surviver may be General. 
 
 Pru. The Fleet which you suspect, is your defence ; 
 Unknown to you I sent it forth to guard 
 This Island from the dangers you have call'd, 
 By Tumult, Lust, Debate, and Discontent. 
 As for your Duel, 'tis a Savadgfury 
 By us forbid. But you have lately tri'd 
 A new found Duel, (was it honourable ?) 
 Two upon one : Or was it Captain-like 
 To kill a friend ? In any likely way 
 Hope would have further'd Audax : but when boldnesse 
 Growes impudent it turns a foe to Hope. 
 
 234 
 
SCENA XL 
 
 Enter Fancie, Fuga, Hilario, Timerous, Melancholico and 
 Concupiscence. Soon after Desperate. 
 
 Fan. King of Affections. — 
 
 Pru. Queen of Inventions. — 
 
 Fan. Unlesse you think your selfe beholding to me 
 You are not fit to be my King. The Passions 
 I have so suffer'd in absurdity, 
 That now they beg your reign which they shook off. 
 
 Hil. I see there is some mirth in misery. 
 
 Fan. I kneel unto your grace to use me so, 
 As one that hath been Queen, and yet no Queen, 
 Rather a shew then Soveraign. I walk'd 
 But in mock majesty. Say it were true, 
 I sought it not, and what is worth a taking 
 If not a Kingdom ? 
 
 Hil. Down my frolic joynts. 
 Kneeling is now in fashion. Down, down Fuga ; 
 Concupiscence and Melancholico 
 Favour your selves with kneeling. 
 
 Mel. I kneel not 
 To thee, but to thy power ; I kneel to thee 
 But not adore thee. 
 
 Cone. Pardon. 
 
 Enter Desperato. 
 
 Desp. Thus attir'd 
 
 I wear my sentence. Sir, I can but offer 
 
 That power of doome which I my selfe might take. 
 
 Pru. If you ask pardon, ask it of your Prince ; 
 
 235 
 
For I nor am, nor will be. 
 
 Au. Royal Sir, 
 Why have you giv'n us lives, if not to take 
 Or to preserve them ? 
 
 Am. Hope, speak for us Hope. 
 
 Liv. Be pleas'd thou god on earth. 
 
 Int. I likewise joyn 
 In this request. 
 
 Pru. He send them Epimetheus, 
 My Brother Afterwit ; and he shall rule them. 
 Those fooles whom Prudence cannot prerestrain, 
 The lash of Afterwit brings home again. 
 
 Au. We'l die upon this place. 
 
 Mai. And each man turn 
 To his own grave. 
 
 Pru. Do, and do not burden 
 Me with new cares for new Rebellion. 
 
 Au. We grone unto you ? 
 
 Pru. Why ? for here are many 
 That would be Kings. Amorous, this gay thing, 
 
 (He offers about his crown. 
 Which overlookes a Kingdom, may command 
 All choice of pleasure : take it for that use. 
 No ? then Malevolo to devour your flock, 
 T'ingrosse the Elements, and let none breath 
 That may resist, and onely spare a few 
 That may for fear do service, is't not glorious ? 
 Work with this Engine. No ? are you grown modest ? 
 Then Desperato, what a life it is 
 To have the power of hanging, or of causing 
 236 
 
Some to prevent the gallowes in their prison. 
 What, hang your head so dully at a Crown. 
 
 Hil. This is to offer Sallets unto dogs. 
 
 Pru. Irato, anger is a Kings perfection 
 As roaring is the Lions. When his eye 
 Darts lighting, when he snaps his dagger hard 
 Cries hah and starts, doth he not then seem godlike, 
 And well deserve the name of Thunderer ? 
 Be thou that Jove. Not you ? Then Captain Audax. 
 You took great pains to win, now weare this Crown. 
 
 Au. Any but yours I would. 
 
 Pru. Could ye get Crownes 
 Abroad as soon as pull off one at home, 
 Ye should be Kings or Deputies all over. 
 Now there can be but one : wopJd that be Memor ? 
 
 Mem, In all records I finde no Lawyer Crown'd. 
 
 Hil. A Lawyer needs it not : to pen the Law, 
 And then interpret is as much as making. 
 
 Pru. Fcmcie you must be troubled once again 
 With this bright loade. 
 
 Fan. I loath'd it at the first. 
 Grant me the Soveraignty of changing fashions. 
 Promotion of new Projects, leave to weare 
 Such Coronets as these, I ask no more. 
 
 Pru. When I am King, be this thy Royalty. 
 Poor Diadem, since here thou canst not get 
 A Master, lye thou there for the next commer. 
 
 Or sink into thy Oare. ^None stoop to take thee ? 
 
 What all refuse, I, once refus'd of all. 
 Am fit to wear. 
 
 237 
 
All. Long live Prudentius. (Int. & Liv. Crown him. 
 
 Pru. Then once more chain'd in Gold, He bear your burden. 
 Henceforth to awe your folly, be assur'd, 
 None of yowc crooked actions words or lookes 
 Hath scap'd my notice. They came fresh unto me 
 With tongues of spirits : But He leave the chiding 
 To your own Conscience. Now, thus reconcil'd, 
 rie pardon your deserts, cannot reward them. 
 If you expect in sign of peace some matches 
 You are deceiv'd. Amorous shall not wed 
 Morphe, without a faire probation. 
 And Timerous I forbid ; such must not marry 
 As have no mettle, least they spoile their race. 
 But Melancolico and Concupiscence 
 Shall keep their state ; i'th'suburbs, or new-England. 
 Now rise. For shew of future correspondence. 
 Rank your selves friendly with your opposites. 
 
 Ant. I live not by my line of life, but yours. 
 
