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Must fall without a line, and only be
A theme of wonder, not of poetry.
He that dares praise the eminent, he must
Either be such, or but revile their dust:
And so must we, great Genius of brave
verse!

With our injurious zeal profane thy herse.
It is a task above our skill, if we
Presume to mourn our own dead elegy;
Wherein, like bankrupts in the stock of
fame,

To patch our credit up, we use thy name;
Or cunningly to make our dross to pass,
Do set a jewel in a foil of brass :

No, 'tis the glory of thy well-known name, To be eternized, not in verse but fame. JONSON! that's weight enough to crown thy

stone:

And make the marble piles to sweat and groan

Under the heavy load! a name shall stand Fixed to thy tomb, till time's destroying hand Crumble our dust together, and this all Sink to its grave, at the great funeral.

If some less learned age neglect thy pen, Eclipse thy flames, and lose the name of BEN,

In spight of ignorance thou must survive
In thy fair progeny; that shall revive
Thy scattered ashes in the skirts of death,
And to thy fainting name give a new breath;
That twenty ages after, men shall say
(If the world's story reach so long a day)
Pindar and Plautus with their double quire
Have well translated BEN the English lyre.
What sweets were in the Greek or Latin
known,

A natural metaphor has made thine own:
Their lofty language in thy phrase so drest,
And neat conceits in our own tongue ex-
prest,

That ages hence, critics shall question make Whether the Greeks and Romans English spake.

And though thy fancies were too high for those

That but aspire to Cockpit-flight, or prose,

1 Ralph, son of Richard and Cicely Brideoake, was born at Chetham Hill, near Manchester, about 1614. On the 15th July, 1630, he was admitted of Brazen Nose College, but removed to New College, where, in 1636, he was created M. A. by royal_mandate. Being patronized by the Earl of Derby, he defended that nobleman's house against the parliamentary forces; but the earl being taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester, Brideoake plied Lenthal with so much zeal and skill to preserve his patron's life, that, though he was unsuccessful in

Though the fire plush and velvets of the age

Did oft for sixpence damn thee from the stage,

And, with their mast and acorn stomachs

ran

To the nasty sweepings of thy serving-man, Before thy cates, and swore thy stronger food,

'Cause not by them digested, was not good; These moles thy scorn and pity did but raise,

They were as fit to judge as we to praise. Were all the choice of wit and language shown

In one brave epitaph upon thy stone, Had learned Donne, Beaumont, and Randolph, all

Survived thy fate, and sung thy funeral, Their notes had been too low: take this from me,

None but thyself could write a verse for thee.

ON

R. BRIDEOAKE.1

MASTER BEN JONSON.

Poet of princes, Prince of poets (we,
If to Apollo, well may pray to thee,)
Give glow-worms leave to peep, who till
thy night

Could not be seen, we darkened were with light.

For stars t' appear after the fall of the sun,
Is at the least modest presumption.
I've seen a great lamp lighted by the small
Spark of a flint, found in a field or wall.
Our thinner verse faintly may shadow forth
A dull reflection of thy glorious worth;
And (like a statue homely fashioned) raise
Some trophies to thy memory, though not
praise.

Those shallow sirs, who want sharp sight to look

On the majestic splendour of thy book,

his object, he so interested the Speaker that he was appointed preacher to the Parliament. Notwithstanding his acceptance of this office, upon the Restoration he was appointed chaplain to Charles II., installed Canon of Windsor, Dean of Salisbury, and ultimately advanced to the see of Chichester. While in the active discharge of his episcopal duties he was seized with a fever that hastily terminated his existence, on the 5th October, 1678. He was buried in St. George's Chapel, Windsor, where a handsome monument remains to his memory.-GILCHRIST.

That rather choose to hear an Archy's Thou couldst have done so, hadst thou

prate,

Than the full sense of a learned laureat, May, when they see thy name thus plainly writ,

Admire the solemn measures of thy wit, And like thy works beyond a gaudy show Of boards and canvas, wrought by Inigo. Ploughmen, who puzzled are with figures,

come

By tallies to the reckoning of a sum; And milk-sop heirs, which from their mother's lap

Scarce travelled, know far countries by a map.

Shakspeare may make grief merry, Beaumont's style

Ravish and melt anger into a smile;
In winter nights, or after meals they be,
I must confess, very good company:
But thou exact'st our best hours' industry;
We may read them; we ought to study
thee:

Thy scenes are precepts, every verse doth give

Counsel, and teach us not to laugh, but live.

