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A man whose tuned humours be

The attending world, to wait thy rise, A seat of rarest harmony?

First turn'd to eyes; Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile And then, not knowing what to do, Age? Wouldst see December smile?

Turn'd them to tears, and spent them too. Wouldst see nests of new roses grow

Come, royal name ! and pay the expense In a bed of reverend snow !

Of all this precious patience : Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering

Oh, come away Winter's self into a spring ?

And kill the death of this delay. In sum, wouldst see a man that can

Oh see, so many worlds of barren years Live to be old, and still a man?

Melted and measur'd out in seas of tears ! Whose latest and most leaden hours

Oh, see the weary lids of wakeful hope Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; (Love's eastern windows) all wide ope And when life's sweet fable ends,

With curtains drawn, Soul and body part like friends;

To catch the daybreak of thy dawn! No quarrels, murmurs, no delay ;

Oh, dawn at last, long-look'd for day! A kiss, a sigh, and so away!

Take thine own wings and come away. This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?

Lo, where aloft it comes ! It comes, among
Hark, hither ? and thyself be he.

The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Like diligent bees, and swarm about it.

Oh, they are wise,
Hymn to the Name of Jesus.

And know what sweets are suck'd from out it.

It is the hive I sing the Name which none can say,

By which they thrire, But touch'd with an interior ray ;

Where all their hoard of honey lies. The name of our new peace ; our good ;

Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's Our bliss, and supernatural blood ;

Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves. The name of all our lives and loves :

Welcome to our dark world, thou womb of day! Hearken and help, ye holy doves !

Unfold thy fair conceptions; and display The high-born brood of day ; you bright

The birth of our bright joys.
Candidates of blissful light,

Oh, thou compacted
The heirs elect of love ; whose names belong Body of blessings ! spirit of souls extracted !
Unto the everlasting life of song ;

Oh, dissipate thy spicy powers,
All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast Cloud of condensed sweets ! and break upon us
Of this unbounded Name build your warm nest.

In balmy showers !
Awake, my glory! soul (if such thou be,

Oh, fill our senses, and take from us
And that fair word at all refer to thee),

All force of so profane a fallacy,
Awake and sing,

To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee.
And be all wing !

Fair flow'ry name ! in none but thee, Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see

And thy nectarcal fragrancy,
What of thy parent heaven yet speaks in thee.

Hourly there meets
O thou art poor

An universal synod of all sweets;
Of noble powers, I see,

By whom it is defined thus-
And full of nothing else but empty me ;

That no perfume Narrow and low, and infinitely less

For ever shall presume
Than this great morning's mighty business.

To pass for odoriferous,
One little world or two,

But such alone whose sacred pedigree
Alas! will never do ;

Can prove itself some kin, sweet name! to thee.
We must have store ;

Sweet nanie ! in thy each syllable
Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more ;

A thousand blest Arabias dwell ;
Go and request

A thousand hills of frankincense ;
Great Nature for the key of her huge chest

Mountains of myrrh and beds of spices, Of heav'ns, the self-involving set of spheres,

And ten thousand paradises,
Which dull mortality more feels than hears ;

The soul that tastes thee takes from thence.
Then rouse the nest

How many unknown worlds there are
Of nimble art, and traverse round

Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping ! The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound :

How many thousand mercies there
And beat a summons in the same

In pity's soft lap lie a-slceping !
All-sovereign name,

Happy he who has the art
To warn each several kind

To awake them,
And shape of sweetness-be they such

And to take them
As sigh with supple wind

Home, and lodge them in his heart.
Or answer artful touch-

Oh, that it were as it was wont to be,
That they convene and come away

When thy old friends, on fire all full of thee, To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious Fought against frowns with smiles ; gave glorious chase day

To persecutions ; and against the face

Of death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave Come, lovely name ! life of our hope !

And sober pace march on to meet a grave. Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope !

On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, Unlock thy cabinet of day,

And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee; Dearest sweet, and come away.

In centre of their in most souls they wore thee,
Lo, how the thirsty lands

Where racks and torments strir'd in vain to reach
Gasp for thy golden show'rs, with long-stretch'd hands! thee.
Lo, how the labouring earth,

Little, alas ! thought they
That hopes to be

Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,
All heaven by thee,

Their fury but made way
Leaps at thy birth 1
For thee, and serv'd them in thy glorious ends.


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What did their weapons, but with wider pores
Enlarge thy flaming-breasted lovers,

More freely to transpire

That impatient fire The heart that hides thee hardly covers ! What did their weapons, but set wide the doors For thee ! fair purple doors, of love's devising ; The ruby windows which enrich'd the east Of thy so oft-repeated rising. Each wound of theirs was thy new morning, And re-enthron'd thee in thy rosy nest, With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning : It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. Welcome, dear, all-adored name !