 Mai. Love is a willing Passion, full of sweetnesse. 
 But not so serviceable as loyal hate ; 
 This loves with zeal and with comparison. 
 Works against all for one ; to serve your State 
 Let others love, whilst I for you shall hate ; 
 My selfe, if that you please ; and others so. 
 That hate with vertue hand in hand shall go. 
 
 Pru. Tis well, tis very well. Live as you look, 
 Irato beare the Sword : I'le view them all. 
 Thus betwixt love of good, and hate of ill. 
 With flight of this, and chast desire of that. 
 With sadnesse to be wise, joy for good ends, 
 238 
 
Boldnesse for just attemps, Feare of unfit ; 
 
 Hope for true peace, despair of nothing lesse 
 
 Then meer Impossibilities, we'l walk 
 
 To Immortality upon those lines 
 
 Which a wise Princes breast nought else defines. 
 
 {Exeunt Omnes, 
 
 A SCHEME OF 
 
 POSTURE. 
 
 Prudent 
 
 ius 
 
 Fancie 
 
 
 Intellectus 
 Memor 
 
 Amorous 
 
 
 Malevolo 
 
 Concupiscence 
 
 
 Fuga 
 
 Hilario 
 
 
 Melancolico 
 
 Audax 5" 
 
 Timerous 
 
 Livehyhope S 
 
 ^ 
 
 Desperato 
 
 After the musick ended, the Island appearing Setled. 
 
 ENTER THE EPILOGE. TO HIS MAJESTY. 
 
 BY this short Model of self-policy. 
 
 We find what use of Outward Soveraignty, 
 
 The Isle is setled, rage of Passions laid. 
 
 And Phancy stoopes to Prudence. Things so staid. 
 
 Our Scene which was but Fiction now is true ; 
 
 No King so much Prudentius as you : 
 
 Whose Rule is Reason, Throne the heart ; And now 
 
 No souls so Passionate as we ; that bow 
 
 239 
 
Both with the weight of Duty and of Debt. 
 Henceforth our hearts all motion shall forget 
 But yours. Your Rule alone is fit to sway ; 
 Yet we no lesse your benefits obey, 
 Twixt both, our loyalty will nameless prove ; 
 That makes it Vertue, these will have it Love. 
 
 TO THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 THE Isle is setled. Rage of Passions laid 
 Phancy to Prudence bowes. Let all be staid 
 In your Acceptance too, and then each breast 
 Will cease its Floating, and as firmly rest 
 As doth our Scene. One Passion still would prove 
 An Actor when the Scene is shut. Our Love, 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 240 
 
ADDITIONAL NOTES 
 
 ETCETERA 
 
I 
 
 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO 
 THE POEMS 
 
 [For many of the foUowiiig notes I have to thank my friends, 
 Mr. Percy Simpson and Mr. Thorn Drury.] 
 
 Page 2. In Commendation of Music. This song was printed 
 in " Parnassus Biceps," but the text, as there given, 
 is very defective. It is found also in " Academy 
 of Compliments," 1670, and perhaps in the earlier 
 editions of that book. 
 
 Page 3. Song. This song appears in " Wits Interpreter," 
 1655 : Pembroke and Rudyard's Poems : Lawes' 
 "Ayres and Dialogues": and "Westminster 
 Drollery." 
 
 Page 6. A Song on a Sigh. This was printed in " Wit 
 Restor'd." The text there given is in most cases 
 inferior to that of ray manuscripts: but there are 
 two variations that should be recorded. In stanza 3, 
 lines 5, 6, the printed version reads : 
 
 The angry sway of whose behest 
 Makes hearth and bellowes of one brest. 
 
 243 
 
In stanza 6, lines 5, 6, the reading is : 
 
 Though not one soule our bodies joyne 
 Our bodies shall oiu- soules combine. 
 
 Page 13. Song. This was printed in the Gentleman's Maga- 
 zine, July 1823. I do not think it had ever been 
 printed before that time. 
 
 Page 22. Lines 6, 7. It is, of course, the giant Briareus 
 who is here alluded to. 
 
 Page 25. On Fayrford Windowes. This poem has sometimes 
 been attributed to Bishop Corbet ; but the evi- 
 dence in favour of Strode's authorship is, I think, 
 conclusive. Corbet wrote a poem on the same 
 subject ; but it is much inferior to Strode's. 
 
 I believe it is now generally admitted that the 
 artist who designed the windows was named Aps 
 or Apes : at all events it is not now considered 
 possible that Durer could have designed them. 
 
 Page 27. Line 15. 'At Momus wish.' The reference is to 
 Lucian's Hermotimus, ch. 20, where Momus, the 
 personification of fault-finding, has to decide a 
 contest in skill between Athena, who has made 
 a horse, Poseidon, who has made a bull, and 
 Hephaestus, who has made a man. He criticised 
 Hephaestus severely "because he had not made 
 windows in the man's breast, that by opening 
 these anybody could see clearly his wishes or 
 thoughts, and his truth or untruth." 
 
 Page 28. On a Gentlewoman's Blistred Lipp. Line 8. Seize 
 =size. Line 11. ' Doth any judge that face more 
 
 244 
 
fayre ' is the reading of two MSS. in my possession : 
 'less fayre' is the reading of the "Parnassus 
 Biceps " version. There are many other variations 
 in the latter version: but they are all, I think, 
 inferior to the readings I have given. 
 Page 29. To a Gentlewoman for a Friend. Line i. Perhaps 
 we should read ' Sunne-bright eye ' instead of 
 ' Sunnes bright eye.' 
 
 Page 33. Ore a Dissembler. This poem is printed in " Wit 
 Restor'd." The text, as there given, is very de- 
 fective ; but it may be noted that in the seven- 
 teenth line we have ' breathe ' instead of * see ' ; 
 and in line 29 the reading is 'guilty' not 'guilded.' 
 
