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4. The Tragedy of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 12mo, 1639. 12mo, 1654.

5. The Old Couple, a Comedy. 4to. 1658.

He also wrote The Reign of King Henry the Second," and "The victorious Reign of Edward the Third," both in English verse; and translated, besides Lucan, the Georgics of Virgil, the Epigrams of Martial, the Icon Animorum, by Barclay, and the verses in Argenis, by the same author. He likewise was the author of "The History of the Parliament of England, which began November 3, 1640, with a short and necessary view of some precedent years." Folio, 1647.

The following inscription was made upon him by one of the Cavalier party, which he had abused:

Adsta, Viator, et Poetam legas
Lucani interpretem,

Quem ita feliciter Anglicanum fecerat,
Ut Mayus simul et Lucanus videretur,
Et sane credas Metempsichosin:

Nam uterque ingratus Principis sui Proditor;
Hic Neronis fyranni, ille Caroli Regum optimi,
At fata planè diversa;

Lucanum enim ante obitum pœnitentem legis,
Mayus vero repentina morte occubuit,
Ne forsan pœniteret.

Parliamenti rebellis tam pertinax adstipulator,
Ut Musarum, quas olim religiose coluerat,
Sacrilegus hostis evaserit :

Attamen fingendi artem non penitus amisit,
Nam gesta eorum scripsit et typis mandavit
In prosâ mendax Poeta.

Inter tot Heroas Poetarum, Nobiliumque,
Quod tam indigni sepeliantur Cineres,
Videntur flere Marmora,

Nec tamen mirere eum hic rebelles posuisse,
Qui tot sacras Ædes, et Dei delubra
Equis fecere stabula,

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THE Heir being born, was in his tender age
Rocked in the cradle of a private stage,
Where, lifted up by many a willing hand,
The child did from the first day fairly stand;
Since, having gathered strength, he dares prefer
His steps into the public theatre,

The world where he despairs not but to find
A doom from men more able, not less kind.
I but his usher am, yet, if my word
May pass, I dare be bound he will afford
Things, must deserve a welcome, if well known,
Such as best writers would have wished their own:

You shall observe his words in order meet,
And, softly stealing on with equal feet,
Slide into even numbers, with such grace,
As each word had been moulded for that place.
You shall perceive an amorous passion, spun
Into so smooth a web, as had the Sun, .
When he pursued the swiftly-flying maid,
Courted her in such language, she had staid;
A love so well exprest must be the same
The author felt himself, from his fair flame.
The whole plot doth alike itself disclose
Through the five acts, as doth a lock that goes

With letters; for, till every one be known,
The lock's as fast as if you had found none;
And where his sportive muse doth draw a thread
Of mirth, chaste matrons may not blush to read.
Thus have I thought it fitter to reveal
My want of art, dear friend, than to conceal
My love. It did appear I did not mean
So to commend thy well-wrought comic scene,
As men might judge my aim rather to be,
To gain praise to myself than give it thee;

Though I can give thee none, but what thou hast
Deserved, and what must my faint breath out-
last.

Yet was this garment (though I skilless be
To take thy measure) only made for thee;
And if it prove too scant, 'tis 'cause the stuff
Nature allowed me was not large enough.
THOMAS CAREW.”

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• Thomas Carew "was the younger brother of a good family, and of excellent parts, and had spent many years of his youth in France and Italy; and, returning from travel, followed the court, which the modesty of that time disposed men to do some time, before they pretended to be of it; and he was very much esteemed by the most eminent persons in the court, and well looked upon by the king himself for some years before he could obtain to be sewer to the king; and when the king conferred that place up-* on him, it was not without the regret even of the whole Scottish nation, which united themselves in recommending another gentleman to it; and of so great value were those relations held in that age, when majesty was beheld with the reverence it ought to be. He was a person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems, (especially in the amorous way,) which, for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegancy of the language in which that fancy was spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time: but his glory was, that after fifty years of his life, spent with less severity or exactness than it ought to have been, he died with the greatest remorse for that license, and with the greatest manifestation of Christianity that his best friends could desire."-Life of Clarendon. 8vo. edit. 1759. Vol. I. p. 36. He died in the year 1639.

+ Psectas.-i. c. Fituperator, which answers to her character. Former editions read Psecas.

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Ros. Yes, my lord,

With every circumstance, the time, the place,
And manner of his death; that 'tis believed
And told for news with as much confidence
As if 'twere writ in Gallo-belgicus.'

