CXXV.

TO SIR WILLIAM UVEDALE.

VEDALE, thou piece of the first times, a man
Made for what nature could, or virtue can;
Both whose dimensions lost, the world might
find

Restored in thy body, and thy mind!
Who sees a soul in such a body set,
Might love the treasure for the cabinet.
But I, no child, no fool, respect the kind,
The full, the flowing graces there enshrined;
Which, would the world not miscall 't flattery,
I could adore almost to idolatry!

CXXVI.

TO HIS LADY,

THEN MISTRESS CARY.1

ETIRED, with purpose your fair worth to praise,

Mongst Hampton shades, and Phoebus' grove
of bays,

I pluck'd a branch; the jealous god did frown,
And bade me lay th' usurped laurel down :
Said I wrong'd him, and, which was more, his love.
I answer'd, Daphne now no pain can prove.
Phoebus replied, Bold head, it is not she:

Cary my love is, Daphne but my tree.

4 Mistress Cary.] The usual term in the poet's days for an unmarried woman, or miss: Of her husband, sir William Uvedale, knt. I can say nothing but that he was of Wickham, in the county of Southampton.

CXXVII.

TO ESME LORD AUBIGNY.5

S there a hope that man would thankful be,
If I should fail in gratitude to thee,

To whom I am so bound, loved Aubigny? No, I do therefore call posterity

Into the debt; and reckon on her head,
How full of want, how swallow'd up, how dead
I and this muse had been, if thou hadst not
Lent timely succours, and new life begot :
So all reward or name, that grows to me
By her attempt, shall still be owing thee.
And than this same I know no abler way
To thank thy benefits: which is, to pay.

CXXVIII.

TO WILLIAM ROE.6

DOE, and my joy to name, thou'rt now to go, Countries and climes, manners and men to know,

To extract and choose the best of all these known, And those to turn to blood, and make thine own.

5 Esme lord Aubigny.] Brother to the duke of Lenox, whom he succeeded in title and estate. He has been already noticed.

6 William Roe.] Younger brother, or perhaps cousin, of sir Thomas Roe. (epig. 98.) This gentleman seems to have gone abroad in a mercantile or diplomatic capacity; but with the activity and energy inherent in this distinguished family, he subsequently entered on the profession of arms, and probably served under Gustavus Adolphus. A few years of hardship, however, gave him enough of campaigning, and he returned to the pursuits of his youth. "William Roe (Howell writes to his friend at Brussels) is returned from the wars; but he is grown lame in one of his arms, so he hath no mind to bear arms any more; he confesseth himself

May winds as soft as breath of kissing friends,
Attend thee hence; and there may all thy ends,
As the beginnings here, prove purely sweet,
And perfect in a circle always meet!

So when we, blest with thy return, shall see
Thyself, with thy first thoughts brought home by thee;
We each to other may this voice inspire;

This is that good Æneas, past through fire,

Through seas, storms, tempests; and, embark'd for hell,

Came back untouch'd. This man hath travell'd well.

CXXIX.

TO MIME.

HAT not a pair of friends each other see, But the first question is, When one saw thee? That there's no journey set or thought upon, To Brentford, Hackney, Bow, but thou mak'st one; That scarce the town designeth any feast

To which thou'rt not a week bespoke a guest;
That still thou'rt made the supper's flag, the drum,
The very call, to make all others come:

Think'st thou, Mime, this is great? or that they strive
Whose noise shall keep thy miming most alive,
Whilst thou dost raise some player from the
Out-dance the babion, or out-boast the brave

grave,

to be an egregious fool to leave his mercership for a musket." Lib. ii. lett. 62.

7 Or out-boast the brave,] i. e. the bravo, the ruffian; some well known bully of the time. Cokely, Pod, and Gue, mentioned just below, were masters of motions, or puppet-shows, and exhibitors at Bartholomew Fair. The strong sense and indignant satire of this little poem might yet be turned to account if the parasite could feel shame, or the table-buffoon be awakened to a sense of honour by the pity, scorn, and insulting applause with which his degrading fooleries are received.

Or, mounted on a stool, thy face doth hit
On some new gesture, that's imputed wit?
O, run not proud of this. Yet take thy due.
Thou dost out-zany Cokely, Pod; nay, Gue:
And thine own Coryat too; but,—would'st thou see,
Men love thee not for this; they laugh at thee.

CXXX.

TO ALPHONSO FERRABOSCO, ON HIS BOOK. 8

O urge, my loved Alphonso, that bold fame
Of building towns, and making wild beasts

tame,

Which music had; or speak her own effects,
That she removeth cares, sadness ejects,
Declineth anger, persuades clemency,
Doth sweeten mirth, and heighten piety,
And is to a body, often, ill inclined,
No less a sovereign cure, than to the mind;
T'allege, that greatest men were not asham'd,
Of old, even by her practice to be fam'd;

8 To Alphonso Ferrabosco, on his book.] This person, descended of Italian parents, was born at Greenwich in Kent: he was much admired, both at home and abroad, for his excellent compositions, and fancies, as they were then called, in music; he was principally employed in setting the songs to music in our poet's masques. WHAL.

Jonson appears to have had an extraordinary regard and affection for this excellent composer. He delights to mention him upon all occasions; and in the Masque of Hymen, hurried away by his feelings, he interrupts the strain of applause in which he was describing Alphonso's exertions, with a genuine burst of tenderness, "Virtuous friend! take well this abrupt testimony: It cannot be flattery in me, who never did it to great ones; and less than love and truth it is not where it is done out of knowledge!"

The learned reader will observe that Jonson had in view Horace's admirable description of the office of the ancient Chorus, in the opening of this epigram.

To say indeed, she were the soul of heaven,
That the eighth sphere, no less than planets seven,
Moved by her order, and the ninth more high,
Including all, were thence call'd harmony;
I yet had utter'd nothing on thy part,
When these were but the praises of the art :
But when I have said, the proofs of all these be
Shed in thy songs; 'tis true: but short of thee.

CXXXI.

TO THE SAME.9

HEN we do give, Alphonso, to the light,
A work of ours, we part with our own right;
For then, all mouths will judge, and their

own way:

The learn'd have no more privilege than the lay.
And though we could all men, all censures hear,
We ought not give them taste we had an ear.
For if the humorous world will talk at large,
They should be fools, for me, at their own charge.
Say this or that man they to thee prefer;
Even those for whom they do this, know they err :

9 TO THE SAME.] The "Book" from which the composer probably expected a large harvest of praise seems to have met with some ungentle critic, and Jonson writes this sensible and manly epigram to his friend, to qualify the excess of his disappointment and mortification. I know not the person meant, unless it be Morley, who is mentioned as dissatisfied with some of his compositions by Peacham :-but I will give the passage:

"Alphonso Ferrabosco the father, while he lived, for judgment and depth of skill, as also his son now living, was inferior to none. What he did was most elaborate and profound, and pleasing in aire; though master Thomas Morley censureth him otherwise. That of his, I saw my ladie weeping, and the Nightingale, upon which dittie master Bird and he in a friendly emulation exercised their invention, cannot be bettered for sweetnesse of aire, or depth of judgment." Compleat Gent. 1622.