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and all equally good: but they seem to prove that their author was too fond of struggling with useless difficulties.

He also, according to Wood, wrote a version of the Psalms, (never published), and a book of Epigrams. The latter, as appears from Drummond of Hawthomden, are those which stand at the end of Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Epistles, printed at Middleburgh, 1596, l2mo. The reader will judge of their style by the two following specimens.

The " Nosce Teipsum" was first published in 1599, 4to. and again in 1602, 1608, 1619, 1622, &c. His "Orchestra" appeared in 1596,8vo. his " Acrosticke Hymnes" in 1599, 4to. Two poetical pieces in Davison's miscellany, 1608, are assigned to this author, but have not been collected i« any edition of his works.

See Wood's Athena, the new Biographia, and Ritson.

IN MEDON'KM.

Great Captain Medon wears a chain of gold

Which at five hundred crowns is valued, For that it was his grandsire's chain of old,

When great King Henry Boulogne conquered. And wear it, Medon! for it may ensue

That thou, by virtue of this massy chain,
A stronger town than Boulogne may'st subdue,

If wise men's saws be not reputed vain.
For what said Philip, king of Macedon ?—

"There is no castle so well fortified "But, if an ass laden with gold comes on,

"The guard will stoop, and gates fly open wide." IN FUSCUM.

Fuscus is free, and hath the world at will;

Yet in the course of life that he doth lead He's like a horse, which, turning round a mill,

Doth always in the self-same circle tread. First, he doth rise at ten; and at eleven

He goes to Gill's, where he doth eat till one; Then sees a play 'till six; and sups at seven;

And after supper straight to bed is gone, And there till ten next day he doth remain;

And then he dines; and sees a comedy; And then he sups, and goes to bed again:—

Thus round he runs without variety; Save that sometimes he comes not to the play, But falls into a whore-house by the way.

To the Lark.

[An Acrostic]

Early, cheerful, mounting lark,
Light's gentle usher, morning's clerk,

In merry notes delighting;
Stint awhile thy song, and hark,

And learn my new enditing!

Bear up this hymn, to heaven it bear, E'en up to heaven, and sing it there;

To heaven each morning bear it: Have it set to some sweet sphere,

And let the angels hear it!

Renown'd Astrasa, that great name,
Exceeding great in worth and fame,
/Great worth hath so renown'd it,
It is Astraea's name I praise :—
Now then, sweet lark, do thou it raise,
And in high heaven resound it!

BARNABY BARNES,

A younger son of Dr. Richard Barnes, bishop of Durham, was born in the county of York, and in 1586 at the age of seventeen became a student of Brazen-nose College, Oxford, but left the University without a degree. He engaged in the French service under the Earl of Essex in 1591, and afterwards united with Harvey in a satirical attack upon Nash, who completely discomfited his assailants by the caustic poignancy of his wit. Wood was not able to ascertain the time of his death, but has registered the following productions of his pen: "A divine Centurie of Spirituall Sonnets," 1595, 4to.; "Four books of offices," 1606, fol.; and "TheDevil's Charter,"a tragedy,1607, 8vo, From the first of these, a publication of uncommon rarity, the following sonnets are taken, which at least have the merit of combining an arbitrary recurrence of rhyme with the dignified freedom of blank verse. See Ritson's Bibliographia.

SONNET.

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 Satan kill,
Who with despair my dear salvation dar'd,

And, like the Philistine, stood breathing still
Proud threats against my soul, for heaven prepar'd:

At length, I like an angel shall appear

In spotless white, an angel's crown to wear!

SONNET.

The sun of our soul's light thee would I call!

But for our light thou didst the bright sun make;

Nor reason that thy majesty should take
Thy chiefest subjects' epithets at all.
Our chief direction's star celestial

(But that the stars for our direction's sake

Thou fixed, and canst at thy pleasure shake) I would thee name! the rock substantial

Of our assurance I would term thy name! But that all rocks by thy command were made.

If king of kings thy majesty became, Monarch of monarchs I thee would have said!

But thou gives kingdoms, and makes crowns unstable:—

By these I know thy name ineffable!

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