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Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink

Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, Potions of eysell,' 'gainst my strong infection ; Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; No bitterness that I will bitter think,

They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Nor double penance to correct correction.

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,

Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, E'en that your pity is enough to cure me.

As with your shadow I with these did play. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;

I love not less, though less the show appear:
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

Our love was new, and then but in the spring, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

When I was wont to greet it with my lays ;

As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.

And stops his pipe in growth of riper days :

Not that the summer is less pleasant now Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

But that wild music burdens every bough,
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.

Therefore, like her, I sometimes hold my tongue, But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

Because I would not dull you with my song.
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, Admit impediments. Love is not love
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! Which alters when it alteration finds,
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

Or bends with the remover to remove :
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.

O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

It is the star to every wandering bark, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. When summer's breath their masked buds discloses ; | Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks But, for their virtue only is their show,

Within his bending sickle's compass come ; They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade ;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ;

But bears it out e'en to the edge of doon.
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made ; If this be error, and upon me proved,
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.

[Selections from Shakspeare's Songs.] No longer mourn for me when I am dead,

(From · As you like it.'] Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Give warning to the world, that I am fled

Thou art not so unkind,
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell!

As man's ingratitude !
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it: for I love you so,

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.

Although thy breath be rude.
O if (I say) you look upon this verse,

Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly, When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

Then heigh, ho, the holly!
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

This life is most jolly.
But let your love even with my life decay:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot! Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now;

Though thou the waters warp, Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,

Thy sting is not so sharp Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,

Ås friend remember'd not.
And do not drop in for an after-loss ;

Heigh, ho ! &c. &c.
Ah ! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ;

[At the end of Love's Labour Lost.'] Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,

When iciclęs bang by the wall, To linger out a purposed overthrow.

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,

And Tom bears logs into the hall, When other petty griefs have done their spite,

And milk comes frozen home in pail; But in the onset come ; so shall I taste

When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, At first the very worst of Fortune's might;

Then nightly sings the staring owl, And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,

Tu-whoo ! Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.

Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,

And birds sit brooding in the snow,
That heavy Satum laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

And Marion's nose looks red and raw;
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Could make me any summer's story tell,

Then nightly sings the staring owl, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew :

Tu-whoo!

Tu-whit I tu-whoo! a merry note,
1 Vinegar.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pote

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The judgment and fancy are reconciled, and the (In.Much Ado about Nothing.')

imagery of the poem seems to start more vividly Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ;

from the surrounding shades of abstraction. The Men were deceivers ever;

versification of the poem (long quatrains, was One foot in sea, and one on shore,

afterwards copied by Davenant and Dryden. Mr
To one thing constant never :

Southey has remarked that Sir John Davies and
Then sigh not so,

Sir William Davenant, avoiding equally the opposite
But let them go,

faults of too artificial and too careless a style, wrote
And be you blithe and bonny;

in numbers which, for precision, and clearness, and Converting all your sounds of woe

felicity, and strength, have never been surpassed.'
Into, Hey nonny, ponny.

The compact structure of Davies's verse is indeed
Sing no more ditties, sing no more

remarkable for his times. In another production,
Of dumps so dull and heavy;

entitled Orchestra, or a Poem of Dancing, in a DiaThe fraud of inen was ever so,

logue between Penelope and One of her Wooers, he is Since summer first was leavy.

much more fanciful. He there represents Penelope Then sigh not so, &c.

as declining to dance with Antinous, and the latter

as proceeding to lecture her upon the antiquity of [In Cymbeline.']

that elegant exercise, the merits of which he deFear no more the heat o' th' sun,

scribes in verses partaking, as has been justly reNor the furious winter's rages;

marked, of the flexibility and grace of the subject. Thou thy worldly task hast done,

The following is one of the most imaginative pas-
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages :

sages :-
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

[The Dancing of the Air.] Fear no more the frown o'th' great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

And now behold your tender nurse, the air,
Care no more to clothe and eat,

And common neighbour, that aye runs around,
To thee the reed is as the oak.

How many pictures and impressions fair
The sceptre, learning, physic, must

Within her empty regions are there found, All follow this, and come to dust.