For sure there is no knee

That knows not thee;
Or if there be such sons of shame,

Alas ! what will they do,
When stubborn rocks shall bow,
And hills hang down their hear'n-saluting heads

To seek for humble beds
Of dust, where, in the bashful shades of night,
Next to their own low nothing they may lie,
And couch before the dazzling light of thy dread

They that by love's mild dictate now

Will not adore thee,
Shall then, with just confusion, bow

And break before thee.

SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE, knight, brother of Thomas Lord Fanshawe, was born in 1607. He joined the royalists, and was secretary at war to Prince Rupert. After the Restoration, he was appointed ambassador to Spain and Portugal, in which character he died at Madrid in 1666. Fanshawe translated the Lusiad of Camoens, and the Pastor Fido of Guarini. With the latter production, published in 1648, he gave to the world some miscellaneous poems, from which the following are selected :

A Rose. Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin leaves The wanton wind to sport himself presumes, Whilst from their rifled wardrobe he receives For his wings purple, for his breath perfumes ! Blown in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon : What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee? Thou’rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon : And passing proud a little colour makes thee. If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know, then, the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth in bloody leaves The sentence of thy early death contain. Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn : And many Herods lie in wait each hour To murder thee as soon as thou art born; Nay, force thy bud to blow; their tyrant breath Anticipating life, to hasten death.

You musu waamo

The clean contrary way.
'Tis for Religion that you fight,

And for the ki lom's good,
By robbing churches, plundering men,

And shedding guiltless blood.
Down with the orthodoxal train,

All loyal subjects slay ;
When these are gone, we shall be blest,

The clean contrary way.
When Charles we've bankrupt made like us,

Of crown and power bereft him, And all his loyal subjects slain,

And none but rebels left him.
When we've beggar'd all the land,

And sent our trunks away,
We'll make him then a glorious prince,

The clean contrary way.
'Tis to preserve his majesty,

That we against him fight, Nor are we ever beaten back,

Because our cause is right:
If any make a scruple on't,

Our declarations say,
Who fight for us, fight for the king

The clean contrary way.
At Keynton, Branford, Plymouth, York,

And divers places more,
What victories we saints obtain's,

The like ne'er seen before !
How often we Prince Rupert kill'd,

And bravely won the day ;
The wicked cavaliers did run

The clean contrary way.
The true religion we maintain,

The kingdom's peace and plenty ;
The privilege of parliament

Not known to one of twenty ;
The ancient fundamental laws ;

And teach men to obey
Their lawful sovereign ; and all these

The clean contrary way.
We subjects' liberties preserve,

By prisonments and plunder,
And do enrich ourselves and state

By keeping the wicked under.
We must preserve mechanics now,

To lecturise and pray ;
By them the Gospel is advanced

The clean contrary way.
And though the king be much misled

By that malignant crew ;
He'll find us honest, and at last

Give all of us our due.
For we do wisely plot, and plot

Rebellion to destroy,
He sees we stand for peace and truth,
The clean contrary way.


A Rich Pool. Thee, senseless stock, because thou'rt richly gilt, The blinded people without cause admire, And superstition impiously hath built Altars to that which should have been the fire. Where shall my tongue consent to worship thee, Since all's not gold that glisters and is fair ; Carving but makes an image of a tree : But gods of images are made by prayer.


FROM 1558
n shall save our souls,

A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn.
A man whose But-works together;

To scorn to owe a duty overlong ; A seat of rarshall save our lives, that stay

To scorn to be for benefits forborne; Wouldst

To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong. Age ?

Men our faith and works fall down, Wound or wind and weather.

To scorn to bear an injury in mind ;
all our hopes decay,

To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.
In &r acts will bear us up to heaven,
W The clean contrary way.

But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have,

Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind;
Song.—The Royalist.

Do we his body from our fury save,

And let our hate prevail against our mind ? (Written in 1646.)

What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Come, pass about the bowl to me;

Than make his foe more worthy far than he ?
A health to our distressed king !
Though we're in hold, let cups go free,

Had Mariam scorn’d to leave a due unpaid,
Birds in a cage do freely sing.

She would to Herod then have paid her love,
The ground does tipple healths apace,

And not have been by sullen passion sway'd.
When storms do fall, and shall not we?

To fix her thoughts all injury above
A sorrow dares not show its face,

Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been proud,
When we are ships and sack 's the sea. Long famous life to her had been allow'd.
Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let's sing,
Shall kill ourselves for fear of death?

