CII. TO WILLIAM EARL OF PEMBROKE. DO but name thee, Pembroke, and I find Against the bad, but of, and to the good : CIII. TO MARY LADY WROTH.3 OW well, fair crown of your fair sex, might he That but the twilight of your sprite did see, And noted for what flesh such souls were fram'd, Know you to be a Sidney, though unnam'd? 2 But thou whose noblêsse, &c.,] i. e. nobleness, nobility. A word which we have very improvidently suffered to become obsolete. 3 To Mary lady Wroth.] She was a woman of genius, and wrote And being nam'd, how little doth that name My praise is plain, and wheresoe'er profest, CIV. TO SUSAN COUNTESS OF MONTGOMERY. 4 ERE they that nam'd you, prophets? did they see, Even in the dew of grace, what you would be? Or did our times require it, to behold A new Susanna, equal to that old? Or, because some scarce think that story true, a romance called Urania, printed in folio, 1621; she was wife to sir Robert Wroth, of Durance, in the county of Middlesex, and daughter to Robert earl of Leicester, a younger brother of sir Philip Sidney. WHAL. 4 To Susan countess of Montgomery.] Wife to Philip earl of Montgomery, and grand-daughter to William lord Burleigh. WHAL. This accomplished and excellent woman, who appeared in most of Jonson's Masques at court, has been more than once noticed. She was a lady of strict piety and virtue, and wrote a little treatise called Eusebia, expressing briefly the Soul's praying robes, 1620. It is much to the credit, or the good fortune of " that memorable simpleton," as Walpole calls him, Philip Herbert, to have married in succession two wives of such distinguished worth. His second, as the reader knows, was the high-born and high-spirited daughter of George earl of Cumberland, widow of Richard Sackville earl of Dorset. And to your scene lent no less dignity Judge they that can: here I have raised to show, CV. TO MARY LADY WROTH. ADAM, had all antiquity been lost, All history seal'd up, and fables crost, That we had left us, nor by time, nor place, Least mention of a Nymph, a Muse, a Grace, But even their names were to be made anew, Who could not but create them all from you? He, that but saw you wear the wheaten hat, Would call you more than Ceres, if not that; And drest in shepherd's tire, who would not say You were the bright Enone, Flora, or May? If dancing, all would cry, the Idalian queen Were leading forth the Graces on the green; And armed to the chase, so bare her bow Diana' alone, so hit, and hunted so. There's none so dull, that for your style would ask, That saw you put on Pallas' plumed cask; In yourself, all treasure lost of the age before. CVI. TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT.5 F men get name for some one virtue; then, What man art thou, that art so many men, All-virtuous Herbert! on whose every part Truth might spend all her voice, fame all her art? Whether thy learning they would take, or wit, Or valour, or thy judgment seasoning it, Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends Like straight, thy piety to God, and friends: Their latter praise would still the greatest be, And yet they, all together, less than thee. CVII. TO CAPTAIN HUNGRY. O what you come for, captain, with your news; I oft look on false coin to know't from true; Not that I love it more than I will you. 5 Sir Edward Herbert.] Lord Herbert of Cherbury. He was a person of great learning and of many excellent qualities as a statesman, a gentleman, and a scholar. This was all that was known of him at the period when this epigram appeared; but he subsequently fell into strange contradictions: with great professions of piety he openly disavowed all belief in a divine revelation, and yet persuaded himself that his own prayers were audibly answered from heaven! He was advanced to the dignity of baron of the kingdom of Ireland, in 1625, and in 1631 was created lord Herbert of Cherbury in Shropshire, a favour which he repaid by joining the enemies of his sovereign, on the breaking out of the civil war. His death took place in 1648. "He died (Aubrey says) very serenely; asked what it was o'clock, and then, sayed he, an hour hence I shall depart!' He then turned his head to the other side, and expired." Tell the gross Dutch those grosser tales of yours, How great you were with their two emperours; And yet are with their princes: fill them full Of your Moravian horse, Venetian bull. Tell them, what parts you've ta'en, whence run away, What states you've gull'd, and which yet keeps you' in pay.. Give them your services, and embassies In Ireland, Holland, Sweden; pompous lies! What at Ligorne, Rome, Florence you did do: For which there must more sea and land be leap'd, Give your young statesmen (that first make you drunk, And then lye with you, closer than a punk, Do what you come for, captain; there's your meat. |