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Yet is the office not to be despised,

If only love should make the action prized;
Nor he for friendship can be thought unfit,
That strives his manners should precede his wit.

CXXII.

TO THE SAME.

F I would wish for truth, and not for show, The aged Saturn's age and rites to know; If I would strive to bring back times, and try The world's pure gold, and wise simplicity; If I would virtue set as she was young,

And hear her speak with one, and her first tongue; If holiest friendship, naked to the touch,

I would restore, and keep it ever such;

I need no other arts, but study thee:

Who prov'st all these were, and again may be.

CXXIII.

TO THE SAME.

RITING thyself, or judging others writ,

I know not which thou'st most, candor, or
wit :

But both thou hast so, as who affects the state
Of the best writer and judge, should emulate.

consolation of his life. There is a beautiful and touching simplicity in the second of these epigrams, which cannot be too highly praised.

CXXIV.

EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H.3

BOULD'ST thou hear what man can say
In a little? reader, stay.

Underneath this stone doth lie

As much beauty as could die :
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,

The other let it sleep with death:
Fitter, where it died, to tell,

Than that it lived at all. Farewell!

3 Elizabeth, L. H.] Of this lady I can say nothing. If Jonson desired to keep her name secret, he has apparently succeeded; and yet he could scarcely mean to do this, as he has involved it, in some measure, with her history, in the last couplet. A luckier guesser, or a better historian, than I pretend to be, may one day hit upon it. But what is the import of this nameless tribute to beauty and virtue? "To be read by bare inscriptions, (says sir Thomas Brown,) to hope for eternity by ænigmatical epithets, or initial letters, to be studied by antiquaries who we were, and have new names given us like some of the mummies, are cold consolations to the student of perpetuity, even by everlasting languages," or, as in the case before us, by everlasting verse.

Addison, after drawing a beautiful picture of good humour, innocence, and piety, in the person of Sophronia, adds that he cannot conclude his essay better than by a short epitaph written by Ben Jonson, with a spirit which nothing could inspire but such an object as he had been describing.

"Underneath this stone doth lie

As much beauty as could die :

Which in life did harbour give

To more virtue than doth live." Spec. No. xxxiii.

I must observe here that, in the Spectator this passage is very incorrectly given. In a work so universally read, the utmost care should be taken to preserve the integrity of the text.

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.*

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.

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

OE, 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.

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.

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.

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