We'll live by the air which songs doth bring,
Our sighing does but waste our breath :

Then let us not be discontent,
Nor drink a glass the less of wine ;

While Sidney, Spenser, Marlow, and other poets, In vain they'll think their plagues are spent,

were illustrating the reign of Elizabeth, the muses When once they see we don't repine.

were not wholly neglected in Scotland. There was,

however, so little intercourse between the two naWe do not suffer here alone,

tions, that the works of the English bards seem to Though we are beggar'd, so's the king ;

have been comparatively unknown in the north, and 'Tis sin t' have wealth, when he has none;

to have had no Scottish imitators. The country Tush ! poverty's a royal thing!

was then in a rude and barbarous state, tyrannised When we are larded well with drink, Our heads shall turn as round as theirs,

over by the nobles, and torn by feuds and dissenOur feet shall rise, our bodies sink

sions. In England, the Reformation had proceeded

from the throne, and was accomplished with little Clean down the wind, like cavaliers.

violence or disorder. In Scotland, it uprooted the Fill this unnatural quart with sack,

whole form of society, and was marked by fierce Nature all vacuums doth decline,

contentions and lawless turbulence. The absorbing Ourselves will be a zodiac,

influence of this ecclesiastical struggle was unfavour. And every month shall be a sign.

able to the cultivation of poetry. It shed a gloomy Methinks the travels of the glass

spirit over the nation, and almost proscribed the study Are circular like Plato's year,

of romantic literature. The drama, which in England Where everything is as it was;

was the nurse of so many fine thoughts, so much Let's tipple round; and so 'tis here.

stirring passion, and beautiful imagery, was shunned as a leprosy, fatal to religion and morality. The

very songs in Scotland partook of this religious chaLADY ELIZABETH Carew is believed to be the that ALEXANDER Scot, in his New Year Giji to the

racter; and so widely was the polemical spirit diffused, author of the tragedy of Mariam, the Fair Queen of Queen, in 1562, saysJewry, 1613. Though wanting in dramatic interest and spirit, there is a vein of fine sentiment and feel- That limmer lads and little lasses, lo, ing in this forgotten drama. The following chorus, Will argue baith with bishop, priest, and friar. in Act the Fourth, possesses a generous and noble Scot wrote several short satires, and some miscellasimplicity :

neous poems, the prevailing amatory character of [Revenge of Injuries.]

which has caused him to be called the Scottish Ara. The fairest action of our human life

creon, though there are many points wanting to comIs scorning to revenge an injury ;

plete his resemblance to the Teian bard. As speciFor who forgives without a further strife,

mens of his talents, the two following pieces are His adversary's heart to him doth tie.

presented : And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head.

Rondel of Love. If we a worthy enemy do find,

Lo what it is to luve, To yield to worth it must be nobly done ;

Learn ye that list to pruve, But if of baser metal be his mind,

I say,

that no ways may, In base revenge there is no honour won.

The grund of greif remuve. Who would a worthy courage overthrow,

But still decay, both nicht and day; And who would wrestle with a worthless foc ?

Lo what it is to lure ! We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield;

Luve is ane fervent fire, Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor :

Kendillit without desire, Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, but seld

Short plesour, lang displesour; The weakest lion will the loudest roar.

Repentance is the hire; Truth's school for certain doth this same allow,

Ane pure tressour, without messour; High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

Luve is ane fervent fire.


By me,

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Satire on the Town Ladies.

Sen she that I have servit lang,

Is to depart so suddenly,
Address thee now, for thou sall gang

And beir thy lady company.

Fra she be gonc, heartless am I; For why? thou art with her possest.

Therefore, my heart! go hence in hy, And bide with her thou luvis best. Though this belappit body here

Be bound to servitude and thrall,
My faithful heart is free inteir,
And mind to serve my lady at all.

Wald God that I were perigall 2
Under that redolent rose to rest !

Yet at the least, my heart, thou sall Abide with her thou luvis best. Sen in your garth3 the lily whyte

May not remain amang the lave, Adieu the flower of haill delyte;

Adieu the succour that may me save;

Adieu the fragrant balmie suaif,4 And lamp of ladies lustiest !

My faithful heart she sall it have, To bide with her it luvis best.

Some wifis of the borowstoun Sae wonder vain are, and wantoun, In warld they wait not what to weir : On claithis they ware mony a croun; And all for newfangleness of geir.3 And of fine silk their furrit clokis, With hingan sleeves, like geil pokis ; Nae preaching will gar them forbeir To weir all thing that sin provokis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their wilicoats maun weel be hewit, Broudred richt braid, with pasments sewit. I trow wha wald the matter speir, That their gudemen had cause to rue it, That evir their wifis wore sic geir. Their woven hose of silk are shawin, Barrit aboon with taisels drawin; With gartens of ane new maneir, To gar their courtliness be knawin ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Sometime they will beir up their gown, To shaw their wilicoat hingan down; And sometime baith they will upbeir, To shaw their hose of black or brown; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their collars, carcats, and hause beidis 14 With velvet hat heigh on their heidis, Cordit with gold like ane younkeir. Braidit about with golden threidis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. Their shoon of velvet, and their muilis ! In kirk they are not content of stuilis, The sermon when they sit to heir, But carries cusheons like vain fulis ; And all for newfangleness of geir. And some will spend mair, I hear say, In spice and drugis in ane day, Nor wald their mothers in ane yeir. Whilk will gar mony pack decay, When they sae vainly waste their geir.