 Page 38. A Watch Sent Home. This poem is printed in 
 " The Academy of Compliments," 1670, and also 
 in " Wits Recreations." 
 
 Page 39. On a Gentlewoman, &c. Line 7. ' To keepe lesse 
 noise at Nile.' An allusion to the cataract near 
 Syene, referred to in Macrobius, Somnium Scipionis, 
 2, 4, section 14. 
 
 Page 42. To a Valentine. This was printed in "The Academy 
 of Compliments." 
 
 Page 43. Posies. A few of these " Posies " were printed in 
 " Wits Interpreter," 1655. Some are found in Pem- 
 broke and Rudyard's Poems. 
 
 Page 46. On the Picture of Two Dolphins. This poem is 
 printed in Pembroke and Rudyard's Poems, 1660. 
 
 Page 47. Sonneit. This poem is printed in " The Academy 
 of Compliments," and also in" Wits Recreations." 
 
 245 
 
Page 48. A Lover to his Mistresse, This poem was printed 
 in the Gentleman's Magazine, July 1823. 
 
 Page 49. On a Gentlewoman. This poem appears in " Par- 
 nassus Biceps " and •' Wits Interpreter." 
 
 Page 50. Of Death and Resurrection. In the Rev. John 
 Hannah's edition of Bishop King's "Poems and 
 Psalmns," 1843, ^Uthe known pieces written upon 
 this model are quoted. There are nine poems in 
 all: though Dr. Hannah seems to think that 
 Strode's consists of two separate poems. His text 
 agrees with mine, except that in the third line of 
 the second stanza his version runs thus : 
 Or like a shade on Athaz watch. 
 
 Page 51. On the Bible. This poem is printed in "Par- 
 nassus Biceps." 
 
 Page 53. Lines i, 2. 
 
 By mee the Welchman well may bring 
 Himselfe to Heaven in a string. 
 This is a very curious passage, and it is dif&cidt to 
 sees its precise meaning. But probably it means 
 only that even a dishonest person (and Welchmen 
 had then, no doubt undeservedly, an evil reputa- 
 tion) might, by diligent study of the Scriptures, 
 be induced to abandon his vicious practices. 
 
 Page 55. On the Life of Man. Mr. A. H. Bullen informs 
 me that this poem is found in Gibbons' "First 
 Set of Madrigals," 1612, and therefore it cannot 
 have been written by Strode. 
 
 Page 58. On the Death of Mistresse Mary Prideaux. The 
 
 246 
 
subject of this elegy was, no doubt, the daughter 
 of Dr. John Prideaux, afterwards Bishop of Wor- 
 cester. He was a person of considerable eminence 
 in his day. He was born in 1578 : was rector of 
 Exeter College, 1613-42 : vice-chancellor of Oxford 
 University at various periods : and became Bishop 
 of Worcester in 1641 : died 1650. He suffered 
 many bereavements in his private life. In " Mu- 
 sarum Delicise," page 107 (Hotten's reprint), there 
 is *' An Epitaph upon Doctor Prideaux's Son." It 
 is as follows : 
 
 Here lyes his Parents hopes and fears, 
 Once all their joyes, now all their tears. 
 He's now past sence, past fear of paine, 
 'Twere sin to wish him here againe. 
 Had it liv'd to have been a Man, 
 This Inch had grown but to a Span ; 
 And now he takes up the lesse room, 
 Rock'd from his Cradle to his Tomb. 
 'Tis better dye a child, at four. 
 Than live and dye so at fourscore. 
 View but the way by which we come, 
 Thou'lt say, he's best, that's first at home. 
 
 Considering the strong resemblances which this 
 elegy bears to the elegies on Mary Prideaux, it is 
 hardly possible to doubt that it also is by Strode. 
 In William Browne's works (Muses Library edi- 
 tion, vol. 2, p. 287) there is an elegy on another 
 child of Dr. Prideaux. 
 
 247 
 
248 
 
 On Mrs. Anne Prideaux, Daughter of Mr. 
 Doctor Prideaux, Regius Professor. 
 She died at the age of six years. 
 Nature in this small volume was about 
 To perfect what in woman was left out ; 
 Yet fearful lest a piece so well begun 
 Might want preservatives, when she had done. 
 Ere she could finish what she undertook. 
 Threw dust upon it, and shut up the book. 
 
 Browne has also an elegy "On a Twin at two 
 years old dead of a consumption," and this, I sus- 
 pect, was written upon another of Dr. Prideaux's 
 children, since the author alludes in it to 
 
 Two fair sisters, sweet and young. 
 Minded as a prophet's tongue 
 Thou hadst kill'd— 
 
 whom I take to have been Mary and Anne 
 Prideaux. 
 
 Although Browne nowhere refers to Strode, nor 
 Strode to Browne (so far as I can discover) they 
 must have been well acquainted. Browne was by 
 about ten years the senior of Strode, but they were 
 both Devonshire men, and both were educated at 
 Oxford. Both, as we have seen, were friends of 
 Dr. Prideaux. Browne also, like Strode, wrote an 
 elegy upon Richard Fishborne. 
 
 The following "Epitaph" came to hand too 
 late to be inserted in its proper place in the text, 
 and is therefore printed here : 
 
Epitaph 
 Keepe well this sacred Pawne, thou bed of stone, 
 For thou must render it a saint ; each bone 
 Shall bee requir'd, the very shrowd shall rise 
 Turn'd to a robe of light. Spend not your eyes, 
 Ye that lov'd her and vertue ; though the mold 
 Contain them both, though charity grow cold 
 Since shee is soe, yet know that after sleepe 
 She'el rise more fresh ; and memory will keepe 
 Due watch about her to preserve her name. 
 Untill her nature wake death cannot tame 
 The life of hope ; bee sure that where she lyes 
 The grave is but an usher to the skyes. 
 