Which to your senses dancing do propound;

For what are breath, speech, echoes, music, winds,
Fear no more the lightning-flash,

But dancings of the air in sundry kinds ?
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash,

For when you breathe, the air in order moves,
Thou hast finished joy and moan.

Now in, now out, in time and measure true;
All lovers young, all lovers must

And when you speak, so well she dancing loves, Consign to thee, and come to dust.

That doubling oft, and oft redoubling new,

With thousand forms she doth herself endue:
No exorciser harm thee!

For all the words that from your lips repair,
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Are nought but tricks and turnings of the air.
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!

Hence is her prattling daughter, Echo, born,
Quiet consummation have,

That dances to all voices she can hear :
And renowned be thy grave!

There is no sound so harsh that she doth scorn,

Nor any time wherein she will forbear (From. As you Like it.]

The airy pavement with her feet to wear : Under the green-wood tree

And yet her hearing sense is nothing quick, Who loves to lie with me,

For after time she endeth ev'ry' trick. And tune his merry note

And thou, sweet Music, dancing's only life, Unto the sweet bird's throat,

The ear's sole happiness, the air's best speech,
Come hither, come hither, come hither ;

Loadstone of fellowship, charming rod of strife,
Here shall be see

The soft mind's paradise, the sick mind's leech,
No enemy,

With thine own tongue thou trees and stones can
But winter and rough weather.

teach, Who doth ambition shun,

That when the air doth dance her finest measure, And loves to live i' the sun;

Then art thou born, the gods' and men's sweet Seeking the food he eats,

pleasure.
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Lastly, where keep the Winds their revelry,
Here shall he see

Their violent turnings, and wild whirling hays,

But in the air's translucent gallery!
No enemy

Where she herself is turn'd a hundred ways,
But winter and rough weather.

While with those maskers wantonly she plays :

Yet in this misrule, they such rule embrace,

As two at once encumber not the place.
SIR JOHN DAVIES (1570-1626), an English bar-
rister, at one time Speaker of the Irish House of Afterwards, the poet alludes to the tidal influence of
Commons, was the author of a long philosophical the moon, and the passage is highly poetical in ex.

pression :
poem, On the Soul of Man and the Immortality thereof,
supposed to have been written in 1598, and one of For lo, the sea that fleets about the land,
the earliest poems of that kind in our language. And like a girdle clips her solid waist,
Davies is a profound thinker and close reasoner: Music and measure both doth understand :
in the happier parts of his poem,' says Campbell, For his great crystal eye is always cast
we come to logical truths so well illustrated by in- Up to the moon, and on her fixed fast :
genious similes, that we know not whether to call And as she danceth in her pallid spheres
the thoughts more poetically or philosophically just. So danceth he about the centre here.

SIR JOHN DAVIES,

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Sometimes his proud green waves in order set,
One after other flow into the shore,

[The Dignity of Man.)
Which when they have with many kisses wet,
They ebb away in order as before ;

Oh! what is man, grcat Maker of mankind ! And to make known his courtly love the more, That thou to him so great respect dost bear;

He oft doth lay aside his three-fork'd mace, That thou adorn'st hin with so bright a mind,

And with his arms the timorous earth embrace. Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer ! The poem on Dancing is said to have been written Oh! what a lively life, what heav'nly pow'r, in fifteen days. It was published in 1596. The How great, how plentiful, how rich a dow'r

What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire, Nosce Teipsum, or Poem on the Immortality of the

Dost thou within this dying flesh inspire ! Soul, bears the date (as appears from the dedication to the Queen of 1602. The fame of these works Thou leav'st thy print in other works of thine, introduced Sir John Davies to James I., who made But thy whole image thou in man hast writ; him successively solicitor-general and attorney-ge- There cannot be a creature more divine, neral for Ireland. He was also a judge of assize, Except, like thee, it should be infinite : and was knighted by the king in 1607. The first But it exceeds man's thought, to think how high Reports of Law Cases, published in Ireland, were God hath rais'd man, since God a man became; made by this able and accomplished man, and his The angels do admire this mystery, preface to the volume is considered the best that

And are astonish'd when they view the same : was ever prefixed to a law-book.'

