ADVERTISEMENT.

THE object of this Work, which is entirely new, is to comprise, within a single volume, a chronological series of our classical Poets, from Ben Jonson to Beattie, without mutilation or abridgment, with Biographical and Critical notices of their Authors. The contents of this volume are so comprehensive, that few poems, it is believed, are omitted, except such as are of secondary merit, or unsuited to the perusal of youth. The Work, within these bounds, may be termed a "Library of Classical English Poetry," and may safely be recommended to the heads of Schools in general, and to the libraries of Young Persons.

BENJAMIN JONSON.

BENJAMIN JONSON, (or Johnson,) a poet, who, gives a particular examination of his "Silent Wo during life, attained a distinguished character, was man," as a model of perfection. He afterwards the posthumous son of a clergyman in Westminster, however, seems to make large deductions from this where he was born in 1574, about a month after his commendation. "You seldom (says Dryden) find father's decease. His family was originally from him making love in any of his scenes, or endeavorScotland, whence his grandfather removed to Car- ing to move the passions; his genius was too sullen lisle, in the reign of Henry VIII. and saturnine to do it gracefully. Humor was his Benjamin received his education under the learned proper sphere; and in that he delighted most to Camden, at Westminster school; and had made represent mechanics." Besides his comedies, Jonson extraordinary progress in his studies, when his mo- composed two tragedies, Sejanus and Catiline, both ther, who had married a bricklayer for her second formed upon ancient models, and full of transhusband, took him away to work under his step-lations; and neither of them successful. His drafather. From this humble employment he escaped, matic compositions, however, do not come within by enlisting as a soldier in the army, then serving in the scope of the present publication. the Netherlands against the Spaniards. An exploit which he here performed, of killing an enemy in single combat, gave him room to boast ever after of a degree of courage which has not often been found in alliance with poetical distinction.

In 1616, he published a folio volume of his works, which procured for him a grant from his majesty of the salary of poet-laureate for life, though he did not take possession of the post till three years after. With high intellectual endowments, he had many On his return, Jonson entered himself at St. unamiable traits in his character, having a high deJohn's College, Cambridge, which he was shortly gree of pride and self-conceit, with a disposition to obliged to quit from the scanty state of his finances. abuse and disparage every one who incurred his He then turned his thoughts to the stage, and jealousy or displeasure. Jonson was reduced applied for employment at the theatres; but his to necessitous circumstances in the latter part of talents, as an actor, could only procure for him his life, though he obtained from Charles I. an adadmission at an obscure playhouse in the suburbs. vance of his salary as laureate. He died in 1637, at Here he had the misfortune to kill a fellow-actor the age of 63, being at that time considered as at the in a duel, for which he was thrown into prison. head of English poetry. He was interred in WestThe state of mind to which he was here brought, minster Abbey, where an inscription was placed over gave the advantage to a Popish priest in converting his grave, familiarly expressive of the reputation him to the Catholic faith, under which religion he he had acquired among his countrymen: it was, continued for twelve years. "O rare Ben Jonson." Six months after his death, a collection of poems to his honor, by a number of the most eminent writers and scholars in the nation, was published, with the title of "Jonsonius Virbius; or the memory of Ben Jonson, revived by the Friends of the Muses."

After his liberation from prison, he married, and applied in earnest to writing for the stage, in which he appears to have already made several attempts. His comedy of "Every Man in his Humor," the first of his acknowledged pieces, was performed with applause in 1596; and henceforth he continued to Although, as a general poet, Jonson for the most furnish a play yearly, till his time was occupied by part merits the character of harsh, frigid, and tedious; the composition of the masques and other enter- there are, however, some strains in which he appears tainments, by which the accession of James was with singular elegance, and may be placed in comcelebrated. Dryden, in his Essay on Dramatic petition with some of the most favored writers of Poetry, speaks of him as the "most learned and that class. judicious writer which any theatre ever had," and

2

TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.

CAMDEN, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know-
(How nothing's that!) to whom my country owes
The great renown, and name wherewith she goes.
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in
things!

What sight in searching the most antique springs!
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Man scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst
teach.

Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Many of thine this better could, than I,
But for their powers, accept my piety.

FROM CYNTHIA'S REVELS

QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep;
Seated in thy silver chair,

State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus intreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear, when day did close;
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal-shining quiver;

Give unto the flying heart

Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

FROM THE SILENT WOMAN.
STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

HAGS.

1. I HAVE been, all day, looking after
A raven, feeding upon a quarter;

And, soon as she turn'd her beak to the south,
I snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth.

2. I have been gathering wolves' hairs,
The mad-dogs' foam, and the adders' ears;
The spurgings of a dead-man's eyes,
And all since the evening-star did rise.

3. I, last night, lay all alone

O' the ground, to hear the mandrake groan;
And pluck'd him up, though he grew full low;
And, as I had done, the cock did crow.

4. And I ha' been choosing out this skull,
From charnel-houses, that were full;
From private grots, and public pits,
And frighted a sexton out of his wits.

5. Under a cradle I did creep,

By day; and, when the child was asleep,
At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose,
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose.

7. A murderer, yonder, was hung in chains, The sun and the wind had shrunk his veins ; I bit off a sinew, I clipp'd his hair,

I brought off his rags, that danc'd i' the air.

8. The screech-owl's eggs, and the feathers black,
The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back,
I have been getting; and made of his skin
A purset, to keep Sir Cranion in.

9. And I ha' been plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adder's tongue,
Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane;
And twice by the dogs was like to be ta'en.

10. I, from the jaws of a gardener's bitch,

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch,
Yet went I back to the house again,

Kill'd the black cat, and here's the brain.

11. I went to the toad breeds under the wall

I charm'd him out, and he came at my call;

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owl before,

I tore the bat's wing: what would you have more?

DAME.

Yes, I have brought (to help our vows)
Horned poppy, cypress boughs,
The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombs,
And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,
The pasilisk's blood, and the viper's skin:
And, now, our orgies let's begin.

EPITAPH

ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE, SISTER TO
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

UNDERNEATH this marble herse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother;
Death, ere thou hast slain another,
Learn'd, and fair, and good as she,
Time shall throw his dart at thee.