Poly. That's well, that's very well: now, Roscio,
Follows my part; I must express a grief
Not usual; not like a well-left heir
For his dead father, or a lusty widow
For her old husband, must I counterfeit :
But in a deeper, a far deeper strain,
Weep like a father for his only son.
Is not that hard to do, ha! Roscio?

Ros. Oh no, my lord,

Not for your skill; has not your Lordship seen
A player personate Hieronimo? 2

Poly. By the mass 'tis true, I have seen the
knave paint grief

In such a lively colour, that for false
And acted passion, he has drawn true tears.

From the spectators. Ladies in the boxes
Kept time with sighs and tears to his sad accents,
As he had truly been the man he seemed.
Well then, I'll ne'er despair; but, tell me, thou,
Thou that hast still been privy to my bosom,
How will this project take?

Ros. Rarely, my lord;

Even now, methinks, I see your lordship's house
Haunted with suitors of the noblest rank,
And my young lady, your supposed heir,
Tired more with wooing than the Grecian queen,
In the long absence of her wandering lord.
There's not a ruinous nobility

In all this kingdom, but conceives a hope
Now to rebuild his fortunes on this match.

Poly. Those are not they I look for; no, my

nets

Are spread for other game; the rich and greedy,
Those that have wealth enough, yet gape for more,
They are for me.

Ros. Others will come, my lord,
All sorts of fish will press upon your nets;
Then in your lordship's wisdom it must lie
To cull the great ones, and reject the fry.

Poly. Nay, fear not that; there's none shall
have access

1 Gallo-belgicus.-Gallo-belgicus was the name of the first news-paper published in England. Cleveland, in his Character of a London Diurnal, says, "The original sinner of this kind was Dutch, Gallo"belgicus the Protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans en Kelders." The exact time when they were printed I am unable to discover; but they certainly were as early as the reign of Queen Elizabeth; some intelligence given by Mercurius Gallo-belgicus being mentioned in Carew's Survey of Cornwal, p. 126, originally published in 1602. Dr Donne, in his Verses upon Thomas Coryat's Cordities, 1611, says, "To Gallo-belgicus appear

"As deep a statesman as a gazetteer."

Beaumont and Fletcher mention Mercurius Gallo-belgicus, in the Fair Maid of the Inn, act 4.; and Ben Jonson, in the Poetaster, act 5. scene 3. Glapthorne also, in Wit in a Constable; and Howel, in his Letters, p. 185, edition 1754.

2 Hicronimo. See the Spanish Tragedy.

3 Grecian Queen.-Penelope.

To see my daughter, or to speak to her, But such as I approve, and aim to catch.

Ros. The jest will be, my lord, when you shall

see

How your aspiring suitors will put on

The face of greatness, and belye their fortunes, Consume themselves in show, wasting, like merchants,

Their present wealth in rigging a fair ship

For some ill-ventured voyage, that undoes 'em.
Here comes a youth with letters from the court,
Bought of some favourite at such a price,
As will for ever sink him; yet, alas!
All's to no purpose, he must lose the prize.

Poly. Twill feed me fat with sport that it shall make;

Besides the large adventures it brings home
Unto my daughter.-How now?

Enter SERVANT.

Serv. My lord, Count Virro is come to see you.
Poly. Conduct him in. So, so, it takes already.
See, Roscio, see, this is the very man
My project aimed at, the rich Count, that knows
No end of his large wealth, yet gapes for more.
There was no other loadstone could attract
His iron heart; for could beauty have moved
him,

Nature has been no niggard to my girl.
But I must to my grief; here comes the Count.

Enter COUNT VIRRO.

Vir. Is your lord asleep?
Ros. No, sir,

I think not. My lord!-Count Virro:

Vir. How do you, sir?

Poly. I do intreat your lordship pardon me; Grief, and some want of sleep, have made me At this time unmannerly, not fit to entertain Guests of your worth.

Vir. Alas, sir, I know your grief.

Ros. 'Twas that, that fetched you hither. [Aside. Vir. You have lost a worthy and a hopeful son; But Heaven, that always gives, will sometimes take,

And that the best. There is no balsam left us To cure such wounds as these, but patience; There is no disputing with the acts of Heaven; But if there were, in what could you accuse Those Powers that else have been so liberal to

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must look for; but if it had pleased Heaven that my son-ah my Eugenio![He weeps.

Vir. Alas, good gentleman!

Ros. 'Fore Heaven he does it rarely!

Vir. But, sir, remember yourself, remember your daughter; let not your grief for the dead make you forget the living, whose hopes and fortunes depend upon your safety.

