MARTIN LLUELLYN Is mentioned by Winstanley as having been bred a student at Christ-church, and having practised physic. According to Wood (Fasti, II. 103) he took the degree of M.D. in 1653. His poem called "Men-Miracles," was published, with a few smaller pieces, in 1646, 12mo. again in 1656, and reprinted in 1661, under the title of "Lluellin's Marrow "of the Muses." The work is a good satire on travellers, written in what is now called Hudibrastic verse. SONG. Celia in Love. I FELT my heart, and found a flame To chill thy flames, and fan thy heat? May die in air, or quench in streams: But love is a mysterious fire, JOHN DRYDEN Was born in 1631: died in 1701. From the works of this admirable poet the following specimen is selected, because it seems to have escaped the notice of former collectors, though written with all the characteristic fire and spirit of its author. [The Invocation of the Ghost of Laius by Tiresias.] [From the Tragedy of "Edipus."] Tir. CHOOSE the darkest part o' th' grove; Dig a trench, and dig it nigh Where the bones of Laius lie: Altars rais'd of turf or stone Will th' infernal powers have none.- Draw her backward to the pit; Barren let her be, and black. Cut the curled hair that grows Full betwixt her horns and brows: And turn your faces from the sun. Answer me, if this be done. Chor. "Tis done. Tir. Pour in blood, and blood-like wine,, Feast the ghosts that love the steam: And turn your faces from the sun.- Chor. All is done. SONG. 1. Hear, ye sullen powers, below! Hear, ye taskers of the dead! 2. You that boiling cauldrons blow! You that scum the molten lead! 3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs ! You that drive the trembling hosts Of poor poor ghosts 1. With your sharpen'd prongs ! 2. You that thrust them off the brim! You that plunge them when they swim! Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low. Chor. "Till they drown, &c. 1. Music for a while 2. Shall your cares beguile: Wondering how your pains were eas'd! 3. Till Alecto free the dead 1. From their eternal bands; Till the snakes drop from her head, Come away, Do not stay, But obey While we play, For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holy-day. 1. Laius! 2. Laius! 3. Laius! 1. Hear! 2. Hear! 3. Hear! Tir. Hear and appear! By the Fates that spun thy thread! Chor. Which are three Tir. By the Furies fierce and dread! |