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malignity on the part of Nash, who remembered that Barnes had sided with Gabriel Harvey in one of the numerous quarrels which, at that period, agitated, in no very decorous manner, the literary public*.

The sonnets, we are told by the author, were composed during his travels in France, and seem to have been viewed by him in the light of religious exercises. He speaks of them as "prescribed tasks." No person can read them, I think, without feeling his thoughts calmed, and his faith strengthened. The piety of the writer does not chill us with the austerity of its features; it is humble, joyful, and confident, though expressed with some of the affectation of the age.

O benigne Father, let my suits ascend

And please thy gracious ears, from my soul sent;
Even as those sweet perfumes of incense went,
From our forefathers' altars, who didst lend
Thy nostrils to that myrrh which they did send;
Even as I now crave thine ears to be lent.
My soul, my soul is wholly wholly bent
To do thee condigne† service, and amend;
To flee for refuge to thy wounded breast,
To suck the balm of my salvation thence,
In sweet repose to take eternal rest,
As thy child folded in thy arms' defence.
But then my flesh, methought, by Sathan fired,
Said-my proud sinful soul in vain aspired.

Thomas Nash was the contemporary of Greene, the dramatic poet, at Cambridge, and took his B. A. degree at St. John's, in 1585. His name is familiar to all students of our old poetry, as the bitter antagonist of Gabriel Harvey. This singular man, who united to ripe scholarship a very ridiculous propensity for writing verses, enjoyed considerable popularity in his day. He was the friend of Spenser, with whom he became acquainted at Cambridge, and to whose Faery Queen he prefixed the sweetest lines he ever wrote. But Harvey's vanity surpassed all his other qualifications. Upon his return from Italy he dressed himself in the Venetian costume, and was remarkable for the uncommon richness and costliness of his attire. The circumstance, however, of his father having been a rope-maker at Saffron Walden, seems to have imbittered his life. Hence arose his enmity to the unhappy Greene, who some weeks before his death published a tract containing reflections upon rope-makers in general.-See the works of Robert Greene, vol. i. p. 84, &c. + Worthy.

The next sonnet is more vigorous and poetical; while Barnes wrote with an almost constant reference to the Italian model, he frequently continues the sense beyond the termination of the line; a practice applauded by Warton. Ben Jonson compared a sonnet to that "tyrant's bed," where they who were too short were stretched by the rack, and they who were too long were compressed into the proper size.

Unto my spirit lend an angel's wing,

By which it might mount to that place of rest,
Where Paradise may me relieve opprest:
Lend to my tongue an angel's voice to sing
Thy praise my comfort; and for ever bring
My notes thereof from the bright East to West;
Thy mercy lend unto my soul distrest,
Thy grace unto my wits; then shall the sling
Of Righteousness that monster Sathan kill,
Who with dispair my dear salvation dared;
And, like the Philistine, stood breathing still
Proud threats against my soul for heaven prepared.
At length I like an angel shall appear

In spotless white, an angel's robe to wear.

When Dr. Bliss published his edition of Wood's Athenæ, the address to Content was the only poem by Barnes with which he was acquainted, but it certainly justified his desire to know more.

Ah! sweet Content, where is thy mild abode ?

Is it with shepherds and light-hearted swains,
Which sing upon the downs and pipe abroad,
Leading their flocks and calling unto plains!
Ah! sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest?
In heaven with angels which the praises sing
Of Him that made, and rolls at his behest,

The minds, and parts of every living thing!
Ah! sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold?
Is it in churches with religious men

Which praise the Gods with prayers manifold,

And in their studies meditate it then?
Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appeare,
Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.

A passing notice may be taken of Henry Constable, another rhymer belonging to this period. His Spiritual Sonnets to the Honour of God and his Saints have been printed in the Heliconia. Of the author little is known. Sir John Harrington calls him "a well-learned gentleman, and noted sonnet-writer." Malone thinks that he was a member of St. John's College, Cambridge, and took his Bachelor's degree in 1579*; and Dr. Birch supposes him to have been a zealous Roman Catholic, and compelled, on account of his religious tenets, to reside abroad during a considerable portion of the reign of Elizabeth. This opinion is countenanced by the general tone of his poems, and by several letters addressed, during his absence, to his friends in England. He was a favourite of Ben Jonson, who speaks of "Constable's ambrosiack music;" and Boltont mentions him in the same sentence with Sackville. His style abounds in conceits, without being enriched by fancy:

TO SAINT MARY MAGDALEN.