 This was found by Mr. Simpson in Add. MS. book 
 30983, fol. 134 (British Museum), where it occurs 
 among a group of Strode's poems. It is unsigned, 
 but I think there can be no doubt that it is 
 Strode's. It is in fact a re-setting of the third 
 section of the elegy on Mary Prideaux, in a 
 shorter form and in a different measure. 
 Page 66. On the Death of a Twin. Transcribed from one of 
 my MS. books. 
 
 Page 69. Line 13. ' Can never hate ' This is the reading 
 of the MS., but 'hate' does not seem to be the 
 right word here. Possibly, it should be ' have '. 
 
 Page 71. On the Death of Sir Thomas Lea. Printed from a 
 manuscript in my possession. 
 
 Page 73. An Epitaph on Sr. John Walter. From a manu- 
 script in the library of C.C.C., Oxford. See the 
 
 249 
 
" Dictionary of National Biography " for an account 
 of this gentleman. 
 
 Page 75. On Sir Rowland Cotton. Sir Rowland's encounter 
 with the Dane Is alluded to several times In the 
 volume of " Parentalla " from which Strode 's 
 poem is taken. He beat the Dane In feats of 
 activity. Including dancing and wrestling. He 
 was a follower of Prince Henry, who selected him 
 as the English champion for this match. After 
 Henry's death he retired from court. 
 
 Page 80. On the Death of Ladie Ccesar. This lady was 
 probably the wife of Sir Julius Caesar (1562-1636), 
 for an account of whom see " Dictionary of National 
 Biography." 
 
 Pages 88-94. The various poems on these pages are all taken 
 from MSS. in my possession. 
 
 Page 89. Line 6. • And proper weight.' In this line I have 
 substituted ' weight ' for ' thanks ' which Is the 
 reading of the MS. Evidently the writer, as often 
 happens, having written ' thanks ' in the line above 
 inadvertently repeated it here in the place of the 
 right word. 
 
 Page 97. Line 21. ' Thou that hast felt these panges,' etc. 
 This Is a reference to the doctrine of Epicurus that 
 the summum bonum consists simply in the absence 
 of pain (non dolere). 
 
 Page 100-103. The poems on these pages are all from MSS. 
 in my possession. 'A Letter' and 'Thanks for 
 a Welcome ' are printed in " Parnassus Biceps." 
 
 250 
 
Page I02. Thanks for a Welcome. Lines 7, 8. Strode is here 
 echoing Horace, Odes iii., xxi., 11-12. 
 
 Narratur et prisci Catonis 
 Saepe mero caluisse virtus. 
 
 Page 104. The Capps. This song appears in "Sportive Wit," 
 1656 ; and in " Antidote against Melancholy," 1661. 
 There are many variations between these texts and 
 that I have printed. A few of those in " Antidote 
 against Melancholy " may be noted here. In 
 stanza 6, lines 5, 6, the reading is : 
 
 And if you'l line him in the fist 
 The cause hee'l warrant as he list. 
 
 In stanza 8, lines 3, 4, the reading is : 
 
 When Caps drop off at healths apace. 
 The Cap doth then your head uncase. 
 
 Stanza 10 in this version reads : 
 
 The furr'd and quilted Cap of age 
 Can make a mouldy proverb sage, 
 The Satin and the Velvet hive 
 Into a Bishoprick may thrive, 
 The Triple Cap may raise some hope. 
 If fortune serve, to be a Pope. 
 
 The additional stanza which I have quoted from 
 Collier and Fairholt differs considerably from the 
 " Antidote against Melancholy " version : 
 
 The Jester he a Cap doth wear 
 Which makes him fellow for a Peer, 
 
 251 
 
And 'tis no slender piece of Wit 
 To act the Fool where great Men sit, 
 But O, the Cap of London Town ! 
 I wis 'tis like a goodly Crown. 
 
 Of all the different versions not one is entirely 
 satisfactory ; but it would be easy to form a very 
 good text by a process of selection from them. 
 
 Page io8. On a good legg and foot. From a manuscript in my 
 possession. It is printed in " Wit Restor'd." The 
 latter has many variations from my own version : 
 but it only seems necessary to take notice of lines 
 5-9, which run thus in the printed text : 
 
 Should be her leg and foot : why gaze we so 
 On th' upper parts, as proud to look below, 
 (In choosing wives) when 'tis too often known 
 The colours of their face are not their own. 
 As for their legs, whether they mince or 
 stride — 
 
 This poem was evidently imitated from, or inspired 
 by, Donne's Elegy xix. 
 
 Page 113. Line 24. ' Mulsacke I dare encounter.' There is a 
 very rare portrait-engraving of Mulsacke, in which 
 he bears the implements of his trade and the ' home 
 and feather' of the text. There was besides a 
 highwayman, named Cottington, who was also 
 nicknamed ' Mulled Sack ' and who is sometimes 
 confounded with the chimney-sweep. In "The 
 Water-Cormorant" (pub. 1622) by Taylor, the 
 
 252 
 
Water-poet, the author, after remarking that if our 
 grandfathers and grandams should rise from the 
 dead and behold the madness of the times, they 
 would think that England had become 
 
 — a mere babble Babell of confusion ; 
 That Muld-sack for his most unfashion'd 
 
 fashions, 
 Is the fit patterne of their transformations : 
 And Mary Frith doth teach them modesty 
 For she doth keepe one fashion constantly. 
 And therefore she deserves a nations praise. 
 In these inconstant Mome-like changing days. 
 
