Scarce the hill again doth flourish, Phoebus to his crown again: Vulgar languages that want Tyrant rhyme hath so abused, He that first invented thee, May his sense when it would meet Grow unsounder; And his title be long fool, XLIX. AN EPIGRAM ON WILLIAM, LORD BURLEIGH, LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND.2 If thou wouldst know the virtues of mankind, Read here in one what thou in all canst find, And go no further: let this circle be What is there more that can ennoble blood? The orphan's pillar, the true subject's shield, The poor's full store-house, and just servant's field. The only faithful watchman for the realm, That in all tempests never quit the helm, and the patron, who must have been highly gratified with the judicious and characteristic applause bestowed on the great statesman to whose honours he succeeded. 3 For this excellent person see p. 239. He held the seals, in compliance with the reiterated intreaties of James, till the 3rd of March, 1617, when, as Camden tells us, the king received them from him with tears of gratitude. This Epigram (Jonson says) was written for a poor man, who had a suit depending before Lord Elsmere. Its date may be referred to Michaelmas Term, 1616. 4 For the same poor man. But when I read or hear the names so rife, Of hirelings, wranglers, stitchers-to of strife, Hook-handed harpies, gowned vultures, put Upon the reverend pleaders; do now shut All mouths that dare entitle them, from hence, To the wolves' study, or dogs' eloquence; Thou art my Cause: whose manners since I knew, Have made me to conceive a lawyer new. So dost thou study matter, men, and times, Mak'st it religion to grow rich by crimes; Dar'st not abuse thy wisdom in the laws, Or skill to carry out an evil cause: But first dost vex and search it! if not sound, Thou prov'st the gentler ways to cleanse the wound, And make the scar fair; if that will not be, 1 A more than civil war.] Plusquam civilia bella.-LUCAN. Who 'gainst the law weave calumnies, my] This blank, I imagine, was to have been filled with the name of the counsellor who pleaded in the cause: it must be a word of one syllable, and answer in rhyme to men, the close Thou hast the brave scorn to put back the fee ! But in a business that will bide the touch, What use, what strength of reason, and how much Of books, of precedents hast thou at hand! As if the general store thou didst command Of argument, still drawing forth the best, And not being borrowed by thee, but possest. So com'st thou like a chief into the court Armed at all pieces, as to keep a fort Against a multitude; and, with thy style So brightly brandished, wound'st, defend'st! the while Thy adversaries fall, as not a word They had, but were a reed unto thy sword. Then com'st thou off with victory and palm, Thy hearers' nectar and thy clients' balm, The court's just honour and thy judge's love. And (which doth all achievements get above) Thy sincere practice breeds not thee a fame Alone, but all thy rank a reverend name. Of those that set by their false faces more Than this did by her true? she never sought Quarrel with nature, or in balance brought Art her false servant; nor, for Sir Hugh Plat, 3 Was drawn to practise other hue than that Her own blood gave her she ne'er had, nor hath Any belief in Madam Bawdbee's bath, Of beauty, so to nullify a face, Make all hereafter, hadst thou ruined this? of the preceding verse. From these particulars, it is probable the person here meant was Anthony Benn, who succeeded the solicitor Coventry in the recordership of London.-WHAL. 3 Sir Hugh Plat. He was a compiler of recipes for making cosmetics, oils, ointments, &c. &c.; one of his books is entitled, "Delights for ladies to adorne their persons, &c. 1648." Ay, that thy aim was; but her fate prevailed : And, scorned, thou'st shown thy malice, but hast failed! LIV. AN EPITAPH. What beauty would have lovely styled, And till the coming of the soul To fetch the flesh, we keep the roll. LV. A SONG. LOVER. Come, let us here enjoy the shade, MISTRESS. Where love doth shine, there needs no sun, ARBITER. A spark to set whole world a-fire, CHORUS. Not like your country neighbours that Their vice of loving for a Christmas-fit; But, as a friend, which name yourself And which you (being the worthier) gave me leave In letters, that mix spirits, thus to weave. Which, how most sacred I will ever keep, So may the fruitful vine my temples steep. And fame wake for me when I yield to sleep! Though you