SIR KENELM DIGBY. THIS celebrated English philosopher was born in 1603, and entered a commoner at Gloucester Hall, Oxford, in 1618, where he remained two years, and was pronounced "the Mirandula of his age." The succeeding events of his life are to be found in all our biographical dictionaries. He died at his house in Covent Garden in 1665, having been a convert to popery for the last twenty years of his life. His works are carefully enumerated by Wood, (Ath. vol. ii. p. 351,) who calls him the "magazine of all arts." The poem from which the following lines are extracted is attributed to him in a miscellany called "Wit's Interpreter," 1671, though it is elsewhere ascribed to Sir H. Wotton, under whose name it is printed in Mr. Headley's collection. FAME, honour, beauty, state, trains, blood, and birth, I would be great; but that the sun doth still I would be high; but see the proudest oak I would be fair; but see that champion proud, I would be poor; but see the humble grass Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. JASPER MAYNE Was born in 1604, entered a servitor at Christ Church 1623, afterwards chosen student, and made D.D. 1646, as a reward, says Wood (Ath. vol. ii. p. 507), for having preached before the king and his parliament at Oxford, early in the rebellion. He was much admired on account of his learning, his wit, and his loyalty; in consequence of which he was promoted after the restoration to a canonry of Christ Church, and to the archdeaconry of Chichester. He died in 1672. In his youth he composed two plays, viz., The City Match," 1639; and "The Amorous War," 1648; both reprinted in 1659, 8vo, Oxford. From the latter the following specimen is extracted. SONG. TIME is a feather'd thing, And, whilst I praise The sparklings of thy looks, and call them rays, Takes wing; Leaving behind him, as he flies, An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. His minutes, whilst they're told, Do make us old, And every sand of his fleet glass, Increasing age as it doth pass, Insensibly sows wrinkles there Where flowers and roses do appear. Whilst we do speak, our fire Doth into ice expire; Flames turn to frost, And, ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Or how a silver snow Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. * SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT WAS son of " a sufficient vintner" in the city of Oxford, of which he was mayor, born in 1605, sent to Lincoln College about 1621, and terminated a life of the most astonishing activity in 1668, in the sixty-fourth year of his age. For the history of this ingenious and singular man, -who "was by turns a soldier, a projector, a manager, an envoy, and a wit;" whose careless intrepidity no dangers could disturb; who began an epic poem in exile, interrupted it for the purpose of settling a colony in Virginia, and then calmly continued it in prison, and under condemnation; and who, while still under proscription by the fanatics, undertook the conduct of a theatre in the centre of fanaticism ;-the reader is referred to Wood's Athenæ; Mr. Headley's biographical sketches; and Dr. Anderson's account, prefixed to a selection from his works, in "The Poets of Great Britain." His life is also written very much at large in the "Biographia Dramatica," where it is followed by a list of his dramatic pieces, twenty-five in number, which appeared between 1629 and 1674. His works, published at various times, consisting of" Gondibert," "Madagascar," several small poems, and sixteen plays, were printed in 1673, in a large volume folio. The Dream. [From 26 stanzas.] No victor, when in battle spent, When he at night asleep doth lie |