Or poet, in the court-account, than I,

And who doth me, though I not him, envỳ,

after the publication of his first Masque, he printed his Philotas, with a dedication, in verse, to prince Henry, of which it is scarcely possible to read without emotion the simple and affecting conclusion:

And I, although among the latter train

And least of those that sung unto this land,
Have borne my part, though in an humble strain,
And pleased the gentler that did understand.
"And never had my harmless pen at all
Distain'd with any loose immodesty,
Nor ever noted to be touch'd with gall,
To aggravate the worst man's infamy.

"But still have done the fairest offices

To virtue and the time: yet nought prevails,
And all our labours are without success,

For either favour or our virtue fails.

"And therefore since I have outliv'd the date
Of former grace, acceptance, and delight,
I would my lines late born beyond the fate
Of her spent line,* had never come to light!
"So had I not been tax'd for wishing well,

Nor now mistaken by the censuring stage,
Nor in my fame and reputation fell,

Which I esteem more than what all the age

Or th' earth can give : But years hath done this wrong,
To make me write too much, and live too long."

He could not be beyond five and forty at this period of despondency he remained, however, about the court for some time longer, probably till about 1615, in which year, Jonson, who was still rising in reputation, obtained a fixed salary for his services, when this amiable man retired to Somersetshire, commenced farmer, and passed the remainder of his days in privacy, piety, and peace.

Daniel was highly esteemed by queen Anne, and to this Jonson alludes in the text, while his great patron was James. Still, however, there seems no adequate cause for any hostility against Jonson, if he only made a fair advantage of his superior talents for the drama; for which, it must be confessed, his rival wanted both

*Of her spent line,] i. e. of queen Elizabeth's.

Yet for the timely favours she hath done,
To my less sanguine muse, wherein she hath won
My grateful soul, the subject of her powers,

I have already used some happy hours,

To her remembrance; which when time shall bring
To curious light, to notes I then shall sing,
Will prove old Orpheus' act no tale to be:

For I shall move stocks, stones, no less than he.
Then all that have but done my Muse least grace,
Shall thronging come, and boast the happy place
They hold in my strange poems, which, as yet,
Had not their form touch'd by an English wit.
There, like a rich and golden pyramed,
Born up by statues, shall I rear your head
Above your under-carved ornaments,
And shew how to the life my soul presents

Your form imprest there: not with tickling rhymes,
Or common-places, filch'd, that take these times,
But high and noble matter, such as flies

From brains entranced, and fill'd with extasies; Moods, which the godlike Sidney oft did prove, And your brave friend and mine so well did love. Who, wheresoe'er he be-

The rest is lost.

energy and fancy, and which indeed, he laments, just above, that he ever attempted.

Then all that have but done my Muse least grace,

Shall thronging come.] This intimates a design the poet had of celebrating the ladies of his native country. WHAL. See vol. vii. p. 139.

康

XIII.

EPISTLE.

TO KATHARINE LADY AUBIGNY.7

PIS grown almost a danger to speak true
Of any good mind, now; there are so few.

The bad, by number, are so fortified,

As what they have lost t' expect, they dare
deride.

So both the prais'd and praisers suffer; yet,
For others ill ought none their good forget.
I therefore, who profess myself in love
With every virtue, wheresoe'er it move,
And howsoever; as I am at feud

With sin and vice, though with a throne endued;
And, in this name, am given out dangerous
By arts, and practice of the vicious,

Such as suspect themselves, and think it fit,
For their own capital crimes, to indict my wit;
I that have suffer'd this; and though forsook
Of fortune, have not alter'd yet my look,
Or so myself abandon'd, as because
Men are not just, or keep no holy laws
Of nature and society, I should faint;

Or fear to draw true lines, 'cause others paint:
I, madam, am become your praiser; where,
If it may stand with your soft blush, to hear
Yourself but told unto yourself, and see
In my charàcter what your features be,

7 Lady Aubigny.] This lady has been already noticed. She was the daughter and sole heir of sir Gervase Clifton, and was married to lord Aubigny in 1607. The connection with a family so deservedly dear to James I. as the Stewarts, procured a peerage for her father, who was created in the following year, baron Clifton, of Leighton Bromswold, in Nottinghamshire.

You will not from the paper slightly pass:
No lady, but at some time loves her glass.
And this shall be no false one, but as much
Remov'd, as you from need to have it such.
Look then, and see your self-I will not say
Your beauty, for you see that every day;
And so do many more: all which can call
It perfect, proper, pure, and natural,
Not taken up o' the doctors, but as well
As I, can say and see it doth excel;
That asks but to be censured by the eyes:
And in those outward forms, all fools are wise.
Nor that your beauty wanted not a dower,
Do I reflect. Some alderman has power,
Or cozening farmer of the customs, so
To advance his doubtful issue, and o'erflow
A prince's fortune: these are gifts of chance,
And raise not virtue; they may vice enhance.
My mirror is more subtle, clear, refined,

And takes and gives the beauties of the mind;
Though it reject not those of fortune: such
As blood, and match. Wherein, how more than
much

Are you engaged to your happy fate,

For such a lot! that mixt you with a state
Of so great title, birth, but virtue most,

Without which all the rest were sounds, or lost.
'Tis only that can time and chance defeat:
For he that once is good, is ever great.
Wherewith then, madam, can you better pay
This blessing of your stars, than by that way
Of virtue, which you tread? What if alone,
Without companions? 'tis safe to have none.
In single paths dangers with ease are watch'd;
Contagion in the press is soonest catch'd.
This makes, that wisely you decline your life
Far from the maze of custom, error, strife,

And keep an even, and unalter'd gait ;
Not looking by, or back, like those that wait
Times and occasions, to start forth, and seem.
Which though the turning world may disesteem,
Because that studies spectacles and shows,
And after varied, as fresh objects, goes,

Giddy with change, and therefore cannot see
Right, the right way; yet must your comfort be
Your conscience, and not wonder if none asks
For truth's complexion, where they all wear masks.
Let who will follow fashions and attires,
Maintain their leigers forth for foreign wires,
Melt down their husbands' lands, to pour away
On the close groom and page, on new-year's day,
And almost all days after, while they live;
They find it both so witty, and safe to give.
Let them on powders, oils, and paintings spend,
Till that no usurer, nor his bawds dare lend
Them or their officers; and no man know,
Whether it be a face they wear or no.
Let them waste body and state; and after all,
When their own parasites laugh at their fall,
May they have nothing left, whereof they can
Boast, but how oft they have gone wrong to

man,

And call it their brave sin: for such there be

That do sin only for the infamy;

And never think, how vice doth every hour

Eat on her clients, and some one devour.

You, madam, young have learn'd to shun these shelves,

Whereon the most of mankind wreck themselves,

And keeping a just course, have early put

Into your harbour, and all passage shut

'Gainst storms or pirates, that might charge your

peace;

For which you worthy are the glad increase