Such as retired from sight of men, like thee,
By penance seek the joys of heaven to win,
In deserts make their paradise begin,
And even amongst wild beasts do angels see;
In such a place my soul doth seem to be,

When in my body she laments her sin,
And none but brutal passions finds therein,
Except they be sent down from heaven to me.
Yet if these praises God to me impart,

Which He inspired thy blessed heart withall,

I may find heaven in my retired heart!
And if thou change the object of my love,

The wing'd Affection, which men Cupid call,
May get his sight, and like an angel prove.

* Malone's Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 74.

+"Noble Henry Constable was a great master in English tongue, nor had any gentleman of our nation a more pure, quick, or higher delivery of conceit."--Bolton's Hypercritica. Unfortunately, the sonnet instanced by the worthy critic in support of his good opinion, is almost the worst ever written by the author.

The limits of an Introduction, like the present, preclude any observations upon the miscellaneous poetry of an age fertile of eminent persons, and covered with the most luxuriant harvest of the imagination; but there is one version of selected Psalms which seems to claim particular attention. The contributors were Francis and Christopher Davison, W. Bagnel, R. Gipps, and J. Bryan. The collection is among the Harleian manuscripts, but specimens have been published by Sir Egerton Brydges.

Francis Davison, well known as the editor of the Poetical Rhapsody, was the son of William Davison, the unfortunate Secretary of Queen Elizabeth; a man whose probity and excellence appear to have been unquestioned, even by his enemies, and who may be considered the victim of the deceit of Elizabeth, and the treachery of her ministers. In 1593, Francis became a member of Gray's Inn, and, before the completion of his twentieth year, he wrote the speeches of the Gray's Inn Masque, printed in Nichols's Progresses of Queen Elizabeth. In 1595 he was on the Continent, and, on his return, appears to have relinquished his former pursuits, and devoted himself to poetry. Mr. John Chamberlain, writing to Sir Dudley Carleton, on the 8th of July, 1602, alludes to the circumstance :-"It seems young Davison means to take another course, and turn poet; for he has lately sent out certain sonnets and epigrams*." The first edition of the Poetical Rhapsody was published in 1602. The fall of his father from his rank and dignities, and his subsequent imprisonment and poverty, must have blighted the prospects of the poet. After 1619 nothing has been discovered respecting him; and it has been supposed that he shared what has been called, with melancholy truth, the common lot of genius

*Birch's MSS., Brit. Mus. 4173, p. 125.

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an obscure life, and an early grave*.” It was, perhaps, during hours of sorrow and penury, that these beautiful versions of the Psalms were composed; and the reader may coincide with Sir Egerton Brydges in esteeming them more honourable to the author, than his lighter compositions, written, as he tells us, in his younger days, "at idle times," as he journeyed "up and down" in his travels.

The following Paraphrase of the twenty-third Psalm will show that Davison could touch the harp of Sion with a grace and skill not unworthy the "sweet finger" of the Royal Minstrel. This Psalm has also been translated by Crashaw, with a richness and felicity of diction peculiarly his own. I shall speak of it more fully in the life of that

poet.

God, who the universe doth hold

In his fold,

Is my shepherd kind and heedful,
Is my shepherd, and doth keep
Me his sheep,

Still supplied with all things needful.

He feeds me in fields which bin †,
Fresh and green,

Mottled with Spring's flowery painting,
Through which creep with murmuring crooks,
Crystal brooks,

To refresh my spirits fainting.

When my soul from heaven's way
Went astray,

With earth's vanities seduced,
For his namesake, kindly He,
Wandering me

To his holy fold reduced ‡.

Yea, though I stray through Death's vale,

Where his pale

Shades did on each side enfold me,

Autographs of Royal, Noble, and Remarkable Persons, by J. G. Nichols; fol. 1829.

† Be.

Reduced, led back.

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