Poly. Oh my good lord, you never had a son. Ros. Unless they were bastards, and for them no doubt but he has done as other lords do. [Aside Poly. And therefore cannot tell what 'tis to lose a son, a good son, and an only son.

Vir. I would, my lord, I could as well redress, As I can take compassion of your grief, You should soon find an ease.

Poly. Pray pardon me, my lord, if I forget myself toward you at this time; if it please you visit my house ofter, you shall be welcome.

Vir. You would fain sleep, my lord, I'll take my leave; Heaven send you comfort! I shall make bold shortly to visit you.

Poly. You shall be wondrous welcome. Wait on my lord out there.— [Exit Virra. So, now he's gone; how thinkest thou, Roscio, Will not this gudgeon bite?

Ros. No doubt, my lord,

So fair a bait would catch a cunning fish:
Poly. And such a one is he; he ever loved
The beauty of my girl, but that's not it
Can draw the earth-bred thoughts of his gross soul
Gold is the god of his idolatry;

With hope of which I'll feed him, till at length
I make him fasten, and, Ixion-like,
For his loved Juno grasp an empty cloud.

Ros. How stands my young lady affected to
him?

Poly, There's all the difficulty; we must win her to love him. I doubt the peevish girl will think him too old; he's well near fifty. In this business I must leave somewhat to thy wit and care: praise him beyond all measure.

Ros. Your lordship ever found me trusty,
Poly. If thou effect it, I will make thee happy.
[Exeunt.

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Cler. Then, to be brief, I will pass over the opinion of your ancient fathers, as likewise those strange loves spoken of in the authentic histories of chivalry, Amadis de Gaul, Parismus, the Knight of the Sun, or the witty knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, where those brave men, whom neither enchantments, giants, wind-mills, nor flocks of sheep could vanquish, are made the trophies of triumphing love.

Phil. Pr'ythee come to the matter.

Cler. Neither will I mention the complaints of Sir Guy for the fair Phelis, nor the travels of Parismus for the love of the beauteous Laurana; nor, lastly, the most sad penance of the ingenious knight Don Quixote upon the mountains of Sienna Morena, moved by the unjust disdain of the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. As for our modern authors, I will not so much as name them, no not that excellent treatise of Tully's love, written by the master of art.4

Phil. I would thou wouldst pass over this passing over of authors, and speak thine own judge

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looks like an ass.

Phil. I can describe him better than so myself: he looks like a man that had sitten up at cards all night, or a stale drunkard wakened in the midst of his sleep.

Cler. But, Philocles, I would not have thee see this lady, she has a bewitching look.

Phil. How darest thou venture, man? What strange medicine hast thou found? Ovid ne'er taught it thee: I doubt I guess thy remedy for love, go to a bawdy-house, or so, is it not?

Cler. Faith, and that's a good way, I can tell you; we younger brothers are beholden to it; alas, we must not fall in love, and chuse whom we like best; we have no jointures for them as you blest heirs can have.

Phil. Well, I have found you, sir; and pr'ythee tell me, how gettest thou wenches?

Cler. Why I can want no panders; I lie in the constable's house.

Phil. And there you may whore by authority. But, Clerimont, I doubt this paragon

That thou so praisest, is some ill-favoured wench, Whom thou wouldst have me laughed at for commending.

Cler. Believe it, I spoke in earnest; trust your eyes, I'll show you her.

Phil. How canst thou do it?
Thou knowest this lady's father is to mine
A deadly enemy; nor is his house
Open to any of our kindred.

Cler. That's no matter;

My lodging's the next door to this lord's house,
And my back window looks into his garden;
There every morning fair Leucothoë
(For so I hear her named) walking alone,
To please her senses, makes Aurora blush,
To see one brighter than herself appear.
Phil. Well, I will see her then.

[Exeunt:

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her?

Franc. Sir, I am poor, I must confess; Fortune has blest you better: but I swear By all things that can bind, 'twas not your wealth Was the foundation of my true-built love; It was her single uncompounded self, Herself without addition, that I loved, Which shall for ever in my sight outweigh All other women's fortunes, and themselves; And were I great, as great as I could wish Myself for her advancement, no such bar As fortune's inequality should stand Betwixt our loves.

Lucy. Good father, hear me.

Frank. Dost thou not blush to call me father, strumpet?

4 Tully's love, written by the master of art.-The work here mentioned is entitled, "Tullies Love, wherein is discovered the prime of Ciceroes youth, &c. &c." By Robert Greene. In artibus magister, I have seen no earlier edition of it than that in 1616. S.

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