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Am I borne up to the skies?

See where Jove and Venus shine, Shewing in her heavenly eyes

That desire is divine.

I stept forth to touch the sky,

I a god by Cupid's dreams,
Cynthia, who did naked lie,

like silver streams.

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Leaving hollow banks behind,

Who can neither forward move;
Nor, if rivers be unkind,

away, or leave to love,

There stand I, like men that preach

From the execution-place,
At their death content to teach

All the world with their disgrace.

He that lets his Cynthia lie

Naked on a bed of play,
To say prayers ere she die,

Teacheth time to run away.

Let no love-desiring heart

In the stars go seek his fate, Love is only nature's art,

Wonder hinders love and hate. NICHOLAS BRETON,

A poet of whose life no anecdotes remain, unless he be

pointed out in a passage transcribed by the late Mr. Steevens, from “ Bridges's Northamptonshire, p. 81." This states, that a person of this name, son to Capt. John Breton, of Tamworth, in Staffordshire, after serving in the Lowcountries, under Dudley earl of Leicester, retired to an estate which he had purchased at Norton, in Northamptonshire, where he died in 1624. Breton was probably born about the middle of the sixteenth century (perhaps about 1555), because his second work, “the Works of a Young Wit,” (from which two of the following specimens were selected)

was published in 1577. In p. 321 of the new edition of the “ Theatrum Poetarum,"

is contained the epitaph of another Nicholas Breton, who died on the 4th of June, 1658.


SINCE secret spite hath sworn my woe,

And I am driven by destiny Against my will, God knows, to go

From place of gallant company, And, in the stead of sweet delight, To reap the fruits of foul despite :

As it hath been a custom long,

To bid farewell when men depart, So will I sing this solemn song,

Farewell, to some, with all my heart: But those my friends : but to my foes, I wish a nettle in their nose.

I wish my friends their hearts' content:

My foes, again, the contrary:
I wish myself, the time were spent,

That I must spend in misery:
I wish my deadly foe, no worse
Than want of friends, and empty purse.

But, now my wishes thus are done,

I must begin to bid farewell. With friends and foes I have begun,

And therefore, now I cannot tell, Which first to chuse, or ere I part, To write a farewell from my heart.

First, place of worldly paradise,

Thou gallant court, to thee farewell! For froward fortune me denies

Now longer near to thee to dwell.
I must go live, I wot not where,
Nor how to live when I come there.


And next, adieu you gallant dames,

The chief of noble youth's delight !
Untoward fortune now so frames,

That I am banish'd from your sight,
And, in your stead, against my will,
I must go live with country Gill.


Now next my gallant youths farewell ;

My lads that oft have cheer'd heart! My grief of mind no tongue can tell,

To think that I must from you part.
I now must leave you all, alas,
And live with some odd lobcock ass !

And now farewell thou gallant lute,

With instruments of musick's sounds; Recorder, citern, harp, and flute,

And heavenly descants on sweet grounds; I now must leave you all indeed, And make some musick on a reed.

And now you stately stamping steeds,

And gallant geldings fair, adieu ! My heavy heart for sorrow bleeds, To think that I must part with

you: And on a strawen pannel sit, And ride some country carting tit.

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