Deplore, ye ladies clear of huo,

Her absence, sen she must depart, And specially ye lurers true,

That wounded be with luvis dart.

For ye sall want you of ane heart
As weil as I, therefore at last

Do go with mine, with mind inwart,
And bide with her thou luvis best.


SIR RICHARD MAITLAND of Lethington (14961586), father of the Secretary Lethington, of Scottish history, relieved the duties of his situation as a judge and statesman in advanced life, by composing some moral and conversational pieces, and collecting, into the well-known manuscript which bears his name, the best productions of his contemporaries. These

1 Rather 8 Garden.

2 Competent; had it in my power.

8 Attire.

I Wot, or know not.
4 Beads for the throat.

3 Spend.


ALEXANDER HUME, who died, minister of Logie, in 1609, published a volume of Hymns or Sacred Songs, in the year 1599. He was of the Humes of Polwarth,

Leave, burgess men, or all be lost,
On your wifis to mak sic cost,
Whilk may gar all your bairnis bleir.1
She that may not want wine and roast,
Is able for to waste some geir.
Between them, and nobles of blude,
Nae difference but ane velvet hude !
Their camrock curchies are as deir,
Their other claithis are as gude,
And they as costly in other geir.
Of burgess wifis though I speak plain,
Some landwart ladies are as vain,
As by their claithing may appeir,
Wearing gayer nor them may gain,
On ower vain claithis wasting geir.

ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY. ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY was known as a poet in 1568; but his principal work, The Cherry and the Slae, was not published before 1597. The Cherry and the Slae is an allegorical poem, representing virtue and vice. The allegory is poorly managed; but some of Montgomery's descriptions are lively and vigorous; and the style of verse adopted in this poem was afterwards copied by Burns. Divested of some of the antique spelling, parts of the poem secm as modern, and as smoothly versified, as the Scottish poetry of a century and a half later.

The cushat crouds, the corbie cries,
The cuckoo couks, the prattling pyes

To geck there they begin;
The jargon of the jangling jays,
The craiking craws and keckling kays,

They deave't me with their din.
The painted pawn with Argus eyes

Can on his May-cock call ;
The turtle wails on wither'd trees,

And Echo answers all,

Repeating, with greeting,
How fair Narcissus fell,
By lying and spying

His shadow in the well.
I saw the hurcheon and the hare
In hidlings hirpling here and there, *

To make their morning mange.
The con, the cuning, and the cat,
Whose dainty downs with dew were wat,

With stiff mustachios strange.
The hart, the hind, the dae, the rae,

The foumart and false fox;
The bearded buck clamb up the brae

With birsy bairs and brocks ;

Some feeding, some dreading
The hunter's subtle snares,
With skipping and tripping,

They play'd them all in pairs.
The air was sober, saft, and sweet,
Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet,

But quiet, calm, and clear,
To foster Flora's fragrant flowers,
Whereon Apollo's paramours

Had trinkled mony a tear ;.
The which like silver shakers shined,

Embroidering Beauty's bed,
Wherewith their heavy heads déclined

In May's colours clad.

Some knoping, some dropping
Of balmy liquor sweet,
Excelling and smelling

Through Phæbus' wholesome heat. Cry till their eyes become red. * Burns, in describing the opening scene of his Holy Fair,

• The hares were hirpling down the furs.'

Logie Kirk. and, previous to turning clergyman, had studied the law, and frequented the court; but in his latter years lie was a stern and even gloomy Puritan. The most finished of his productions is a description of a summer's day, which he calls the Day Estiral. The various objects of external nature, characteristic of a Scottish landscape, are painted with truth and clear. ness, and a calm devotional feeling is spread over the poem. It opens as follows:

O perfect light, which shed away

The darkness from the light,
And set a ruler o'er the day,

Another o'er the night.
Thy glory, when the day forth flies,

More vively does appear,
Nor at mid-day unto our eyes

The shining sun is clear.
The shadow of the earth anon

Removes and drawis by,
Syne in the east, when it is gone,

Appears a clearer sky.
Whilk soon perceive the little larks,

The lapwing and the snipe;
And tune their song like Nature's clerks,

O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. The summer day of the poet is one of unclouded splendour.

The time so tranquil is and clear,

That nowhere shall ye find,
Save on a high and barren hill,

An air of passing wind.
All trees and simples, great and small,

That balmy leaf do bear,
Than they were painted on a wall,
No more they move or steir.

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