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course of Abraham's strange voiage, thire mistresse sorrow and perplexity, accompanied with frightfull dreams; and tell the manner of his rising by night, taking his servants and his son with him. Next may come forth Sarah herself. After the Chorus, or Ismael, or Agar. Next some shepheard or companie of merchants, passing through the mount in the time that Abram was in the mid-work, relate to Sarah what they saw. Hence lamentations, fears, wonders. The matter in the mean while divulg'd, Aner, or Eschol, or Mamre, Abram's confederats, come to the house of Abram to be more certaine, or to bring news; in the mean while discoursing, as the world would, of such an action, divers ways; bewayling the fate of so noble a man faln from his reputation, either through divin justice or superstition, or coveting to doe some notable act through zeal. At length a servant, sent from Abram, relates the truth; and last he himselfe comes in with a great traine of Melchizedec's, whose shepheards, beeing secretlye witnesses of all passages, had related to their master, and he conducted his friend Abraham home with joy.

Jiii. Baptistes. The Scene, the Court.

Beginning, From the morning of Hero'ds birth day.

In the mar

the queen

Herod, by some counselgin of the MS. er persuaded on his birthmay plot, under day to release John Bappræ.enseofbegging for his - tist, purposes it, causes berty, to seek him to be sent for to court

to draw him in

to a snare by from prison. The queen
his freedom of hears of it, takes occa-
speech.
sion to passe wher he is, on purpose,
that, under prætense of reconsiling to
him, or seeking to draw a kind retrac-
tation from him of the censure on the
marriage; to which end she sends a
courtier before, to sound whether he
might be persuaded to mitigate his sen-
tence; which not finding, she herself
craftily assays; and on his constancie,
founds an accusation to Herod of a con-
tumacious affront, on such a day, be-
fore many peers; præpares the king to
soine passion, and at last by her daugh-
ter's dancing, effects it. There may
prologize the spirit of Philip, Herod's
brother. It may also be thought that
Herod had well bedew'd himself with
wine, which made him grant the easier
to his wive's daughter.

Some of his disciples also, as to congratulate his liberty, may be brought in; with whom, after certain command of his death, many compassionating words of his disciples, bewayling his youth cut off in his glorious cours; he telling them his work is don, and wishing them to follow Christ his maister.

lis. Sodom. The title, Cupid's funeral pile:

Sodom burning. The Scene before Lot's gate.

The Chorus, consisting of Lot's shepherds come to the citty about some affairs, await in the evening thire maister's return from his evening walk toward the citty gates. He brings with him two young men, or youths, of noble form. After likely discourses, præpares for thire entertainment. By then supper is ended, the gallantry of the towne passe by in procession, with music and song, to the temple of Venus Urania or Peor; and, understanding of tow noble strangers arriv'd, they send 2 of thire choy sest youth, with the priest, to invite them to thire citty solemnities; it beeing an honour that thire citty had decreed to all fair personages, as beeing sacred to their goddess. The angels being ask't by the priest whence they are, say they are of Salem; the priest inveighs against the strict reign of Melchisedec.

Lot, that knows thire drift, answers thwartly at last. Of which notice given to the whole assembly, they hasten thither, taxe him of præsumption, singularity, breach of city-customs; fine, offer violence. The Chorus of shepheards præpare resistance in thire maister's defence; calling the rest of the serviture: but, being forc't to give back, the angels open the dore, rescue Lot, discover themselves, ware him to gether his friends and sons in law out of the city.

He goes, and returns; as having met with some incredulous. Some other freind or son in law (out of the way when Lot came to his house) overtakes him to know his buisnes. Heer is disputed of incredulity of divine judgements, and such like inatters.

At last is described the parting from the citty. The Chorus depart with their maister. The angels doe the deed with all dreadful execution. The king and nobles of the citty may come forth, and serve to set out the terror. A Chorus of angels concluding, and the angels relating the event of Lot's journey, and of his wife.

The first Chorus, beginning, may relate the course of the citty; each evening every one, with mistresse or Gany med, gitterning along the streets, or solacing on the banks of Jordan, or down the stream.

At the priests' inviting the angels to the solemnity, the angels, pittying ther beauty, may dispute of love, and how it differs from lust; seeking to win them.

In the last scene, to the king and nobles, when the fierce thunder begins aloft, the angel appeares all girt with flames, which, he saith, are the flames of true love, and tells the king, who falls down with terrour, his just suffering, as also Athane's, that is, Gener, Lot's s

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marlyr'd by Hinguar the Dane. See Speed, L. viii, C. ii.

lxxii.

