A celebrated poet and historian, born about 1596, in Sussex,

of a worshipful but decayed family, says Fuller ; bred fellow-commoner in Sidney College, Cambridge, and afterwards resident in Westminster and about the court. He died suddenly in 1652, and lies buried in Westminster Abbey. See his character in lord Clarendon's History. His Latin Supplement, and English translation of Lucan's Pharsalia, have been much esteemed; besides which he wrote metrical histories of Henry II. and Edward III. a History of the Parliament, in prose, and five plays.


[From “ the Old Couple,” 1658, 4to.]

Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong,
In thinking still you are too young;
The rose and lilies in

your cheek
Flourish, and no more ripeness seek.

Your cherry lip, red, soft, and sweet,
Proclaims such fruit for taste most meet;
Then lose no time, for love has wings,
And flies away from aged things.


From his poems, 1622. Hannay appears to have served in a

military capacity, under Sir Andrew Gray, knt. a colonel of foot, and general of artillery to the king of Bohemia. His “ Happy Husband, with a Wife's Behaviour after Mar“ riage,” was printed in 1619, and again, with“ Philomela, “ the Nightingale,” “Sheretine and Mariana," “ Elegies," “ Songs and Sonnets," in 1622. These productions he describes to be the « fruit of some hours he with the Muses


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Amantium ira amoris redintegratio cst.

Celia jealous, lest I did

In my heart affect another, Me her company forbid.

Women cannot passion smother.

The dearer love, the more disdain,

When truth is with distrust requited : I vow'd (in anger) to abstain.

She found her fault, and me invited.

I came with intent to chide her,

'Cause she had true love abus'd, Resolved never to abide her:

Yet, her fault she so excus'd,

As it did me more entangle;

Telling “ True love must have fears." They ne'er lov'd that ne'er did wrangle ;

Lovers' jars but love endears.


Do my

SERVANT, farewell Sis this my hire ?

deserts no more require ? No! do not think to cheat me so; I will have more yet ere you go.

Thy lov’d idea I'll arrest,
And it imprison in my breast:
In sad conceit it there shall lie,
My jealous love shall keep the key.

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Nor think it ever shall part thence
Or that I will with it dispense:
Thy love alone can me avail,
Thyself alone I'll take for bail.

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The maple with a scarry skin

Did spread broad pallid leaves ; The quaking aspin, light and thin, To th' air light passage gives;

Resembling still

The trembling ill
Of tongues of womankind,

Which never rest,

But still are prest To wave

with every



A small volume of his poems, consisting of “ Divine Medi

tations and Elegies," was published in 1622, and in the next year a second collection, which he calls “ Visiones

Rerum, the Visions of Things.” All of these bear testimony to his learning and piety, but his subjects were too sublime for his genius. Of the anecdotes of his life I know nothing.


TIME! I ever must complain

Of thy craft and cruel cunning;
Seeming fix'd here to remain,
When thy feet are ever running:

And thy plumes

Still resumes
Courses new, repose most shunning.

Like calm winds thou passest by us;

Lin'd with feathers are thy feet; Thy downy wings with silence fly us,

Like the shadows of the night;

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