A honey shower rains from her lips, She makes thee seek, yet fear to find; She letteth fall some luring baits, For fools to gather up ; Her watery eyes have burning force, May never was the month of love, Her little sweet hath many sours; Her loving looks are murdering darts, Like winter rose and summer ice, Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, Seek other mistress for your minds- Scorn not the Least. Where words are weak, and foes encount'ring strong, And silent sees, that speech could not amend: Yet higher powers must think, though they repine, When sun is set the little stars will shine. While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly, The merlin cannot ever soar on high, Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; And fearful hare to run a quiet race. BAMUEL DANIEL SAMUEL DANIEL was the son of a music-master. He was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somerset shire, and seems to have been educated under the patronage of the Pembroke family. In 1579, he was entered a commoner of Magdalen Hall, Oxford, where he chiefly devoted himself to the study of poetry and history; at the end of three years, he quitted the university, without taking a degree, and was appointed tutor to Anne Clifford, daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. After the death of Spenser, Daniel became what Mr Campbell calls voluntary laureate' to the court, but he was soon superseded by Ben Jonson. In the reign of James (1603), he was appointed Master of the Queen's Revel's, and inspector of the plays to be represented by the juvenile performers. He was also preferred to be a Gentleman-Extraordinary and Groom of the Chamber to Queen Anne. Towards the close of his life, he retired to a farm at Beckington, in Somersetshire, where he died in October 1619. The works of Daniel fill two considerable volumes; but most of them are extremely dull. Of this nature is, in particular, his History of the Civil War (between the houses of York and Lancaster), which occupied him for several years, but is not in the least superior to the most sober of prose narratives. His Complaint of Rosamond is, in like manner, rather a piece of versified history than a poem. His two tragedies, Cleopatra and Philotas, and two pastoral tragi-comedies, Hymen's Triumph and The Queen's Arcadia, are not less deficient in poetical effect. In all of these productions, the historical taste of the author seems to have altogether suppressed the poetical. It is only by virtue of his minor pieces and sonnets, that Daniel continues to maintain his place amongst the English poets. His Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland is a fine effusion of meditative thought. [From the Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland.] He that of such a height hath built his mind, His settled peace, or to disturb the same: And with how free an eye doth he look down He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars, Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill. * He sees the face of right t' appear as manifold [Richard II., the Morning before his Murder in Whether the soul receives intelligence, However, so it is, the now sad king, The morning of that day which was his last, O happy man, saith he, that lo I see, Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free. [Early Love.] Ah, I remember well (and how can I We spent our childhood. But when years began Yet still would give me flowers, still would show [Selections from Daniel's Sonnets.] I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, MICHAEL DRAYTON. MICHAEL DRAYTON, born, it is supposed, at Atherston, in Warwickshire, about the year 1563, and the son of a butcher, discovered in his earliest years such proofs of a superior mind, that, at the age of ten, he was made page to a person of quality-a situation which was not in that age thought too humble for the sons of gentlemen. He is said, upon dubious authority, to have been for some time a student at Oxford. It is certain that, in early life, he was highly esteemed and strongly patronised by several persons of consequence; particularly by Sir Henry Goodere, Sir Walter Aston, and the Countess of Bedford: to the first he was indebted for great part of his education, and for recommending him to the countess; the second supported him for several years. In 1593, Drayton published a collection of his pastorals, and soon after gave to the world his more elaborate poems of The Baron's Wars and England's Heroical Epistles. In these latter productions, as in the History of the Civil War by Daniel, we see symptoms of that taste for poetised history (as it may be called) which marked the age -which is first seen in Sackville's design of the Mirrour for Magistrates, and was now developing itself strongly in the historical plays of Shakspeare, Marlow, and others. On the accession of James I. in 1603. Drayton acted as an esquire to his patron, Sir Walter Aston, in the ceremony of his installation as a Knight of the Bath. The poet expected some patronage from the new sovereign, but was disappointed. He published the first part of his most elaborate work, the Polyolbion, in 1612, and the second in 1622, the whole forming a poetical description of England, in thirty songs, or books. Michael Drayton. The Polyolbion is a work entirely unlike any other in English poetry, both in its subject and the manner in which it is written. It is full of topographical and antiquarian details, with innumerable allusions to remarkable events and persons, as connected with various localities; yet such is the poetical genius of the author, so happily does he idealise almost everything he touches on, and so lively is the flow of his verse, that we do not readily tire in perusing this vast mass of information. He seems to have followed the manner of Spenser in his unceasing personifications of natural objects, such as hills, rivers, and woods. The information contained in this work is in general so accurate, that it is quoted as an authority by Hearne and Wood. In 1627, Drayton published a volume containing The Battle of Agincourt, The Court of Faerie, and other poems. Three years later appeared another volume, entitled The Muses' Elysium, from which it appears that he had found a final shelter in the family of the Earl of Dorset. On his death in 1631, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, where a monument, containing an inscription in letters of gold, was raised to his memory by the wife of that nobleman, the justly celebrated Lady Anne Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke and Montgomery. Drayton, throughout the whole of his writings, voluminous as they are, shows the fancy and feeling of the true poet. According to Mr Headley-He possessed a very considerable fertility of mind, which enabled him to distinguish