Nor hath he given these blessings for a day,

Nor made them on the body's life depend ; [Reasons for the Souls Immortality.]

The soul, though made in time, survives for age;

And though it hath beginning, sees no end.
Again, how can she but immortal be,
When, with the motions of both will and wit,
She still aspireth to eternity,

JOHN DONNE.
And never rests till she attain to it!

JOHN Donne was born in London in 1573, of a

Catholic family ; through his mother he was reAll moving things to other things do move

lated to Sir Thomas More and Heywood the epiOf the same kind, which shows their nature such ; grammatist. He was educated partly at Oxford So earth falls down, and fire doth mount above, and partly at Cambridge, and was designed for the Till both their proper elements do touch.

law, but relinquished the study in his nineteenth

year. About this period of his life, having carefully And as the moisture which the thirsty earth

considered the controversies between the Catholics Sucks from the sca to fill her empty veins,

and Protestants, he became convinced that the latter From out her womb at last doth take a birth,

were right, and became a member of the established And runs a lymph along the grassy plains,

church. The great abilities and amiable character Long doth she stay, as loath to leave the land, of Donne were early distinguished. The Earl of From whose soft side she first did issue make; Essex, the Lord Chancellor Egerton, and Sir Robert She tastes all places, turns to every hand,

Drury, successively befriended and employed him; Her flowery banks unwilling to forsake.

and a saying of the second of these eminent persons

respecting him is recorded by his biographers--that Yet nature so her streams doth lead and carry

he was fitter to serve a king than a subject. He As tbat her course doth make no final stay,

fell, nevertheless, into trouble, in consequence of Till she herself unto the sea doth marry,

secretly marrying the daughter of Sir George Moore, Within whose wat’ry bosom first she lay.

lord lieutenant of the Tower. This step kept him for E'en so the soul, which, in this earthly mould,

several years in poverty, and by the death of his The spirit of God doth secretly infuse,

wife, a few days after giving birth to her twelfth Beca ise at first she doth the earth behold,

child, he was plunged into the greatest grief. At And only this material world she views.

the age of forty-two, Donne became a clergyman,

and soon attaining distinction as a preacher, he was At first her mother earth she holdeth dear,

preferred by James I. to the deanery of St Paul's; And doth ein brace the world and worldly things ; in which benefice he continued till his death in 1631, She flies close by the ground, and horers here,

when he was buried honourably in Westminster And mounts not up with her celestial wings :

Abbey. Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught

The works of Donne consist of satires, elegies, That with her heavenly nature doth agree ;

religious poems, complimentary verses, and epiShe cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought,

grams: they were first collected into one volume She cannot in this world contented be.

by Tonson in 1719. His reputation as a poet, great

in his own day, low during the latter part of the For who did erer yet, in honour, wealth,

seventeenth, and the whole of the eighteenth cenOr pleasure of the sense, contentment find ?

turies, has latterly in some degree revived. In its Who ever ceased to wish, when he had health, days of abasement, critics spoke of his barsh and Ot, having wisdom, was not vex'd in mind ?

rugged versification, and his leaving nature for conThen, as a bee which among weeds doth fall,

ceit: Dryden even hints at the necessity of transWhich seem sweet flow'rs, with lustre fresh and gay,

lating him into numbers and English. It seems She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all,

to be now acknowledged that, amidst much rubbish, But, pleased with none, doth rise and soar away.

there is much real poetry, and that of a high order,

in Donne. He is described by a recent critic as So, when the soul finds here no true content,

imbued to saturation with the learning of his age,' And, like Noah's dove, can no sure footing take, endowed with a most active and piercing intellect She doth return from whence she first was sent, -an imagination, if not grasping and comprehenAnd lies to him that first her wings did niake. sive, most subtle and far-darting-a fancy, rich,

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vivid, and picturesque—a mode of expression terse, it is a mere conceit. Perhaps we should not be far
simple, and condensed—and a wit admirable, as well from the truth, if we were to represent this style as
for its caustic severity, as for its playful quickness the natural symptoms of the decline of the brilliant
--and as only wanting sufficient sensibility and taste school of Sackville, Spenser, and Shakspeare. All
to preserve him from the vices of style which seem the recognised modes, subjects, and phrases of poetry,

introduced by them and their contemporaries, were
now in some degree exhausted, and it was neces-
sary to seek for something new. This was found,
not in a new vein of equally rich ore, but in a con-
tinuation of the workings through adjoining veins
of spurious metal.