 Page 114. A Devonshire Song. Printed in " Notes and 
 Queries," .Second Series, vol. x. p, 462, with 
 some variations, of which one — * rumbling ' Instead 
 of ' tumbling ' — In stanza i, line. 6, is clearly the 
 right reading. 
 Page 119. Love compar'd to a Game at Tables. This poem 
 
 appears In " Wits Interpreter." 
 Page 130. The two songs on this page seem to belong to an 
 earlier time than Strode's : but possibly the author 
 may have been consciously Imitating the simplicity 
 of style of the older writers. The second song is 
 printed in " The Academy of Compliments." 
 Page 134. [Death Song]. This song is without a title in the 
 MS. from which It Is copied. I cannot help thinking 
 that I have seen It In print somewhere, and most 
 probably in some play; but I cannot at present 
 trace It. It looks much like the work of John 
 Webster. 
 
 253 
 
II 
 
 NOTES ON 
 "THE FLOATING ISLAND" 
 
 Page 139. To the Reader. It may very well be thought 
 that the chief motive for the publication of the 
 play was the fact that the course of events in 
 England had been so prophetically fore-shadowed 
 in it. Some few passages in the play, it will be 
 noticed, are marked by inverted commas, as 
 though to draw special attention to them. It 
 may even be suspected that one or two of these 
 passages were after-insertions for which Strode 
 was not responsible. 
 
 It is evident from the passage referring to the 
 'great ones of the weaker sect* that some ladies 
 (and possibly the Queen herself) were offended by 
 the freedom with which Strode (chiefly in the cha- 
 racter of Concupiscence) had treated some of the 
 failings of the sex. ' Sect,' curiously enough, is 
 frequently used by the writers of the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries as a synonym for ' sex.' 
 
 254 
 
Page 140. Dedication. In the " Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy" there is an account of Sir John Hele (1565- 
 1608), who was made queen's sergeant in 1602, 
 and knighted 1603. He founded the boys' hos- 
 pital at Plymouth. It was, I suppose, the son of 
 this gentleman, who was Strode's friend and 
 patron. 
 
 Lines 5, 6. • Twixt Actors and Spectatours 
 did appear small difference.' — This appears to mean 
 that the play aroused so much excitement and so 
 much party feeling among the spectators that 
 they became actors no less than the represent- 
 atives of the characters of the drama. 
 
 Page 141. Authori Illustri. These Latin verses, the reader 
 will have observed, are signed ' J. D,' I cannot 
 help thinking that this signature stands for John 
 Donne the son of the famous poet. He edited the 
 first edition of Corbet's poems, as Mr. Thorn 
 Drury has lately shown in " Notes and Queries," 
 and he also edited the poems attributed to the 
 Earl of Pembroke and Sir Benjamin Ruddier or 
 Rudyard. He was, it is true, a most incompetent 
 and careless editor, yet we owe to him the 
 preservation of many things which might else 
 have been lost to us. My belief (right or wrong) 
 is that he edited this play, and that he wrote the 
 address ' To the Reader.' 
 
 Page 148. Line 9. * So he hath been. For my part if I 
 
 255 
 
broach ' — It is evident from this speech of Malevolo 
 that the character was intended to be a satirical 
 portrayal of William Prynne, the author of 
 " Histriomastix " (printed 1632), for the publica- 
 tion of which he suffered the loss of his ears. 
 
 Page 153. Line 20. St. Raviliack, and St. Garnett. Not all 
 readers, perhaps, may be aware that Ravaillac was 
 the assassin of Henry IV., King of France; 
 and that Father Garnett was (or at least was 
 accused of being) one of the gunpowder plot 
 conspirators. 
 
 Page 154. Scena IIII. Perhaps this scene may have been 
 suggested by the words of the King in Hamlet, 
 Act iv. scene v. 
 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
 That treason can but peep to what it would. 
 Acts little of his will. 
 
 Page 160. Line 6. ' What'shall be done with Common sense 
 the Judge ? ' Does this refer to some particular 
 judge of the time ? or is ' Common sense * equiva- 
 lent to ' popular opinion ' ? Most likely the latter, 
 I think. 
 
 Page 160. Line 23. *0 now for wings like thought' — 
 Perhaps a reminiscence of the words of Hamlet, 
 Act i. scene v. — 
 
 256 
 
 Haste me to know't, that I with wings as swift 
 As meditation or the thoughts of love — 
 
Page 165. Line 9. 'Chlopplens for short.' Chioppien = 
 cork shoe. Thus in Hamlet, Act ii. sc. ii. — 
 
 By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven 
 than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a 
 chopine ! 
 
 Page 166. Line 23. ♦ In fashion for my Sex, my Sex, to 
 wooe.' This is the reading of the printed text, 
 but I believe it should be as follows — 
 
 In fashion for my Sex thy Sex to wooe. 
 
 Page 167. Scene III. line 3. In this line I have substituted 
 * sleeking ' for the * seeking ' of the original, 
 which cannot, I think, be correct. Jonson, in 
 Catiline, Act ii. i. has 'Shee do's sleeke with 
 crums of bread, and milke.' 
 
 Page 167. Scene III. line 9. *Fly, fly, ye Baggases.' * Ba- 
 gasse, a Baggage, Queane ' — Cotgrave. 
 
 Page 171. ' Au. reaches the Golden, Mai. the Scepter.' Sic in 
 original, but evidently we should read Golden 
 crown. 
 
 Page 180. Line 11. 'Such as were made for certain Lord 
 Protectors.' It is hard not to suspect that this line 
 is a later addition to the play. Though Strode 
 may have had insight enough to see that if King 
 Charles were deposed he would be succeeded by a 
 successful soldier, it is difficult to believe that he 
 would thus hit upon the exact title which he 
 would assume. It is possible, however, that the 
 author may have had the Lord Protector Somerset 
 in his mind. 
 
 R 257 
 
Page i8o. Line 19, etc. Why these lines, and a number of 
 others throughout the play, should- have inverted 
 commas placed before them, it is not easy to 
 imagine. In some cases they may have been 
 intended to mark passages to be omitted in the 
 performance. In this case I am of opinion that 
 the editor of the play intended by their use to 
 draw special attention to the present scene ; con-, 
 sidering that Strode had here made a remarkable 
 forecast of the course of events in the struggle 
 between King and Commons. 
 