himself in almost every species of poetry, from a trifling sonnet to a long topographical poem. If he anywhere sinks below himself, it is in his attempts at satire. In a most pedantic era, he was unaffected, and seldom exhibits his learning at the expense of his judgment.' [Morning in Warwickshire-Description of a When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, But hunts-up to the morn the feath'red sylvans sing: Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glitt'ring east Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight; On which the mirthful quires, with their clear open throats, Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, The ouzel near at hand, that hath a golden bill, Upon his dulcet pipe the merle1 doth only play. And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) spare, That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer ; tree, hind, That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. To creeps kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of seasoned deer: Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. Of all the beasts which we for our venerial2 name, The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: 1 Of all birds, only the blackbird whistleth. 99 Of which most princely chase sith none did e'er report, Or by description touch, t' express that wondrous sport (Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: rove At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, With thy dishevel'd nymphs attired in youthful green, About the lawns hast scowr'd, and wastes both far and near, Brave huntress ; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds, Or ent'ring of the thick by pressing of the greaves, Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret lair, He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. And through the cumb'rous thicks, as fearfully he makes, He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase. Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. But when th' approaching foes still following he perceives, That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: And o'er the champain flies; which when the assembly find, Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shagwool'd sheep, Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, T'assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, 1 The track of the foot. • One of the measures in winding the horn. Until the noble deer, through toil bereav'd of strength, He turns upon his foes, that soon have him inclosed. The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, He desperately assails; until opprest by force, He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets falll To forests that belongs. [Part of the Twenty-eighth Song of the Polyolbion.] But, Muse, return at last, attend the princely Trent, Who straining on in state, the north's imperious flood, The third of England call'd, with many a dainty wood, Being crown'd to Burton comes, to Needwood where she shows Herself in all her pomp ; and as from thence she flows, She takes into her train rich Dove, and Darwin clear, Darwin, whose font and fall are both in Derbyshire; And of those thirty floods, that wait the Trent upon, Doth stand without compare, the very paragon. Thus wand'ring at her will, as uncontroll'd she ranges, Her often varying form, as variously and changes; First Erwash, and then Lyne, sweet Sherwood sends her in ; Then looking wide, as one that newly wak'd had been, Saluted from the north, with Nottingham's proud height, So strongly is surpris'd, and taken with the sight, In which she sees herself above her neighbours bless'd. As wrap'd with the delights, that her this prospect brings, In her peculiar praise, lo thus the river sings: That thirty doth import, that thirty rivers make; Fetch her descent from Wales, from that proud moun tain sprung, Plinillimon, whose praise is frequent them among, As of that princely maid, whose name she boasts to bear, Bright Sabrin, whom she holds as her undoubted heir, Let these imperious floods draw down their long de scent From these so famous stocks, and only say of Trent, 1 The hart weepeth at his dying; his tears are held to be precious in medicine. BEARI UNIVERS OF THE That Moreland's barren earth me first to light did bring, Which though she be but brown, my clear complexion'd spring Gain'd with the nymphs such grace, that when I first did rise, The Naiads on my brim danc'd wanton hydagies, Encircled my fair fount with many a lusty round: Their banks are barren sands, if but compar'd with mine, Through my perspicuous breast, the pearly pebbles shine : I throw my crystal arms along the flow'ry valleys, Which lying sleek and smooth as any garden alleys, Do give me leave to play, whilst they do court my stream, And crown my winding banks with many an anadem ; As nature had thereon bestow'd this stronger guard, His very near ally, and both for scale and fin, Food to the tyrant pike (most being in his power), Who for their numerous store he most doth them devour; The lusty salmon then, from Neptune's wat'ry realm, When as his season serves, stemming my tideful stream, Then being in his kind, in me his pleasure takes, Of many a liquorish lip, that highly is regarded. Not Ancum's silver'd eel excelleth that of Trent ; Though the sweet smelling smelt be more in Thames than me, The lamprey, and his lesse, in Severn general be; The flounder smooth and flat, in other rivers caught, Since they but little are, I little need to speak From all the rest alone, whose shell is all his bones : For carp, the tench, and bream, my other store among, To lakes and standing pools that chiefly do belong, Here scouring in my fords, feed in my waters clear, Are muddy fish in ponds to that which they are here.' Yet Sherwood all this while, not satisfied to show Her love to princely Trent, as downward she doth flow, Her Meden and her Man, she down from Mansfield sends To Iddle for her aid, by whom she recommends And clip her till she grace great Humber with her fall. When Sherwood somewhat back the forward Muse doth call; For she was let know, that Soare had in her song So chanted Charnwood's worth, the rivers that along, Amongst the neighbouring nymphs there was no other lays, But those which seem'd to sound of Charnwood, and her praise: Which Sherwood took to heart, and very much disdain'd, (As one that had both long, and worthily maintain'd The title of the great'st and bravest of her kind) To fall so far below one wretchedly confined Within a furlong's space, to her large skirts compared: Wherefore she, as a nymph that neither fear'd nor cared For ought to her might chance, by others love or hate, With resolution arm'd against the power of fate, How he hath cousen'd them, that him would have betray'd; How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised, 7 |