O'er hills and o'er valleys uncouth and uneven, I thought it the pool of Bethesda had been, Of which to saint Win. ere my vows I had paid, I thank'd them, and straight to the well did repair, Where some I found cursing, and others at pray'r; Some dressing, some stripping, some out and some in, Some naked, where botches and boils might be seen; Of which some were fevers of Venus I'm sure, Her conscience, her name, nor herself, were more clear. In the bottom there lie certain stones that look white, But streaked with pure red, as the morning with light, Which they say is her blood, and so it may be, The floor's not ill paved, and the margin o' th' Now 'twixt the two angles that fork to the north, And where the cold nymph does her basin pour forth, Under ground is a place where they bathe, as 'tis said, And 'tis true, for I heard folks' teeth hack in their head; For you are to know, that the rogues and the ** Are not let to pollute the spring-head with their sores. But one thing I chiefly admired in the place, I've studied that point much, you cannot guess why, But the virgin was, doubtless more righteous than I. And now for my welcome, four, five, or six lasses, With as many crystalline liberal glasses, Did all importune me to drink of the water Till a pair of black eyes, darting full in my sight, From the rest o' th' fair maidens did carry me quite: I took the glass from her, and whip, off it went, And giving two more to the poor that were there, I never ate better meat, that I can tell; But now my guide told me, it time was to go, For that to our beds we must both ride and row; Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted, I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly mounted: On then we travell'd, our guide still before, Sometimes on three legs, and sometimes on four, Coasting the sea, and over hills crawling, Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall in; For underneath Neptune lay skulking to watch us, And, had we but slipp'd once, was ready to catch us. Thus in places of danger taking more heed, O' th' right hand the town, and o' th' left hand a wood; "Twixt the wood and the castle they see at high water The storm, the place makes it a dangerous matter; And besides, upon such a steep rock it is founded, As would break a man's neck, should he 'scape being drowned: Perhaps though in time one may make them to yield, But 'tis pretti'st Cob-castle e'er I beheld. The Sun now was going t' unharness his steeds, When the ferry-boat brasking her sides 'gainst the weeds, Came in as good time as good time could be, Where scurvily landing at foot of the fort, DR. HENRY MORE. [Born, 1614. Died, 1687.] DR. HENRY MORE was the son of a respectable gentleman at Grantham, in Lincolnshire. He spent the better part of a long and intensely studious life at Cambridge, refusing even the mastership of his college, and several offers of preferment in the church, for the sake of unbroken leisure and retirement. In 1640 he composed his Psychozoia, or Life of the Soul, which he afterward republished with other pieces, in a volume entitled Philosophical Poems. Before the appearance of the former work he had studied the Platonic writers and mystic divines, till his frame had become emaciated, and his faculties had been strained to such enthusiasm, that he began to talk of holding supernatural communications, and imagined that his body exhaled the perfume of violets. With the exception of these innocent reveries, his life and literary character were highly respectable. He corresponded with Des Cartes, was the friend of Cudworth, and as a divine and moralist was not only popular in his own time, but has been mentioned with admira tion both by Addison and Blair. In the heat of rebellion he was spared even by the fanatics, who, though he refused to take the covenant, left him to dream with Plato in his academic bower. As a poet he has woven together a singular texture of Gothic fancy and Greek philosophy, and made the Christiano-Platonic system of metaphysics a ground-work for the fables of the nursery. His versification, though he tells us that he was won to the Muses in his childhood by the melody of Spenser, is but a faint echo of the Spenserian In fancy he is dark and lethargic. Yet his Psychozoia is not a common-place production: a certain solemnity and earnestness in his tone leaves an impression that he "believed the magic wonders which he sung."* His poetry is not, indeed, like a beautiful landscape on which the eye can repose, but may be compared to some curious grotto, whose gloomy labyrinths we might be curious to explore for the strange and mystic associations they excite. tune. Up then, renowned wizard, hermit sage, There be six sorts of sprites: Lelurion And worst, light-hating ghosts, more cruel far And truth he said, whatever he has told, As even this present age may verify, If any lists its stories to unfold, In arctic climes an isle that Thulé hight, As if it were the region of the dead, And met departed, met with whom they've known, In seemly sort shake hands, and ancient friendship own. A world of wonders hither might be thrown GEORGE ETHEREGE. [Born, 1636. Died, 1694?] GEORGE ETHEREGE first distinguished himself | knighthood, and, what was ill-suited to his dissoamong the libertine wits of the age by his "Comical Revenge, or Love in a Tub." He afterward gained a more deserved distinction in the comic drama by his "Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter," a character which has been the model of all succeeding stage petits-maîtres. By his wit he obtained a rich widow and the title of lute habits, the appointment of plenipotentiary at Ratisbon. At that place he had occasion to give a convivial party to some friends, of whom George was politely taking his leave at the door of his house, but having drunk freely, he had the misfortune to conclude the entertainment by falling down stairs and breaking his neck. SONG. FROM "LOVE IN A TUB." LADIES, though to your conquering eyes SONG. FROM SOUTHERNE'S "DISAPPOINTMENT, OR THE MOTHER IN FASHION." SEE, how fair Corinna lies, In her blushes see your shame,- While the happy minute is, Dull Amintor! fie, O! fie: |