This man is freed from servilo bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all. John Lilly. Lilly (circa 1554-1601) was a native of Kent. His principal work was a prose romance called "Euphues." The name of the book has passed, as an abstract term, into our language; but the book itself is no longer read, and the euphuistic method of expression is chiefly known to us in these days by caricatures. Lilly wrote nine plays, in which some songs occur. The following is from his play of "Campaspe," 1584. CUPID AND CAMPASPE. Cupid and my Campaspe played He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, Growing on his cheek, but none knows how; With these the crystal of his brow, Henry Constable. Born about 1560, and educated at Oxford, Constable published, in 1584, "Diana, or the excellent conceitful sonnets of H. C." The volume was reprinted for the Roxburghe Club in 1818. The following is from "England's Helicon," first published in 1600. DIAPHENIA. Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly, Heigh-ho, how I do love thee! I do love thee as my lambs Are belovéd of their dams; How blest were I if thou would'st prove me! Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, Fair sweet, how I do love thee! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power; For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia, like to all things blessed, When all thy praises are expressed, Dear joy, how I do love thee! As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king: Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! Joseph Hall. Hall (1574-1656), bishop successively of Exeter in 1627, and of Norwich in 1641, is remembered chiefly for his prose theological works, written in the reigns of James and Charles. His only poems were a collection of Satires, composed at Cambridge University before his twenty-third year. They were condemned to be burnt in 1599, by an order of Bishop Bancroft. Hall's satire on the amatory poets of his day, of which we give a specimen, is coarse, but apt and pithy. JOHN MARSTON.-DR. JOHN DONNE. 41 ON LOVE POETRY. SATIRE III., Book II. Great is the folly of a feeble brain O'erruled with love and tyrannous disdain : It breeds high thoughts that feed the fancy best, Careth the world thou love, thou live, or die? Be she all sooty-black or berry-brown, She's white as morrow's milk or flakes new-blown: John Marston. Marston, a rough but vigorous satirist and dramatic writer, produced his "Malcontent," a comedy, prior to 1600. He was educated at Oxford, became lecturer at the Middle Temple, and died in 1633. He wrote eight plays, and three books of Satires, called "The Scourge of Villany." THE SCHOLAR AND HIS SPANIEL. I was a scholar: seven useful springs Of crossed opinions 'bout the soul of man; Of antick Donate: still my spaniel slept. Stood banding factions, all so strongly propped, TO DETRACTION I PRESENT MY POESIE. Foul canker of fair virtuous action, Vile blaster of the freshest blooms on earth, Envy's abhorred child, Detraction, I here expose to thy all-tainting breath The issue of my brain: snarl, rail, bark, bite; Know that the Genius which attendeth on That in the basest sort scorns critic's rage, My spirit is not puffed up with fat fume A partial praise shall never elevate Dr. John Donne. Donne (1573-1631) was born in London, and as a child was a prodigy of learning. He became Chaplain in Ordinary to James I., and Dean of St. Paul's. Much against the wishes of his devoted wife, he accompanied Sir Robert Drury on an embassy to Paris. While there, Donne had a singular vision, which is often reproduced among stories of psychical or supersensual power. He saw (as Izaak Walton narrates) the apparition of his wife enter his room, bearing a dead child; and shortly after he heard that his wife had been delivered of a still-born child at the very moment. The best known poetical writings of Donne are his "Satires," and "The Progress of the Soul." His poems are characterized by brilliant wit, depth of reflection, and terseness of language; but his versification is generally rugged and uncouth, and he is often so obscure as to task the closest attention. SONNET. Death, be not proud, though some have called thee And soonest our best men with thee do go, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; But think that Death hath now enfranchised thee! And think this slow-paced Soul which late did cleave To a body, and went but by the body's leave, "Twixt heaven and earth! She stays not in the air, Who, if she meet the body of the Sun, Goes through, not staying till her course be run; Whose quick succession makes it still one thing: ELEGY ON MISTRESS ELIZABETH DRURY. She of whose soul, if we may say 'twas gold, Her body was the Electrum, and did hold Many degrees of that-we understood Her by her sight: her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought. She, she, thus richly, largely housed, is gone, And chides us slow-paced snails who crawl upon Our prison's prison, Earth, nor think us well Longer than whilst we bear our little shell. She whom we celebrate is gone before: His face in any natural stone or tree God's image in such reparation Within her heart, that what decay was grown Still heard God pleading his safe pre-contract; day; Who dreamed devoutlier than most use to pray; Ben Jonson. BEN JONSON. After Jonson (1574-1637) was thirty years old at the death of Queen Elizabeth. He was ten years younger than Shakspeare, and survived him twenty-one years, living on almost to the troubled close of the reign of Charles I. Born in the North of England of humble parentage, Jonson, after a period of soldier life in the Low Countries, where he fought bravely, settled in London, married, and took to literature and the stage as a means of livelihood. He tried his fortune as an actor, but did not succeed. A duel with a brother actor, whom, unhappily, he killed, caused his confinement for a time in jail. While there, he was visited by a priest; and his mind being turned to religious subjects, he became a Roman Catholic, and continued one for twelve years. that, when at the height of his fame and prosperity, he once more professed himself a member of the Church of England. But an estimate of the quality of his relig ious feeling may be formed from the fact that, on partaking of the Holy Communion for the first time after this event, he quaffed off the entire contents of the chalice! “He did everything lustily," says one of his recent biographers, as a comment on this incident. Whether "lustily" or through simple love of good liquor, and in unconcern as to the proprieties, may remain a question. Probably it was done in the spirit of the reply of Theodore Hook, who, when asked by the College functionary if he could sign the Thirty-nine Articles, said, "Yes, furty, if you wish it." On his release from prison, Jonson sprang at once into fame by his still-acted play of "Every Man in his Humor," in the representation of which no less a person than Shakspeare took a part. Jonson's works consist mainly of dramas and masks, of which he produced, in all, more than fifty. Poverty cast a gloom over his last years; he was obliged to solicit assistance from old friends; and so the bright life dimmed, and flickered, and went out. His mortal remains were buried in the north aisle of Westminster Abbey; and Sir John Young, a gentleman from Oxford, visiting the spot, gave eighteen-pence to a mason, to cut upon the flag-stone covering the poet's clay this epitaph: "O Rare Ben Jonson !" Such, at least, is the tradition. .43 Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were like night, And despairs day but for thy volume's light. SEE THE CHARIOT AT HAND. FROM "A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS." Each that draws is a swan or a dove, Unto her beauty; And, enamored, do wish, so they might That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light As alone there triumphs to the life |