The cold of Mosco, and fat Irish air,

His often change of clime, though not of mind, All could not work; at home, in his repair,

Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. Which shews, wherever death doth please t' appear, Seas, sérenes,' swords, shot, sickness, all are there.

XXXIII.

TO THE SAME.

'LL not offend thee with a vain tear more,
Glad-mention'd Roe; thou art but gone
before,

Whither the world must follow and I, now,
Breathe to expect my When, and make my How.

cellent person, of whose actions I can give the reader no account He seems to have followed the business of a merchant-venturer at first, like his father, and subsequently, in imitation of many gallant spirits in those days, to have embarked in the wars of the Netherlands. He died, however, in peace, at home.

Among Whalley's loose papers, I find another memorial of our author's regard for him. It seems to be taken from the blank leaf of a Persius, with which he had presented him. Why Whalley chose to give us vile English instead of copying the elegant Latin of the original, I cannot tell.

"To sir John Roe, his most approved friend, this his love and delight, the most learned of satirists, PERSIUS, with a most learned commentary, is consecrated by Ben. Jonson, who willingly, deservedly, gives and dedicates it. Nor is a parent more to be preferred by me than a friend."

2 Seas, sérenes, &c.] i. e. a blast of warm air; a blight, or mildew, vol. iii. p. 248. The most miserable pun on record, (which yet was repeated at every table in Paris,) was made by the marquis of Bievre on this word. Mad. d'Angivilliers had a favourite serin, (a canary-bird,) and the marquis, on coming into her drawing-room, gravely put on his hat, with this notable piece of wit: "I beg your ladyship's pardon-but I am afraid of the serein !" The marquis was a great reader of Joe Miller-so were not the French in general : his second wit therefore was in high request.

Which if most gracious heaven grant like thine,
Who wets my grave, can be no friend of mine.

XXXIV.

OF DEATH.

E that fears death, or mourns it, in the just,
Shews of the Resurrection little trust.

XXXV.

TO KING JAMES.

HO would not be thy subject, James, t' obey
A prince that rules by' example, more than

sway?

Whose manners draw, more than thy powers constrain.

And in this short time of thy happiest reign,
Hast purg'd thy realms, as we have now no cause
Left us of fear, but first our crimes, then laws.
Like aids 'gainst treasons who hath found before,
And than in them, how could we know God more?
First thou preserved wert our king to be;
And since, the whole land was preserv'd for thee.*

3 Who wets my grave, &c.] This is a beautiful little valediction; there is a simple grandeur of thought, a high moral dignity in all the addresses of Jonson, (for there are more to come) to this distinguished family, which does no less honour to them than to the poet.

And since the whole land was preserv'd for thee.] This epigram was probably written in 1604, as the last allusion is to the plague, which broke out in London soon after the death of Elizabeth. The "treasons" spoken of just above, are probably those of the Gowries and sir Walter Raleigh.

XXXVI.

TO THE GHOST OF MARTIAL.

ARTIAL, thou gav'st far nobler epigrams To thy Domitian, than I can my James; But in my royal subject I pass thee, Thou flatter'dst thine, mine cannot flatter'd be.

XXXVII.

ON CHEVERIL THE LAWYER.

O cause, nor client fat, will Cheveril leese,
But as they come, on both sides he takes
fees,

And pleaseth both for while he melts his grease,
For this; that wins, for whom he holds his peace.

XXXVIII.

TO PERSON GUILTY.

UILTY, because I bade you late be wise,5
And to conceal your ulcers, did advise,

You laugh when you are touch'd, and long
before

Any man else, you clap your hands and roar,
And cry, good! good! this quite perverts my sense,
And lies so far from wit, 'tis impudence.

Believe it, GUILTY, if
you lose

your shame, I'll lose my modesty, and tell your name.

5 GUILTY, because I bade you late be wise.] See Epig. XXX. This is an excellent epigram; replete with strong sense, and keen observation of mankind.

XXXIX.

ON OLD COLT.

OR all night-sins, with others' wives unknown,
COLT now doth daily penance in his own.

XL.

ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE.

M ARBLE, weep, for thou dost cover
A dead beauty underneath thee,
R ich as nature could bequeath thee:
Grant then, no rude hand remove her.
All the gazers on the skies

Read not in fair heaven's story,
E xpresser truth, or truer glory,
T han they might in her bright eyes.

R are as wonder was her wit;
A nd, like nectar, ever flowing:
Till time, strong by her bestowing,
Conquer'd hath both life and it;
Life, whose grief was out of fashion.
In these times. Few so have rued
Fate in a brother. To conclude,
F or wit, feature, and true passion,
E arth, thou hast not such another.

Few so have rued

6

Fate in a brother.] Of this lady, Margaret Ratcliffe, I can give the reader no information. She was probably a collateral branch of the family of the earl of Sussex, for the marriage of whose daughter Jonson wrote the beautiful Masque of the Hue and Cry after Cupid. From a subsequent Epigram I collect that she had five brothers, of whom she had the misfortune to lose four; two in the field, in Ireland, and two by sickness, in the Low Countries.

XLI.

ON GIPSY.

CIPSY, new bawd, is turn'd physician,

And gets more gold than all the college can: Such her quaint practice is, so it allures, For what she gave, a whore; a bawd, she cures.

XLII.

ON GILES AND Joan.

HO says that Giles and Joan at discord be?
Th' observing neighbours no such mood can

see.

Indeed, poor Giles repents he married ever;
But that his Joan doth too. And Giles would never,
By his free-will, be in Joan's company :

No more would Joan he should. Giles riseth early,
And having got him out of doors is glad;
The like is Joan: but turning home is sad;
And so is Joan. Oftimes when Giles doth find
Harsh sights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind;
All this doth Joan: or that his long-yearn'd life
Were quite out-spun; the like wish hath his wife.
The children that he keeps, Giles swears are none
Of his begetting; and so swears his Joan.
In all affections she concurreth still.

If now, with man and wife, to will and nill
The self-same things," a note of concord be:
I know no couple better can agree !

Jonson had reason, therefore, to say that few had rued such fate in their relations.

The self-same things, &c.] Idem velle atque nolle, ea demum amicitia est.