8. The feare to die, is

That affliction is the

the effect of an evill life. 9. coat of a true Christian. 10.

A theme to think on. 11. Morning meditation, with sixteene sobs of a sorrowfull spirit. 12. A madregall. 13. A Good-Fridayes exercise. 14. Against lasciviousnesse. 15. A paræneticall discourse persuading repentance. 16. That majesty is the daughter of honour and reverence. 17. Of wilfull murder. 18. Of the office of a judge. 19. An evening meditation. 20. Memoratives."

Mr. PARK having given very copious specimens of the author's style, it is unnecessary for me to make any further extracts than by transcribing a few of the valuable Memoratives" contained in the concluding chapter.

"Epicurisme is the fewell of lust; the more thou addest, the more she is enflamed.

"The end of a dissolute life is a desperate death. There was never president to the contrary, but in the thiefe in the gospell: in one, lest any should despaire; in one alone, lest any should presume.

"Thinke from whence thou camest, and blush; where thou art, and sigh: and tremble to remember whither thou shalt go.

"Let thy wit be thy friend, thy minde thy companion, and thy tongue thy servant.

"True nobilitie descending from ancestrie, proves base, if present life continue not thy dignity.

"The longer wee delay to shew our vertue, the stronger is the presumption that wee are guilty of base beginning.

“Use such affabilitie and convenient complements,

as common civilitie and usuall courtesy most requireth, without making thy selfe too cheape to thy friend, or him too deare to thee.

"Be not at any time idle. Alexander's souldiers should scale mole-hills rather than rest unoccupied : it is the woman that sitteth still, that imagineth mischiefe: it is the rolling stone that riseth cleane, and the running water that remaineth cleare."

J. H..M.

ART. DCCCCI. John Davies of Hereford.

(See Vol. II. pp. 218, 221, 223.)

I COPY the close of this poet's long Funeral Elegy on Mrs. Elizabeth Dutton, daughter of Sir Thomas Egerton, because it touches on some circumstances of the author's life, and is another instance of what, alas! no new instances are wanting, the poverty and difficulties to which poets are generally condemned.

"For, never had I greater cause of grief; Sith, while she liv'd, I joy'd in painful life: But now am left all solitary-sad,

To wail her death, whose life made sorrow glad!

O had it pleas'd the Heavens by their decree

T have made my pupil learn'd t' have died of me,
And mine example, I had been at rest,
And she live blessed long to die as blest.
I, like a wither'd pine, no fruit produce;
Of whom there is no care, no hope, no use.
I burden but the earth, and keep a place
Of one perhaps that should have greater grace:

1

Opprest with cares that quite crush out the sap
That feeds my life; now thrown off Nature's lap,
I solely sit, and tell the saddest hours,
That ever yet impeached rival powers;
Obscur'd by fate, yet made a mark by fame,
Whereat fools often shoot their bolts in game.
Yet live as buried, (that I learn'd of thee,
Dear pupil!) while the world goes over me:
Praying for patience still to underlie
The heavy weight of this world's misery.

Oft have I been embosomed by lords;

But all the warmth I found there was but words.
And though I scarce did move, yet scarce they would
There let me lie, though there I lay a-cold;
But, as I had some biting vermine been,
Out must I, mov'd I but for warmth therein:
Or else so lie, as I were better out;
Sith there I lay as dead, yet liv'd in doubt:
In doubt, I should have nothing but a place

In th' outward room but of their idle grace.

In doubt, black mouths should blot me in their books,

That make few scholars; and in doubt my hooks
Would hold no longer to hang on (O grief!)
This hanging's worse than hanging of a thief!
An halter soon abridgeth bale and breath;
But hanging on men's sleeves is double death.
To hang in hope of that which doubt doth stay,
Is worse than hanging till the later-day.
Doubt stays that meed that merit hopes for, oft
Lest need should but make merit look aloft;
Or, quite leave working, sith it hath no need;
Therefore the great do still withhold this meed:
For, to themselves they say, if we should fill
The well deserving empty (working still)

They would but rest: then, well wee'l them intreat, Yet keep them hungry still to worke for meat.

Fate, but to state this privilege affords;

And but the mean, without means, worke for words.
Yet work they must, sith air the great do give:
For if they have their hate they cannot live.
Their love doth little boot; but O, their breath
Blows down, in hate, a poor relict to death.

These miseries I ran through, and did try
These dear conclusions but in misery;
Hoping for that, which but my hopes deceiv'd;
And me of hope and life almost bereav'd ;
Till I, to stand, from these was fain to fall
To serve two lords, that serve me now withall:
The one immortal, th' other mortal is ;
Who serve my turn for what my life doth miss ;
Which, for its still amiss, still misseth that,
Which makes men gracious, and, so, fortunatę.
But He, who knows all, knows perhaps it's best
For me to live with little in unrest:

For, never since I first could move, had I
A better life than those, that, living, die.

I never yet possess'd one day of joy

That was not lin'd or hemm'd with some annoy.
The kingly preacher in his weal found woe,
But I in thwarts; for those alone I know.

These made me old in youth: for Sol had run
Scarce thirty years before my days were done;
And to his course ere five more added were,
Black days, like nights, in grey had dyed my hair.
Yet never cross on me so sad did sit

As this dear loss; whereof this benefit
To me accrues, that now each pressing woe
Stands far without this; and this keeps them so.

I say, I greatly grieve; yet seem to feign;
For great griefs never greatly could complain:
That is, when sorrow's flood the banks doth fill,
It noiseless runs, and smoothly glideth still;
But if the current once the brim gets o'er,
Twill roughly run; or, stopt, will rage and roar.
But, O, that tyraut Time will silence me,
Before my griefs are utter'd as they be !

Farewell then, my grief's cause, who wast th' effect
Of all the joy my life did well elect!`
Farewell, in Him, on whom who fares is well;
And while I live, I'll be the leading bell,
That shall thy loudest peals of praises ring,
Which in the clouds shall ne'er leave echoing!
Or be the trumpet of thy fame, to fill

Th' ethereal lofts with strains more lofty still!
That when Time's wings his funeral flame consumes,
Thy fame shall soar with fair unsinged plumes!"

ART. DCCCCII. Additions to the List of R. Greene's Works.

Ir may tend to a perfect list of Robert Greene's works to add the following editions, which are omitted in Mr. HASLEWOOD's catalogue in Vol. II. p. 294. of CENSURA LITERARIA; nor are they found in Herbert's History of Printing.

Greene's Farewell to Follie, 4to. black letter, printed by Thomas Scarlet, 1591.

Card of Fancie, 4to. b. 1. 1587.

Debate between Follie and Love, 4to. b. 1. printed

by Wm. Ponsonby, 1587.

The above are in the possession of

OCTAVIUS GILCHRIST.