Abbildungen der Seite

Clashing of armour, and loud shouts they hear
In desert groves; and threatening ghosts appear.
The dwellers near without the city wal
Fled; fierce Erynnis had encompass'd all
The town; her snaky hairs and burning brand
Shaking; as when she rul'd Agava's hand,
Or the self-maim'd Lycurgus: such was she,
Who once, when sent by Juno's cruelty,
Great Hercules, new come from Hell, did fight:
Shrill trumpets sounded; dismal airs of night
That horrid noise, that meeting armies yield,
Did then present: in midst of Mars his field
Rose Sylla's ghost; and woes ensuing told:
Ploughmen near Aniens streams Marius behold
Rise from his sepulchre, and fly appall'd.
For these things were the Tuscan prophets call`d,
As custom was.".

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,
Unmasking vices both of church and state.

It was not power, but justice made him write,
No ends could, May-like, turn him parasite."

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.”

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

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 the plot and conspiracie, intended by him and his
adherents against England.
1. " Goe, dolefull sheete to everie street

Of London round about-a,
And tell 'um all thy masters fall,

That lived bravely mought-a.
2. Sir John in fight as brave a wight,

As the knight of the sun-a,
Is forced to goe, away with woe,

And from his countrie run-a.
3. Vnhappy stars to breed such iars

That England's chief Sucklin-a,


of late the scorn of fate,
And fortunes unlucklin-a;
4. But ye may see inconstancie

In all things under heaven a;
When God withdrawes his gracious lawes

We run at six and seven-a.
5. Alas, alas, how things doe passe ?

What bootes a handsome face-a,
A prettie wit and legges to it
Not season'd well with

I that in court have made such sport

As never yet was found-a,
And tickled all both great and small
The maides of honour round-a.



[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]


7. I that did play both night and day.

And revelled here and there-a,..
Had change of suits, made layes to lutes

And bluster'd everie where-a. 8. I that could write and well indite

As 'tis to ladies known-a,
And bore the praise for songs and plajes

Far more then mine 9. I that did lend and yearly spend

Thousands out of my purse-a
And gave the King a wondrous thing,

At once a hundred horse-à.
10. Blest providence that kept my sense

So well, that I fond elfe-a,
Should chance to hit to have the wit,

To keep one for myselfe-a.
11. I that marcht forth, into the North,

And went up hills a main a
With sword and lance like King of France,

And so came downe again-a.
12. I that have done such things, the sun

And moone did never see-à,
Yet now poore fohn, a poxe upon

The fates, is faine to flee-a. 13. And for the brave, I us'd to have

In all I wore or eate-a,
Accurssed chance to spoyle the dance,

I scarce have clothes or meate-a. 14. Could not the plot, by which I got

Such credit in the play-a,
Aglaura bright that Persian wight,

My roving fancie stay-a.
15. But I must fie at things so high,

Above me not allow'd-a?
And I Sir John, like Ixion,
For Juno kisse a cloud-a!

16. Would


16. Would I had burn'd it, when I turn'à it, Out of a Comedie-a;

There was an omen in the nomen
I feare of Tragedie-a;

17. Which is at last upon me cast
And I proclaim'd a sott-a,
For thinking to with English doe
As with a Persian plot-a.

18. But now I finde with griefe of minde
What will not me availe-a,
That plots in iest are ever best,

When plots in earnest faile-á. 19. Why could not I in time espie

My errour, but, what's worse-a,
Vnhappy vermin must bring in Termin
The master of the horse-a.

20. The valiant Percie, God have mercie Vpon his noble soul-a;

Though hee be wise by my advice
Was in the plot most foule-a.
21. The wittie poet (let all know it)
Davenant by name-a;

In this design, that I call mine,
I utterlie disclaime-a.

22. Though he can write, he cannot fight,
And bravely take a fort-a :

Nor can he smell a proiect well,
His nose it is to short-a.

23. 'Tis true wee met, in counsell set,
And plotted here in prose-a,
And what he wanted, it is granted,
Abridge made of his nose-a;
24. But to impart it to his art,

Wee had made prittie stuff-a;
No, for the plot, that we had got,
One poet was enough-a.

25. Which

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,
Within the wall of London all

In severall troopes should prance-a. 27. When men quarter'd, woman slaughter'd,

In heapes everie where-a,
So thick should lie, the enemie,

The very sight should scare-a. 28. That they afraid of what they made,

A streame of blood so high-a,
For safety fled, should mount the dead,

And unto heaven get nigh-a.
29. The scarlet gowne, and best i’ th' towne,

Each other would bewaile-a,
That their shut purse had brought this curse,

That did so much prevaile-a. 30. Each Alderman in his own chaine,

Being hang'd up like a dog-a,
And all the city without pitty,

Made but one bloody bog.a. 31. The Irish Kerne, in battell sterne,

For all their faults so foul-a,
Pride, use, ill gaine, and want of braine,

Teaching them how to howle-a. 32. No longer then, the fine women,

The Scots would praise and trust-a;
The wanton dames being burnt in flames

Far hotter then their lust-a; 33. But too too late lament their fate,

And miserie deplore-a,
By the French knocks, having got a pox,
Worse then they had before-a.

34. Infants

E 3

« ZurückWeiter »