Sigbert, tyrant of the West-Saxons, slaine by a swinheard.

Ixxiii.

Edmund, brother of Athelstan, slaine by a theefe at his owne table. Malmesb. Irxiv. Edwin, son to Edward the younger, for lust depriv'd of his kingdom, or rather by faction of monks, whome he hated; together [with] the impostor Dunstan. lxxv. Edward, son of Edgar, murder'd by his step-mother. To which may be inserted the tragedies stirr'd up betwixt the monks and priests about mariage. lxxvi. Etheldred, son of Edgar, a slothful king; the ruin of his land by the Danes. lxxvii. Ceaulin, king of the West-Saxons, for tyrannie depos'd and banish't; and dying.

lxxviii. The slaughter of the monks of Bangor

by Edelfride, stirr'd up, as is said, by Ethelbert, and he by Austine the monke; because the Britains would not receave the rites of the Roman church. See Bede, Geffrey Monmouth, and Holinsbed, p. 104. Which must begin with the convocation of British Clergie by Austin to determine superfluous points, which by them were refused.

Ixx. Osbert, of Northumberland, slain for ravishing the wife of Bernbocard, and the Danes brought in. See Stow, Holinsh, L. vi. C. xii. And especially Speed, L. viii. C. ii.

Ixxi, Edmund, last king of the East-Angles,

lxxix. Edwin, by vision, promis'd the kingdom of Northumberland on promise of his conversion; and therein establish't by Rodoald, king of [the] East-Angles.

lxxx. Oswin, king of Deira, slaine by Oswie his friend, king of Bernitia, through instigation of flatterers. See Holinsh. p. 115.

lxxxi. Sigibert, of the East-Angles, keeping companie with a person excommunicated, slaine by the same man in his house, according as the bishop Cedda had foretold.

"

lxxxii, Egfride, king of the Northumbers, slaine in battle against the Picts; having before wasted Ireland, and made warre for no reason on men that ever lov'd the English; forewarn'd alo by Cuthbert not to fight with the Ficts. Ixxxiii. Kinewulf, king of the West-Saxons, slaine by Kineard in the house of one of his concubins.

lxxxiv. Gunthildis, the Danish ladie, with her husband Palingus, and her son, slaine by the appointment of the traitor Edrick, in king Ethelred's days. Holinsh. L. vii. C. v. together with the massacre of the Danes at Oxford. Speed. lxxxv. Brightrick, [king] of [the] West-Saxons, poyson'd by his wife Ethelburge, Offa's daughter; who dyes miserably also, in beggery, after adultery, in a nunnery. Speed in Bithrick.

lxxxvi. Alfred, in disguise of a minstrel, discovers

the Danes' negligence; sets on [them] with a mightie slaughter. About the same tyme the Devonshire men rout Hubba, and slay him. Ixxxvii. Athelstan exposing his brother Edwin to the sea, and repenting.

lxxxviii. Edgar slaying Ethelwold for false play in wooing. Wherein may be set out his pride, and lust, which he thought to close by favouring monks and building monasteries. Also the disposition of woman in Elfrida towards her husband. [Peck proposes, and justly, I think, to read cloke instead of close.] Ixxxix. Swane beseidging London, and Ethelred repuls't by the Londoners.

xc. Harold slaine in battel, by William the
Norman. The first scene may begin
with the ghost of Alfred, the second son
of Ethelred, slaine in cruel manner by
Godwin, Harold's father; his mother
and brother dissuading him.
xci. Edmund Ironside defeating the Danes
at Brentford; with his combat with Ca-

nute.

2

xcii. Edmund Ironside murder'd by Edrick the traitor, and reveng'd by Canute. xciii. Gunilda, daughter to king Canute and Emma, wife to Henry III. emperour, accus'd of inchastitie; defended by her English page in combat against a giantlike adversary; who by him at two blows is slaine, &c. Speed in the life of Ca

nute.

xciv. Hardiknute dying in his cups: an example to riot.

xcv. Edward the Confessor's divorsing and im

prisoning his noble wife Editha, Godwin's daughter. Wherin is showed his over-affection to strangers, the cause of Godwin's insurrection. Wherein Godwin's forbearance of battel, prais'd; and the English moderation on both sides, magnifi'd. His [Edward's] slacknesse to redresse the corrupt clergie, and superstitious prætence of chastitie.

