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Clashing of armour, and loud shouts they hear
May continued this poem down to the death of Julius Cæsar in books, both in Latin aud English verse, which continuation was joined to the translation of the original in 2d edit. 1633, dedicated to the King. Sir Arthur Gorges had already translated this poem, which was published by his son Carew Gorges in 1614.
May was joined with Sir Robert Le Grys in the translation of "Barclay's Argenis, 1628, 4to." He also Englished "Barclay's Mirror of Minds, 1633, 12mo."
Langbaine says, that being candidate with Sir Wm. Davenant for the honourable title of Queen's Poet, and being frustrated in his expectations, out of mere spleen, as it is thought, for his repulse, he vented his spite in his "History of the late Civil Wars of England." In an Elegy on the Death of John Cleveland, printed in his Works, p. 282, and signed 1. M. (sup posed to be Jasper Mayne) are these lines:
"His honest soul in consultation sat,
It was not power, but justice made him write,
May also translated "Virgil's Georgics, London, 1622, 8vo. Oldys says "he died suddenly in the night of the Ides of November, 1650, being vercharged with wine. See Andrew Marvell's Poem on his death.”
ART. XI. A Letter sent by Sir John Suckling from
France, deploring his sad estate and flight : with a discouerie of the plot and conspiracie, intended by him and his adherents against England. Imprinted at London. 1641.
66 A Letter sent by Sir John Suckling from France,
deploring, bis sad estate and flight: with a discoverie
Of London round about-a,
That lived bravely mought-a.
As the knight of the sun-a,
And from his countrie run-a.
That England's chief Sucklin-a,
of late the scorn of fate,
In all things under heaven a;
We run at six and seven-a.
What bootes a handsome face-a,
As never yet was found-a,
7. I that did play both night and day.
And revelled here and there-a,..
And bluster'd everie where-a. 8. I that could write and well indite
As 'tis to ladies known-a,
Far more then mine 9. I that did lend and yearly spend
Thousands out of my purse-a
At once a hundred horse-à.
So well, that I fond elfe-a,
To keep one for myselfe-a.
And went up hills a main a
And so came downe again-a.
And moone did never see-à,
The fates, is faine to flee-a. 13. And for the brave, I us'd to have
In all I wore or eate-a,
I scarce have clothes or meate-a. 14. Could not the plot, by which I got
Such credit in the play-a,
My roving fancie stay-a.
Above me not allow'd-a?
16. Would I had burn'd it, when I turn'à it, Out of a Comedie-a;
There was an omen in the nomen
17. Which is at last upon me cast
18. But now I finde with griefe of minde
When plots in earnest faile-á. 19. Why could not I in time espie
My errour, but, what's worse-a,
20. The valiant Percie, God have mercie Vpon his noble soul-a;
Though hee be wise by my advice
In this design, that I call mine,
22. Though he can write, he cannot fight,
Nor can he smell a proiect well,
23. 'Tis true wee met, in counsell set,
Wee had made prittie stuff-a;
23. Which had not fate and prying state Crusht in the very wombe-a,
We had ere long by power strong,
Made England hut one tomb-a. 26. Oh what a fright had bred that sight, .
When Ireland, Scotland, France-a,
In severall troopes should prance-a. 27. When men quarter'd, woman slaughter'd,
In heapes everie where-a,
The very sight should scare-a. 28. That they afraid of what they made,
A streame of blood so high-a,
And unto heaven get nigh-a.
Each other would bewaile-a,
That did so much prevaile-a. 30. Each Alderman in his own chaine,
Being hang'd up like a dog-a,
Made but one bloody bog.a. 31. The Irish Kerne, in battell sterne,
For all their faults so foul-a,
Teaching them how to howle-a. 32. No longer then, the fine women,
The Scots would praise and trust-a;
Far hotter then their lust-a; 33. But too too late lament their fate,
And miserie deplore-a,