 Page 182. Scena III. Perhaps the speeches of Hilario in this 
 scene should be printed as prose, not verse; but 
 possibly their irregularity was intendedbytheauthor 
 as being appropriate to the speaker's character. 
 
 Page 183. Line 24. 'Quartilla.* A reference to the Safj^ncow 
 of Petronius, section 25. 
 
 Page 184. Line 12. • So Iphis,' etc. The tale of Iphis and 
 lanthe is in Ovid Met. ix. 667 foil. ; and of 
 Tiresias' change of sex, ib. iii. 316 foil. 
 
 Page 185. Line 4. 'Then first ourselves,' etc. See the Intro- 
 duction for some comments on this very remark- 
 able passage. 
 
 Page 185. Line 25. ' Why have I not my Beds,' etc. A remi- 
 niscence of the words of Sir Epicure Mammon in 
 Jonson's Alchemist, Act ii. sc. ii. — 
 
 I will have all my beds blowne up; not 
 
 stuft: 
 Downe is too hard. 
 258 
 
Page i86. Sc. IIIL line 6. 
 
 Tis an honest project 
 Thought on by Memor. 
 
 That Memor, like Malevolo, was intended to 
 represent (of course satirically) some well-known 
 person of the time is, I think, certain. And I 
 also think it probable that all the conspirators 
 were intended to be recognisable delineations of 
 various opponents of King Charles's policy. It is 
 plain at any rate that Melancholico was intended 
 to caricature some well-known puritan leader 
 of the period. Perhaps Sir Edward Coke was 
 aimed at in the character of Memor. 
 
 Page 189. Scena V. It is difficult to avoid the suspicion 
 that this scene was suggested by the duel scene in 
 Twelfth Night. Sir Timerous Fear-all bears not 
 a little resemblance to Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 
 
 Page 192. Scena VI. It seems rather hard to believe that 
 Strode, a grave divine, could have written some 
 of the very free passages in this scene ; or that 
 they could have been spoken in the performance 
 before the Court. Perhaps the passages with 
 inverted commas before them are interpolations. 
 
 Page 196. Line 18. ' This trick Malevolo.' This passage is 
 an additional proof that Prynne was aimed at in 
 the character of Malevolo. 
 
 Page 200. ' " You call'd Peculiars rags of Popery.' This line 
 as it stands seems to be meaningless, having no 
 
 259 
 
relation to what goes before or follows it. 
 ' Peculiar ' is defined in the N.E.D. as ' A parish 
 or chvirch exempt from the jurisdiction of the 
 ordinary or bishop in whose diocese it lies.' 
 
 Page 200. Line 17. 'But to a woman,' etc. Why this pas- 
 sage should be printed in italics does not appear : 
 it may have been merely a whim of the printer's. 
 
 Page 208. Line 5. ' Stop Araxes floods.' A reference to 
 Virgil /4enet<{,viii.728,'pontemindignatusAraxes,' 
 upon which Servius has a story of the Emperor 
 Augustiis bridging the river when an earlier bridge 
 built by Alexander had been swept away. The 
 river is the modern Aras flowing into the Caspian. 
 
 Page 212. Line 2. ' They speed him.' 'Speed' here signi- 
 fies * kill.' Its use in this sense is not uncommon 
 in the old dramatists. 
 
 Page 214. Line 16. ' Meanwhile his Corps was gone.' In 
 all the original copies the reading is ' his corps 
 were gone '; but as I cannot think that this is the 
 correct reading, I have substituted 'was' for 
 ' were '. 
 
 Page 2ig. Line 19. ' The wayes to long injoying.' The 
 original reads * injoyning ', but as this is an 
 obvious error I have altered it. 
 
 Page 221. Line 8. ' Death and Cupid.' See the Elegies of 
 Secundus, ii. vi. 
 
 Page 223. Sc. V, line 4. 'What gods are these two 
 Marses?' This is the reading of the original 
 text ; but perhaps it should be ' What gods are 
 these ? two Marses ? * 
 
 260 
 
Page 224. Line 2. ' Care of fiction.* • Care ' in the original 
 is in italics ; but as there seems to be no reason 
 why it should be so I have altered it. 
 
 Page 225. Scena VII. This scene appears to have been sug- 
 gested by the scene of the mock banquet in 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Page 227. Line 4. ' Me the loving mixt.' Perhaps ' mixt ' 
 should be ' mixture *; but as the former is possibly 
 right I have allowed it to stand. 
 
 Page 227. Line 23. ' This bodkin is my husband.' Three 
 out of four copies of the play which have 
 been collated read ' husbands ' instead of ' hus- 
 band ' ; but the fourth has the obviously right 
 reading • husband.' Let me state here that if my 
 readings do not always agree with those of any 
 particular copy it is not to be at once assumed 
 that they are therefore wrong. This play, like so 
 many others, was corrected whilst it was passing 
 through the press, and copies therefore differ from 
 each other in a good many points, though mostly 
 small and unimportant ones. 
 
 Let me say here that though I have, I think, noted 
 all really important instances in which I have 
 departed from the original text, I have not thought 
 it necessary to trouble the reader with every slight 
 emendation which I have made, or with all the 
 cases in which I have substituted a comma for a 
 full stop, or a full stop for a comma. I have 
 made no alteration without having what seemed 
 
 261 
 
to me a very good reason for it ; nor have I made 
 any changes in what seemed to be doubtful cases. 
 After all something must be left to an editor's 
 discretion ; at all events I decline to make myself 
 a slave to the letter, if I must do so at the expense 
 of the spirit. 
 