Thou that with towering thoughts pre

sum'st so high,

(Swelled with a vain ambitious tympany) To dream on sceptres, whose brave mis

chief calls

The blood of kings to their last funerals,
Learn from Sejanus his high fall, to prove
To thy dread sovereign a sacred love;
Let him suggest a reverend fear to thee,
And may his tragedy thy lecture be.
Learn the compendious age of slippery
power

That's built on blood; and may one little hour

Teach thy bold rashness that it is not safe To build a kingdom on a Cæsar's grave.

Thy plays were whipt and libelled, only

'cause

They are good, and savour of our kingdom's laws.

Histrio-Mastix (lightning like) doth wound Those things alone that solid are and sound.

Thus guilty men hate justice; so a glass
Is sometimes broke for shewing a foul face.
There's none that wish thee rods instead of
bays,

But such, whose very hate adds to thy praise.
Let scribblers (that write post, and versify
With no more leisure than we cast a dye)
Spur on their Pegasus, and proudly cry,
This verse I made in the twinkling of an eye.

thought it fit;

But 'twas the wisdom of thy muse to sit And weigh each syllable; suffering nought to pass

But what could be no better than it was. Those that keep pompous state ne'er go in haste;

Thou went'st before them all, though not so fast.

While their poor cobweb-stuff finds as quick fate

As birth, and sells like almanacks out of date;

The marble glory of thy laboured rhyme Shall live beyond the calendar of time. Who will their meteors 'bove thy sun advance?

Thine are the works of judgment, theirs of chance.

How this whole kingdom's in thy debt! we have

From others periwigs and paints, to save
Our ruined sculls and faces; but to thee
We owe our tongues, and fancies remedy.
Thy poems make us poets; we may lack
(Reading thy Book) stolen sentences and

sack.

He that can but one speech of thine rehearse,

Whether he will or no, must make a verse: Thus trees give fruit, the kernels of that fruit

Do bring forth trees, which in more branches shoot.

Our canting English, of itself alone, (I had almost said a confusion) Is now all harmony; what we did say Before was tuning only, this is play. Strangers, who cannot reach thy sense, will throng

To hear us speak the accents of thy tongue Ás unto birds that sing; if't be so good When heard alone, what is't when understood !

Thou shalt be read as classic authors; and, As Greek and Latin, taught in every land. The cringing Monsieur shall thy language vent,

When he would melt his wench with compliment.

Using thy phrases he may have his wish
Of a coy nun, without an angry pish!
And yet in all thy poems there is shown
Such chastity, that every line's a zone.
Rome will confess that thou mak'st Cæsar
talk

In greater state and pomp than he could walk:

Catiline's tongue is the true edge of swords, We now not only hear, but feel his words.

Who Tully in thy idiom understands Will swear that his orations are commands.

But that which could with richer language dress

The highest sense, cannot thy worth express.

Had I thy own invention (which affords Words above action, matter above words) To crown thy merits, I should only be Sumptuously poor, low in hyperbole. RICHARD WEST.

TO THE MEMORY OF

BENJAMIN JONSON.

Our bays, methinks, are withered, and they look

As if (though thunder-free) with envy, strook ;

While the triumphant cypress boasts to be Designed, as fitter for thy company.

Where shall we now find one dares boldly write

Free from base flattery yet as void of spight?

That grovels not in 's satires, but soars high,

Strikes at the mounting vices, can descry With his quick eagle's pen those glorious crimes,

That either dazzle, or affright the times? Thy strength of judgment oft did thwart the tide

O' the foaming multitude, when to their

side

Thronged plush, and silken censures, whilst it chose,

(As that which could distinguish men from clothes,

Richard West, the son of Thomas West of Northampton, was admitted student of Christ Church, from Westminster School, in 1632; took his degrees of bachelor and master of arts, and during the rebellion joined the soldiers of his sovereign. At the restoration he became rector of Shillingston in Dorsetshire, and prebendary of Wells. He published some sermons, and has "a Poem to the pious memory of his dear brother-in-law, Mr. Thomas Randolph," prefixed to the works of that excellent dramatic writer.-GILCHRIST.

Robert Meade was born in Fleet Street, in 1616; after receiving the earlier part of his education at Westminster, he removed to Christ

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DEATH OF BENJAMIN JONSON. Let thine own Sylla, BEN, arise, and try To teach my thoughts an angry extasy, That I may fright Contempt, and with just darts

Of fury stick thy palsy in their hearts!
But why do I rescue thy name from
those

That only cast away their ears in prose?
Or, if some better brain arrive so high,
To venture rhymes, 'tis but court bal-
ladry,

Singing thy death in such an uncouth tone,

As it had been an execution.

What are his faults (O envy !)—That you speak

English at court, the learned stage acts Greek?