It is at the same time to be borne in mind, that
the quality above described did not characterise the
whole of the writings of Donne and his followers.
These men are often direct, natural, and truly poeti-
cal—in spite, as it were, of themselves. Donne, it
may be here stated, is usually considered as the first
writer of that kind of satire which Pope and
Churchill carried to such perfection. But his satires,
to use the words of a writer already quoted, are
rough and rugged as the unhewn stones that have
just been blasted from the quarry.

The specimens which follow are designed only to exemplify the merits of Donne, not his defects :

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Address to Bishop Valentine, on the day of the marriage

of the Elector Palatine to the Princess Elizabeth.
Hail Bishop Valentine ! whose day this is,
All the air is thy diocese,
And all the chirping choristers
And other birds are thy parishioners :
Thou marryest, every year,
The lyric lark and the grave whispering dove;
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,

The household bird with his red stomacher ;
Monumental Effigy of Dr Donne.

Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon, to have beset him. Donne is usually considered as This day more cheerfully than ever shine;

As doth the goldfinch or the balcyon ; the first of a series of poets of the seventeenth cen; This day which might inflame thyself, old Valentine ! tury, who, under the name of the Metaphysical Poets, fill a conspicuous place in English literary nistory. The directness of thought, the naturalness of description, the rich abundance of genuine poeti- ValedictionForbidding Mourning. cal feeling and imagery, which distinguish the poets As virtuous men pass mildly away, of Elizabeth's reign, now begin to give way to cold

And whisper to their souls to go; and forced conceits, mere vain workings of the in- Whilst some of their sad friends do say, tellect, a kind of poetry as unlike the former as The breath goes now—and some say, no; punning is unlike genuine wit. To give an idea of these conceits-Donne writes a poem on a familiar

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; popular subject, a broken heart. Here he does not advert to the miseries or distractions which are pre

'Twere profanation of our joys sumed to be the causes of broken hearts, but starts

To tell the laity our love. off into a play of conceit upon the phrase. He Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, entered a room, he says, where his mistress was Men reckon what it did, and meant; present, and

But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent. love, alas! At one first blow did shiver it [his heart] as glass.

Dull, sublunary lover's love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Then, forcing on his mind to discover by what means

Absence, because it doth remove the idea of a heart broken to pieces, like glass, can

Those things which alimented it. be turned to account in making out something that But we're by love so much refined, will gingle on the reader's imagination, he proceeds That ourselves know not what it is ;? thus :

Inter-assured of the mind,

Careless eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite,

Our two souls, therefore (which are one)
Therefore I think my breast hath all

Though I must go, endure not yet Those pieces still, though they do not unite :

A breach, but an expansion, And now, as broken glasses show

Like gold to airy thinness beat. A hundred lesser faces, so

If they be two, they are two so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,

As stiff twin compasses are two; But after one such love can love no more.

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th' other do. There is here, certainly, analogy, but then it is an analogy which altogether fails to please or move :

That is, absenco.

And though it in the centre sit,

Stranger than seven antiquaries' studiesYet when the other far doth roam,

Than Afric monsters-Guiana's raritiesIt leans, and hearkens after it,

Stranger than strangers. One who for a Dane And grows erect as that comes home.

In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain, Such wilt thou be to me, who must

If he had lived then ; and without help dies Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;

When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise.

One whom the watch at noon scarce lets go by; Thy firmness makes my circles just, And makes me end where I begun.

One to whom th' examining justice sure would cry,

'Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are ? The Will.