SCOTCH STORIES, OR RATHER BRITISH OF THE NORTH PARTS.

xcvi. Athirco slain by Natholochus, whose daughters he had ravish't; and this Natholocus, usurping thereon the kingdom, seeks to slay the kindred of Athirco, who scape him and conspire against him. He sends a witch to know the event. The witch tells the messenger, that he is the man, that shall slay Natholocus. He detests it; but, in his journie home, changes his mind, and performs it. Scotch Chron. English. p. 68, 69. xcvii. Luffe and Donwald. A strange story of witchcraft and murder discover'd and reveng'd. Scotch story, 149 &c. xcviii. Haie, the plowman, who, with his two sons that were at plow, running to the battell that was between the Scots and Danes in the next field, staid the flight of his countrymen, renew'd the battell, and

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LYCIDAS.

In this MONODY, the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637. And by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height. [Edward King, the subject of this Monody, was the son of sir John King, knight, secretary for Ireland, under queen Elizabeth, James the first, and Charles the first. He was sailing from Chester to Ireland, on a visit to his friends and relations in that country: these were, his brother sir Robert King, knight; and his sisters, Anne wife of sir George Caulfield lord Claremont, and Margaret, abovementioned, wife of sir George Loder, chief justice of Ireland; Edward King bishop of Elphin, by whom he was baptized; and William Chappel, then dean of Cashel, and provost of Dublin college, who had been his tutor at Christ's college Cambridge, and was afterwards bishop of Cork and Ross, and in this pastoral is probably the same person that is styled old Damoetas, v. 36. When, in calm weather, not far from the English coast, the ship, a very crazy vessel, a fatal and perfidious bark, struck on a rock, and suddenly sunk to the bottom with all that were on board, not one escaping, Aug. 10, 1637. King was now only twentyfive years old. He was perhaps a native of Ire

land.

At Cambridge, he was distinguished for his piety, and proficiency in polite literature. He has no inelegant copy of Latin iambics prefixed to a Latin comedy called Senile Odium, acted at Queen's college, Cambridge, by the youth of that society, and written by P. Hausted, Cantab. 1633. 12mo. From which I select these lines, as containing a judicious satire on the false taste, and the customary mechanical or unnatural expedients, of the drama that then subsisted.

Non hic cothurni sanguine insonti rubent,
Nec flagra Megæræ ferrea horrendum into-
nant;
Noverca nulla sævior Erebo furit ;
Venena nulla, præter illa dulcia
Amoris; atque his vim abstulere noxiam'
Casti lepores, innocua festivitas,
Nativa suavitas, proba elegantia, &c."

He also appears with credit in the Cambridge

LYCIDAS.

Public Verses of his time. He has a copy of
Latin iambics, in the Anthologia on the
King's Recovery, Cantab. 1632. 4to. p. 43.
Of Latin elegiacs, in the Genethliacum Acad.
Cantabrig. Ibid. 1631. 4to. p. 39. Of Latin
iambics in Rex Redux, Ibid. 1633. 4to. p. 14.
See also MYNDAIA, from Cambridge, Ibid.
1637. 4to. Signat. C. 3.]

YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude:
And, with forc'd fingers rude,
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year:
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due :
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer :
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.

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473

60

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal Nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse:
So may some gentle Muse

With lucky words favour my destin'd urn;
And, as he passes, turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.

praise,"

Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears;
"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil

81

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.".
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds!
That strain I heard was of a higher mood:
But now my oat proceeds,

30

And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea ;

He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,
What hard mishap bath doom'd this gentle swain?
And question'd every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory:
They knew not of his story;

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

100

Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
71
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
"But not the
And slits the thin-spun life.

For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill.
Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd
Under the opening eye-lids of the Morn,
We drove afield, and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star, that rose, at evening bright, 30
Toward Heaven's descent had slop'd his wester-
ing wheel.

Mean while the rural ditties were not mute,
Temper'd to the oaten flute;

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long;
And old Damotas lov'd to hear our song.

But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
"Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'er-
grown,
And all their echoes mourn :

40

rose,

The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorse-
less deep

Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:
[done?
Ay me! I fondly dream!
Had ye been there-for what could that have

51

90

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe. "Ah! who hath reft "(quoth he)" my dearest Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spar'd for thee young

[pledge?"

swain,

110

Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how
to hold

A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 121
What recks it them? What need they? They

are sped;

And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they
draw,

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread :
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing sed:"
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite eace, and smite no more."

130

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks;
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes,
That on the green turf suck the hopied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 142
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

160

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, [more, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walk'd the

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150

waves;

Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing in their glory, move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;180
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and
rills,
While the still Morn went out with sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,

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