 Perhaps it will not be out of place to remark 
 here that " The Floating Island " is now for the 
 first time so put before the reader that it is possible 
 to form a fair judgment of it. Few of our old 
 plays are even tolerably well printed ; but Strode's 
 drama, printed as it is in cramped and crowded 
 double columns on bad paper and with worse 
 type, is one of the worst * got-up ' of all of them. 
 It would be difficult to see the merits of Shake- 
 speare himself through such a medium ; and per- 
 haps the entire neglect which Strode's play has 
 met with up to the present time is in no small 
 degree owing to the wretched typography of the 
 original edition. 
 
 Page 228. Line 3 of the Song. * Come drown, etc' All the 
 copies of the original edition which have been 
 collated read ' down ' instead of * drown,' but 
 the latter is obviously the right word. 
 
 Page 232. Line 10. *I smell in what half point the wind is 
 ttiming.' This is another instance of Strode's power 
 of forecasting events. Though Prynne (».e., Male- 
 volo) had been so strong an opponent of the policy 
 of Charles I., he became in the latter years of the 
 Commonwealth one of the strongest advocates for 
 
 262 
 
the restoration of the monarchy in the person of 
 
 Charles II. 
 
 Page 237. Line 18. • And then interpret is as much as 
 
 making.' I have substituted ' is ' for ' it ' in this 
 
 line, considering that the latter is certainly wrong. 
 
 Page 238. Line 15. ' i'th' suburbs, or new-England.' We 
 
 know from Measure for Measure what an 
 
 evil reputation the suburbs of London then had, 
 
 but it seems curious that New England should be 
 
 coupled with them. I have in one of my MS. 
 
 books " A Song on New England," written in the 
 
 Devonshire dialect, and dating about 1630-40, 
 
 which relates the experiences of an emigrant who 
 
 went out to New England, but found things so 
 
 little to his liking there that he speedily returned. 
 
 263 
 
Ill 
 
 STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE: THE 
 ORIGINAL POEM 
 
 From ' Frolusiones Academics, Oratoriae, Histories, Poeticse. . . . 
 Famiani Stradae.' Cologne 1617. Lib. II. Prolusio vi. Academia ii. 
 [The Essay quotes some experiments in poetic style ; the following pp. 353- 
 355 is in the style of Claudian.] 
 
 Claudiani 
 stylus. 
 
 Fidicea 
 
 Philomela. 
 
 Fidium ex- 
 ploratio. 
 
 264 
 
 lam Sol a medio pronus deflexerat orbe 
 Mitius e radijs vibrans crinalibus ignem. 
 Cum Fidicen propter Tiberina fluenta, sonanti 
 Lenibat plectro curas, sestumque leuabat 
 nice defensus nigra scenaque virenti. 
 
 Audijt hunc hospes siluse Philomela pro- 
 pinquae, 
 Musa loci, nemoris Siren, innoxia Siren. 
 £t prope succedens stetit abdita frondibus, alte 
 Accipiens sonitum, secumque remurmurat, et quos 
 lUe modos variat digitis, hsec gutture reddit. 
 
 Sensit se Fidicen Philomela imitante referri, 
 Et placuit ludum volucri dare, plenius ergo 
 Explorat citharam, tentamentumque futurse 
 Prsebeat vt pugnae, percurrit protinus omnes 
 
Impulsu pemice fides. Nee segnius ilia Pa' Philo- 
 
 Mille per excurrens variae discrimina vocis ^^^ respon- 
 
 Venturi specimen prsefert argutula cantus. 
 
 Tunc Fidicen per fila mouens trepidantia 
 dextram, 
 Nunc contemnenti similis diuerberat vngue Ad Hispanse 
 
 Depectitque pari chordas et simplice ductu : dunf' * ^°' 
 
 Nunc carptim replicat, digitisque micantibus vrget Minuritio. 
 Fila minutatim, celerique repercutit ictu. 
 Mox silet. Ilia modis totidem respondet, et 
 
 artem 
 Arte refert. Nunc ceu rudis, aut incerta canendi Par Philorae- 
 Proijcit in longum, nuUoque plicatile flexu '^ responsio. 
 
 Carmen init, simili serie, iugique tenore 
 Praebet iter liquidum labenti e pectore voci : 
 Nunc caesim variat, modulisque canora minutis 
 Delibrat vocem, tremuloque reciprocat ore. 
 
 Miratur Fidicen paruis e faucibus ire Fidium varia 
 
 Tam varium tam dulce melos : maioraque tentans percussio. 
 Alternat mira arte fides : dum torquet acutas, 
 Inciditque graues, operoso verbere pulsat, 
 Permiscetque simul certantia rauca sonoris, 
 Ceu resides in bella viros clangore lacessat. 
 Hoc etiam Philomela canit dumque ore liquenti 
 Vibrat acuta sonum, modulisque interplicat sequis ; 
 Ex inopinato grauis intonat, et leue murmur 
 Turbinat introrsus, alternantique sonore 
 Clarat, et infuscat ceu martia classica pulset. 
 
 Scilicet erubuit Fidicen, iraque calente, 
 Aut non hoc, inquit, referes Citharistria siluse, 
 
 265 
 
Fidium 
 omnium 
 multiplex ac 
 plena com- 
 plexlo. 
 
 Fhilomelae 
 responsurae 
 conatus. 
 
 Sed impar. 
 
 Eius obitus. 
 
 Vis xmula- 
 tionis. 
 
 Aut fracta cedam cithara. Nee plura loquutus 
 Non imitabilibus plectrum concentibus vrget. 
 Namque manu per iila volat, simul hos, simul illos 
 Explorat numeros, chordaque laborat in omni, 
 £t strepit, et tinnit, crescitque superblus, et se 
 Multiplicat relegens, plenoque choreumate plaudit. 
 Turn stetit expectans, si quid paret aemula contra. 
 Ilia autem, quamquam vox dudum exercita fauces 
 Asperat, impatiens vinci simul aduocat omnes 
 Nequidquam vires, nam dum discrimina tanta 
 Reddere tot fidium natiua et simplice tentat 
 Voce, canaliculisque imitari grandia paruis ; 
 Impar magnanimis ausis, imparque dolori 
 Deficit, et vitam summo in certamine linquens 
 Victoris cadit in plectrum, par nacta sepulcrum. 
 Vsque adeo et tenues animas ferit semula Virtus. 
 