That Latin he reduced, and could command

That which your Shakspeare scarce could understand?

That he exposed you, zealots, to make known

Your profanation, and not his own?

Church, Oxford, where he took the degree of M.A., and afterwards a doctor's degree in physic. When the rebellion broke out, in common with almost all the poets of his day,-he followed the fortunes of his royal and indulgent master, and was appointed by the Governor of Oxford to treat with the Parliamentary army concerning the surrender of that city. After the death of the king he followed Charles II. into France, and was employed by that monarch as his agent in Sweden. Returning into England, he died in the same house, it is said, in which he was born, the 12th Feb., 1652. He left one comedy, The Combat of Love and Friendship," printed in 4to, 1654.--GILCHRIST.

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Ludicra Chauceri, classisque incompta sequentum ;

Nascenti apta parum divina hæc machina regno,

In nostrum servanda fuit tantæque decebat Prælusisse Deos ævi certamina famæ ; Nec gemos vates, nec te Shakspeare si

Aut quicquid sacri nostros conjecit in annos Consilium fati: per seros ite nepotes Illustres animæ, demissaque nomina sem

per

Candidior fama excipiat; sed parcite divi, Si majora vocant, si pagina sanctior urget. Est vobis decor, et nativæ gratia Musæ, Quæ trahit atque tenet, quæ me modò læta remittit,

Excitum modò in alta rapit, versatque legentem.

Sed quàm te memorem vatum Deus: O nova gentis

Gloria et ignoto turgescens musa cothurno! Quàm solidat vires, quàm pingui robore surgens

Invaditque hauritque animam : haud temerarius ille

Qui mos est reliquis, probat obvia, magnaque fundit

Felici tantum genio; sed destinat ictum, Sed vafer et sapiens cunctator prævia sternit,

Furtivoque gradu subvectus in ardua, tandem

Dimittit pleno correptos fulmine sensus. Huc, precor, accedat quisquis primo igue calentem

Ad numeros sua musa vocat, nondumque subacti

Ingenii novitate tumens in carmina fertur Non normæ legisve memor; quis ferre

soluti

Naufragium ingenii poterit, mentisque ruinam?

Quanto pulchrior hic mediis qui regnat in undis,

Turbine correptus nullo: cui spiritus ingens Non artem vincit: medio sed verus in cestro, Princeps insano pugnantem numine musam Edomat, et cudit suspenso metra furore.

In rabiem Catilina tuam conversus et artes

This poem by Thomas Terrent is a very creditable proof of his skill in the composition of Latin poetry, in which it should seem he principally exercised his muse, since we find a similar tribute prefixed by the same author to the plays and poems of Thomas Randolph.

Terrent was educated at Christ Church, Ox

Qualia molitur; quali bacchatur hiatu?
En mugitum oris, conjurat æque Camœnæ,
Divinas furias et non imitabile fulmen !
O verum Ciceronis opus, linguæque disertæ
Elogium spirans! O vox æterna Catonis,
Cæsaream reserans fraudem, retrahensque
sequaces

Patricios in cædem, et funera certa reorum !

Quis fando expediat primæ solennia pompæ, Et circumfusi studium plaususque theatri ? Non tu divini Cicero dux inclyte facti, Romave majores vidit servata triumphos.

Celsior incedis nostro, Sejane, cothurno Quàm te Romani, quàm te tua fata ferebant :

Hinc magis insigni casu, celebrique ruina Volveris, et gravius terrent exempla theatri. At tu stas nunquam ruituro in culmine vates,

Despiciens auras, et fallax numen amici, Tutus honore tuo, genitæque volumine famæ.

A Capreis verbosa et grandis epistola frustra
Venerat, offenso major fruerere Tonante,
Si sic crevisses, si sic, Sejane, stetisses.
O fortunatum, qui te, JONSONE, sequutus
Contexit sua fila, suique est nominis author.
T. TERRENT.1

VATUM PRINCIPI

BEN. JONSONO

SACRUM.

Poëtarum Maxime !

Sive tu mortem, sive ecstasin passus, Jaces verendum et plus quam hominis funus.

Sic post receptam sacri furoris gloriam,

Cum exhaustum jam numen decoxit emerita vates

Jugique fluxu non reditura se prodegit anima,

Jacuit Sibyllæ cadaver,

Vel trepidis adhuc cultoribus consulendum.

Nulli se longius indulsit Deus, nulli ægrius valedixit;

ford, where he took the degree of Master of Arts, and was tutor of the College. He is entirely overlooked by Antony Wood, unless he be the Ferumael Terrent said to be the tutor of Cartwright the poet. (Athenæ, 2, 35), which seems not unlikely.-GILCHRIST.

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