His clothes were strange, though coarse—and black,

though bare ; Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Great Love, some legacies : 1 here bequeath

Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen) Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see;

Become tuff-taffety; and our children shall If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee;

See it plain rash awhile, then not at all. My tongue to Fame; to ambassadors mine ears;

The thing hath travell'd, and saith, speaks all tongues ; To women, or the sea, my tears ;

And only knoweth what to all states belongs.
Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore,

Made of the accents and best phrase of these,
By making me serve her who had twenty more,
That I should give to none but such as had too much Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste ;

He speaks one language. If strange meats displease, before.

But pedants' motley tongue, soldiers' bombast, My constancy I to the planets give;

Mountebanks' drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, My truth to them who at the court do live;

Are strong enough preparatives to draw Mine ingenuity and openness

Me to bear this. Yet I must be content To Jesuits ; to Buffoons my pensiveness ;

With his tongue, in his tongue called compliment. My silence to any who abroad have been ; My money to a Capuchin.

He names me, and comes to me. I whisper, God! Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me

How have I sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod, To love there, where no love received can be, (This fellow) chooseth me! He saith, 'Sir, Only to give to such as have no good capacity. I love your judgment—whom do you prefer My faith I give to Roman Catholics ;

For the best linguist ?' And I sillily All my good works unto the schismatics

Said, that I thought, Calepine's Dictionary. Of Amsterdam; my best civility

Nay, but of men, most sweet sir ?-Beza then, And courtship to an university;

Some Jesuits, and two reverend men My modesty I give to soldiers bare ;

Of our two academies, I named. Here My patience let gamesters share;

He stopt me, and said — Nay, your apostles way Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me

Pretty good linguists, and so Panurge was, Love her that holds my love disparity,

Yet a poor gentleman. All these may pass Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

By travel.' Then, as if he would have sold

His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told, I give my reputation to those

That I was fain to say, If you had liv'd, Sir,
Which were my friends; mine industry to foes ; Time enough to have been interpreter
To schoolmen i bequeath my doubtfulness;

To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.' My sickness to physicians, or excess ;

He adds, ' If of court-life you knew the good, To Nature all that I in rhyme have writ!

You would leave loneness. I said, “Not alone And to my company my wit :

My loneness is, but Spartans' fashion. Thou, Love, by making me adore

To teach by painting drunkards doth not last Her who begot this love in me before,

Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste; Taught'st me to make as though I gave, when I do but No more can prince's courts (though there be few restore.

Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.' To him for whom the passing bell next tolls

He, like a high-stretch'd lutestring, squenk'd, 'O, Sir, I give my physic books ; my written rolls

'Tis sweet to talk of kings ! At Westminster, Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give;

(Said I) the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs, My brazen medals, unto them which live

And, for his price, doth, with whoever comes, In want of bread; to them which pass among

Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk, All foreigners, my English tongue :

From king to king, and all their kin can walk. Thou, Love, by making me love one

Your ears shall hear nought but kings-your eyes meet Who thinks her friendship a fit portion,

Kings only—the way to it is King street ?' For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

He smack'd and cry'd He's base, mechanic, coarse,

So are all your Englishmen in their discourse. Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo

Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine ?-as you soo, The world by dying, because love dies too.

I have but one, Sir-look, he follows me. Then all your beauties will be no more worth

Certes, they are neatly cloth’d. I of this mind am, Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth,

Your only wearing is your grogoram.' And all your graces no more use shall have

‘Not so, Sir. I have more.' Under this pitch Than a sun-dial in a grave.

He would not fly. I chaf'd him. But as itch Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me

Scratch'd into smart—and as blunt iron ground Lore her who doth neglect both me and thee,

Into an edge hurts worse-80 I (fool !) found To invent and practise this one way to annihilate all Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullennéss three,

He to another key his style doth dress,

And asks, What news ? I tell him of new plays ; (A Character from Donne's Satires.]

He takes my hands, and as a still which stays Towards me did run A semibreve 'twixt each drop, he (niggardly, A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun As loath to enrich me so) tells many a lie E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came; More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stowes A thing which would have posed Adam to name. Of trivial household trash he knows. He knows

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