 [The Essay is a description of a poetic contest 
 in which distinguished writers of the day cham- 
 pioned their favourite poet by composing a piece 
 modelled on his style. Pope Leo invited them to 
 his Villa Manliana, on the banks of the Tiber 
 (' near what was once Caesar's gardens')f and an 
 artificial Mount Parnassus was constructed as 
 a stage for the champions. On the highest peak 
 Jovianus Pontanus as Statins ; on the second 
 slightly lower, Balthasar Castilio, the well-known 
 author of " The Courtier," as Claudian ; Peter 
 Bembo as Lucretius at the foot, and so on. The 
 
 266 
 
* Contention ' is quoted as Castilio's contribution. 
 Camillo presided over the contest as Arch-poet ; 
 the Pope looked on. No definite verdict was 
 ^ven.] 
 
 267 
 
IV 
 STRODE'S LATIN VERSES 
 
 I HAVE not thought it expedient to print Strode's Latin verses 
 in this volume, since very few readers could be expected to 
 feel any interest in them. However it seems worth while to 
 give a list of the books and manuscripts wherein they are to 
 be fotmd. The following table includes all that I have been 
 able to trace. 
 
 BOOKS. 
 
 Annas Funebria Sacra, 1619 
 
 Ultima Linea Savillii, Oxon., 1622 
 
 Carolus Redux, 'Oatom., 1622 
 
 Funerall Elegies upon ... Sir John Stanhope, London, 
 
 1624 
 Camdeni Insignia, 1624 
 Parentalia Jacobo, 1625 
 Epithalamia Oxoniensia, 1625 
 Britannix Natalis, 1630 
 Carmen Honorarium, Oxon., 1631 
 
 Kinaston's (F.) Amores Troili et Cressidae, Oxoti., 1635 
 Parentalia Spectatissimo Rolando Cottono, 1635 
 268 
 
Musarum Oxoniensum Charisteria, 1638 
 Horti Carolini Rosa Altera, Oxon., 1640 
 Eucharistica Oxoniensia, 1641 
 Musarum 'E«-t/3ar^p<a, 1643 
 
 MANUSCRIPTS. 
 
 Translation of English verses by Bishop Corbet " On the 
 
 Birth of Prince Henry." 
 Translation of English verses by Dr. Leonard Hutton on 
 
 the same subject. 
 Translation of Bishop Corbet's verses " To his sonne 
 
 Vincent on his Birthday." 
 Translation of Corbet's " Certayne true words spoken 
 
 concerning one Benet Corbett after her death." 
 In obitum Gul. Herbert, comitis Pembroke. 
 In dominam Aliciam Corbet epitaphia. 
 In electionem Gulielmi episcopi Londinensis in cancellaria- 
 
 tum Acad. Oxon. 
 Insepulturamdominidoct. Hutton, praebendarii ex ^Ede 
 
 Christi. 
 In eundem caecum. 
 
 Epitaphium in mem. Ricardi Swayne. 
 ReUgious verse. 
 
 In Coll. Lincolniensis sacellum. 
 In patroni reditum tria. 
 In obitum M. Carew de Antony, 1621. 
 In obitum Ricardi Rice, sup. Bedel. Jur., obsonatoris et 
 
 lictoris. 
 In obitum R. Sackvill, comitis Dorset, duo. 
 
 269 
 
In magistrum Somester, aulae Lafeport. praesulen. 
 
 In obitum Baronis. 
 
 In obitum Gul. Godwin, aed. Christ! decani : Jun. ii. 1620 
 
 In doctoris [Ric]. Kilboei [rect. Lincoln Coll] obitum. 
 
 In obitum Henrici Savilii, cl[ari] Mathematici. 
 
 In obitum doctoris Rawley, medici peritissimi. 
 
 In nobilissimum baronem Chichester de Belfast: circa 
 1635. 
 [The above pieces are in MS. vol. 325, in Corpus Christi 
 College Library, Oxford. Other Latin verses by Strode are 
 in the same MS., but they are all printed, and have been 
 noted already as contained in the above-mentioned volumes.] 
 Translation of Ben Jonson's " Ode to Himself." 
 [I have a copy of this in one of my own MS. volumes. The 
 same volume contains also the translation of Corbet's "Verses 
 to his Sonne Vincent."] 
 
 Printed by Ballantvne &• Co. Limited 
 Tavistock Street, London 
 
'Books Written or Edited by Bertram Dobell 
 
 Second and Cheaper Edition, Crown 8vo, Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 THOMAS TRAHERNE 
 
 " Let all lovers of good poetry rejoice with Mr. Dobell, for he has 
 rescued a poet out of the dust, and advanced him to a deserved place 
 beside two such men as Herbert and Vaughan." 
 
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 Crown Svo, Cloth, 3s. net ; or on Handmade Paper, 7s. 6d. net, 
 
 SIDELIGHTS ON CHARLES LAMB 
 
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 editor or biographer of Lamb can afford to be without it." 
 
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 Crown Svo, Cloth, 3s. net ; or on Handmade Paper, 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 ROSEMARY AND PANSIES 
 
 " Mr. Dobell's book of poems is full of charming things, of a grave 
 tenderness or sparkling fancy, which should delight all lovers of good 
 verse." — Daily News. 
 
 Svo, Cloth, pp. 240, 4s. 6d. net 
 
 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS PRINTED FOR 
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