sometimes proclaim me too severe, Rigid, and harsh, which is a drug austere Little know they, that profess amity, And less they know, who being free to use That friendship which no chance but love did choose, Will unto licence that fair leave abuse. It is an act of tyranny, not love, move. From each of which I labour to be free, Such are his powers, whom time hath But shall sometimes be tempted to obey styled, Now swift, now slow, now tame, now wild; LVI. AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. Sir, I am thankful, first to heaven for you; Next to yourself, for making your love true : Then to your love and gift. And all's but due. You have unto my store added a book, On which with profit I shall never look, But must confess from whom that gift took. 1 'Tis true, I'm broke, &c.] This, and the next three Elegies, are all addressed to the same person. The lady, whoever she was, appears to have had a love affair with the poet, who, in Ifidence, and disclosed the secret of their cona moment of intoxication, had betrayed her con nection. Or there to starve it. Help, O you that may Alone lend succours, and this fury stay. And fills my powers with persuading joy, In will and power, only to defeat. God and the good know to forgive and As not alone the cure, but scar be fair. Why was't? did e'er the clouds ask back their rain? The sun his heat and light? the air his dew? Or winds the spirit by which the flower so grew? That were to wither all, and make a grave Of that wise nature would a cradle have. Her order is to cherish and preserve; Consumption's, nature to destroy and He cannot angry be but all must quake; It shakes e'en him that all things else doth shake, And how more fair and lovely looks the world In a calm sky, than when the heaven is hurled About in clouds and wrapt in raging weather, As all with storm and tempest ran together! O imitate that sweet serenity That makes us live, not that which calls to die. In dark and sullen morns do we not say, Be not affected with these marks too much As I the penitent's here emulate. The contrite soul who hath no thought to win Upon the hope to have another sin Forgiven him: and in that line stand I, Rather than once displease you more, to die, To suffer tortures, scorn, and infamy, What fools, and all their parasites can apply; The wit of ale, and genius of the malt On every wall, and sung where-e'er I walk. Then, mistress, here, here let your rigour end, And let your mercy make me ashamed t' offend ; I will no more abuse my vows to you, O that you could but by dissection see How much you are the better part of me; How all my fibres by your spirit do move, And that there is no life in me but love! You would be then most confident, that though Public affairs command me now to go I may dilate myself, but not depart. LVIII. AN ELEGY. To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true, Was it my fate to prove it full in you?1 1 To make the doubt clear, that, &c.] There is a collection of Dr. Donne's poems in 8vo, 1669, amongst which is this elegy: how it came there I know not, for there is no doubt but it is Jonson's.-WHAL. Whalley appears not to have known that the elegy was printed in a 4to edition of Donne's Poems, which came out in 1633. I have already observed that there was a mutual communication of MSS. between the two poets, and the verses before us might be found among the doctor's papers (for he was now dead), and published by his son, or by those who collected them, as his own. The preceding poem, in which the poet so ingenuously confessed his fault, and so earnestly sued for pardon, appears to have had its effect, and reconciled the lovers. They were still, however, imprudent: the lady in her turn trusted a false friend, who abused her confidence, and traduced the parties to each other, till he had stirred up a mutual jealousy, and finally separated them. On the discovery of this treachery, Jonson writes the second elegy, which, like the first, led to a reconciliation. I have no knowledge of the person to whom these Elegies were addressed. I once thought them to be scholastic exercises like she desperate love verses of Donne and Cowley; but they now strike me as too earnest for anything but a real intrigue. The text of the folio (the blunders of which I am weary of noticing) has been much improved by a collation with the copy in Donne's works. [In Donne's Works this line stands, This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee.-F.C.J |