Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he.
Thus with his wings his body he hath brought
Where man can travell only in a thought.

I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis
That mounts thee thus; I'le be content with this,
To think, that Nature made thee to express

Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.

TO Mr. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.1

SIR,

OU have oblig'd the patriarch and 'tis known

He is your debtor now, though for his

own.

What he wrote is a medley: we can see

1 Probably MATTHEW LOCKE, a name of note in his day. It occurs in several places in old Pepys Diary. With regard to the particular work on which Vaughan sent this poem to Locke, it is certain he himself published none to which it can apply: but ROGER NORTH in his Memoirs of Musick (4to 1816 p 96) speaking of Locke says, "In musick he had a robust vein, and many of his compositions went about; he set most of the psalms to musick in parts, for the use of some vertuoso ladyes in the city &c. Probably Vaughan had seen these psalms in

Confusion trespass on his piety.

Misfortunes did not only strike at him,

They charged further, and oppress'd his pen :
For he wrote as his crosses came, and went

By no safe rule, but by his punishment.

His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he

Did know no method, but their misery.

You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all

His measures thus are more than musical,

Your Method and his aires are justly sweet,

And-what's Church-musick right-like anthems

meet.

You did so much in this, that I believe

He gave the matter, you the form did give.
And yet I wish you were not understood,
For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!

Manuscript. An original autograph copy is in the Library of Dr. E. F. Rimbault, to whom I am indebted for these details. It is written on 49 folio pages in a particularly neat hand, each psalm being signed at the end, M. L. Dr. Rimbault suggests that Locke assisted "honest John Playford" in the preparation of his "Whole Book of Psalms, &c., (1677) and that it is to this work, Vaughan refers. Scarcely I think or some recognition of PLAYFORD would have been inevitable. Matthew Locke died in 1677, so that he must only have read the present poem privately. G.

Why then you'l say, all I would have, is this: None must be good, because the time's amiss. For since wise Nature did ordain the night, I would not have the sun to give us light. Whereas this doth not take the use away, But urgeth the necessity of day. Proceed to make your pious work as free, Stop not your seasonable charity. Good works despis'd or censur'd by bad times, Should be sent out to aggravate their crimes. They should first share and then reject our store, Abuse our good, to make their guilt the more. 'Tis warr strikes at our sins, but it must be

A persecution wounds our pietie.

TO THE PIOUS MEMORIE OF C. W. ESQUIRE, WHO FINISHED HIS COURSE HERE, AND MADE HIS ENTRANCE INTO IMMORTALITY UPON THE 13th OF SEPTEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF REDEMPTION, 1653.1

OW that the publick sorrow doth subside,
And those slight tears which Custom
springs, are dried;

While all the rich and out-side-mourners pass
Home from thy dust, to empty their own glass;
I-who the throng affect not, nor their state :-
Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
So when the world's great luminary setts,
Some scarce known star into the zenith gets,
Twinkles and curls, a weak but willing spark;
As glow-worms here do glitter in the dark.
Yet, since the dimnest flame that kindles there,

A Search among the Wills of the Period, by Colonel Chester, as well as of the Parish-Registers, has failed to discover who Charles W. was. A 'C. W.' contributed a short poem to the many prefixed to Cartwright's Comedies, &c. (1651). There also are two Wareings, one Robert and one William: there is also a Richard Watkins. G.

An humble love unto the light doth bear,
And true devotion from an hermit's cell
Will Heav'n's kind King as soon reach and as well,
As that which from such shrines and altars flyes,

Lead by ascending incense to the skies:

'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might

Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
And from my sad retirements calls me forth
The just Recorder of thy death and worth.
Long did'st thou live-if wealth be measured by
The tedious reign of our calamity :-

And counter to all storms and changes still
Kept'st the same temper, and the self same will.
Though trials came as duly as the day,

And in such mists, that none could see his way: Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw

The sun give clouds and Charles give both the

law :

When private interest did all hearts bend,
And wild dissents the public peace did rend,
Thou neither won, nor worn, wer't still thy self,
Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
What the insuperable stream of times.
Did dash thee with, those suff'rings were not

crimes.

So the bright sun eclipses bears; and we

Because then passive, blame him not, should he