Suborn'd curs'd Avarice to lie in wait
For that rich prey (gold is a taking bait);
Who closely lurking, like a subtle snake,
Under the covert of a thorny brake,

Seiz'd on the Factor by fair Thetis sent,
And robb'd our Colin of his monument."

Having gone thus far, it would be unfair to omit the praise of Browne himself, by one or two of his cotemporaries.

To his Friend, the Author of the Pastorals. By Michael Drayton.

Drive forth thy flock, young pastor, to that plain,
Where our old shepherds wont their flocks to feed;
To those clear walks, where many a skilful swain
To'ards the calm evening tun'd his pleasant reed.
Those, to the Muses once so sacred, downs,

As no rude foot might there presume to stand;
Now made the way of the unworthiest clowns,
Digg'd and plough'd up with each unhallow'd hand;
If possible thou canst redeem those places,
Where, by the brim of many a silver spring,
The learned maidens, and delightful Graces,
Often have sat to hear our shepherd's sing;
Where on those pines, the neighbouring groves among,
Now utterly neglected in these days,

Our garlands, pipes, and cornamutes, were hung
The monuments of our deserved praise.

So may thy sheep like, so thy lambs increase,

And from the wolf feed ever safe and free!
So may'st thou thrive amongst the learned prease,
As thou, young shepherd, art belov'd of me!

To

To the same.

So much a stranger, my severer muse

Is not to love-strains, or a shepherd's reed,
But that she knows some rites of Phoebus' dues,
Of Pan, of Pallas, and her sister's meed.
Read, and commend she durst these tun'd essays
Of him that loves her: she hath ever found
Her studies as one circle. Next, she prays.
His readers be with rose and myrtle crown'd!
No willow touch them! As his bays are free,
From wrong of bolts, so may their chaplets be!*
J. SELDEN, Juris C.

N° LXVIII.

An Account of Quarles's Emblems, with Specimens.

There is one poet of the reign of Charles the First, whose memory there were several attempts, about twenty years ago, to revive, particularly by Jackson, of Exeter, in his Thirty Letters; but whose poetry has sunk again from the public notice. The person I mean is FRANCIS QUARLES.

His EMBLEMS were once a very popular work, and went through numerous editions. The first edition, as far as I have yet discovered, appeared in 1635. There was an edition in 1643; and probably more

Headley has given a well discriminated, but, perhaps, too severe character of Browne.

Browne was born at Tavistock, in Devonshire, in 1590; and is supposed to have died in 1645. See Wood's Ath. I. 491, &c.

than one, even in the latter half of the following century. These poems cannot boast originality; for in the plan, and frequently, I doubt not, in the very subjects, and even sentiments and expressions, they are imitated from Herman Hugo,* from whom the prints are borrowed:+ with an execution, at least, strikingly inferior.

A specimen, amongst the numerous extracts which the various parts of my work exhibit, is due to the ingenious author, and may not be unacceptable to my readers from whose recollection the poet has faded. What I take shall be a fair example; neither his best, nor his worst.

Emblem XII. of Book 2. Galat. vi. 14. God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross.

I.

"Can nothing settle my uncertain breast,
And fix my rambling love?

Can my affections find out nothing best,

But still and still remove?

* I have a copy of Hugo's book now lying before me, with the following title: Pia Desideria Emblematis Elegiis Affectibus SS. Patrum illustrata, Authore Hermanno Hugone, Societatis Jesu ad Urbanum VIII. Pont. Max. Vulgavit Boetius a Bolswert typis Henrici Aertesenii Antwerpiæ M DCXXIII. cum gratia et privilegia. Sm, 8vo. A translation appeared at London, 1686, by Edm. Arwaker, M.A. Several emblem-writers had previously appeared : as Alciatus, whose emblems were translated by Dr. Andrew Willet. See Cens, Lit. 1. 312. We had also, in England, Geoffrey Whitney; and about the same time with Quarles appeared the Emblems of George Wither, 1635, fol.

The prints of Books III. IV. and V. are copied in regular succession from Hugo; but in a vile manner. Now and then a very minute variation occurs; and they are all reversed. The verses seem to be sometimes translations; sometimes imitations; and sometimes original. But I have not time, while preparing this paper, to read them through, and compare them regularly,

Has

Has earth no mercy? Will no ark of rest

Receive my restless dove?

Is there no good, than which there's nothing higher,
To bless my full desire

With joys that never change; with joys that ne'er expire?

II.

I wanted wealth, and at my dear request
Earth lent a quick supply;

I wanted wealth to charm my sullen breast;
And who more brisk than I ?

I wanted fame, to glorify the rest;
My fame flew eagle-bigh :

My joy not fully ripe; but all decay'd;
Wealth vanish'd like a shade;

My mirth began to flag; my fame began to fade.

III.

The world's an ocean, hurried to and fro

With every blast of passion;

Her lustful streams, when either ebb or flow,

Are tides of man's vexation:

They alter daily; and they daily grow

The worse by alteration;

The earth's a cask full tunn'd, yet wanting measure;

Her precious wine is pleasure,

Her yest is honour's puff; her lees are worldly treasure.

IV.

My trust is in the Cross: let beauty flag

Her loose, her wanton sail;

Let count'nance-guiding honour cease to brag,
In courtly terms and veil;

Let ditch-bred wealth henceforth forget to wag
Her base, tho' golden tail;

False

False beauty's conquest is but real loss,
And wealth but golden dross;

Best honour's but a blsst: my trust is in the Cross.

V.

My trust is in the Cross; there lies my rest;
My fast, my sole delight:

Let cold-mouth'd Boreas, or the hot-mouth'd East,
Blow till they burst with spite;

Let earth and hell conspire their worst, their best,

And join their twisted might;

Let showers of thunderbolts dart down, and wound me,

And troops of fiends surround me;

All this may well confront; all this shall ne'er confound me.

I shall now proceed to give the first emblem of the first book of Herman Hugo.

I.

"Anima mea desideravit te in nocte. ISAIÆ 26.

"Hei mihi quam densis nox incubat atra tenebris?
Talis erat, Pharios quæ tremefecit agros.

Nubila, lurida, squalida, tetrica, terribilis nox;
Nocturno in censu perdere digna locum.
Non ego tam tristes Scythico, puto, cardine lunas,
Tardat ubi lentas Parrhasis Ursa rotas:

Nec tot Cimmerio glomerantur in æthere nubes,
Unde suos Phœbus vertere jussus equos:

Nec reor invisi magis atra cubilia Ditis,
Fertur ubi parva nox habitare casa.
Nam licet hic oculis nullam dent sidera lucem,
Non tamen est omni mens viduata die:

Nocte, suam noctem populus videt ille silentûm,
Et se, Cimmerii, sole carere vident:

Arctica