sicke, to recreate their wearied senses. But when their pleasant supper was ended, and they had passed away the time with much talke, the queene and her partakers prepa red themselues to act the catastrophe of their bloody and nightly tragedy, and now to make a short riddance of their capitall foe's hatefull life, and yet they could haue wished, he might haue liued stil in extream pangs of lingering death.

"Now when the sun began his daily circuit in the blushing orient, least his bright eye should discouer their secret and night-hooded murder, they suddenly threw the mangled and tormented body of Agamio into a fierce flaming fire, where it was quickly burnt and consumed into ashes. And although their reuenging minds were somwhat quieted when their enimy was quite dead, yet they were all content, that his memory should line somewhat longer, and euery one of them tooke some of his ashes, being his last reliques, and entombed it in their golden tablets, that so often as they did view it with their eie, they might conceiue new ioy in their hart, with a pleasant thought of their great victory ouer so stout a foe. And thus ended the lamentable tragedy of rash beleeuing and credulous Agamio, whose death may be a caueat for others not hastily to trust the faire wordes of an old foe, making a goodly shew of a fained reconciliation. Finis."

J. H.

¶ The Contemplation of Sinners. 1499. 4to. Colophon. "Here endeth the treatyse called the Contemplacyon of Synners, for every daye of the weke a synguler Medytacyon. Emprentyd at Westmynster by Wynken de Worde the .x. daye of July, the yere of our Lorde .M.CCCC.lxxxxix."'

"Namque huius mundi fallacis guadia vite
Et quibus exuere se debet omnis homo,
Sunt miseranda nimis vexant mortalia corda
Virtutum faciunt quamlibet immemorem
Quos igitur cristi baptisma sacrum renouauit
Librum hunc perlegite qui facit esse sacros
Quid iusto prodest aut quid peccator egebit
Si libet inspicere vos docet istud opus."

¶ Prologus.

"At the deuoute and dylygent request of the ryght

reuerende

reuerende fader in god & lorde Rycharde bysshop of Dure. ham and lorde pryueseall of Englonde, this lytell boke named Contemplacon of Synners is compyled & fynysshed. The sayd blessyd fader in god desynynge gretly all vertue to encrease and vyce to be exyled, hath caused this booke to be enprynted to the entente that oft redynge this booke may surely serche and truely knowe the state of his conscyence."

Mr. Dibdin, who has given a full account of this book (ii. 83) pronounces it in every respect a great curiosity.

I select the following curious, though rude, alliterature verses from Monday's contemplation:

"Tulit me a conspectu vite salubris rabida prosperitas.”
"O stronge tyraunt traytour ryght tresonable
Conuent of all contagyous companye,

Thy fadyd flourysshynge is fantasy felable
Thou gyrthe of gyle scole of cupydytye
Fader of falset, nouryce of iniquytye.

The chaugeable chaunce of thy folyche fortoune
Just men oppressynge, and shrewes settynge hye
Maketh a man to lose an heuenly crowne."

The work has about eight curious wood-cuts, some of which have been copied by Mr. Dibdin.

This account is taken from a copy in the library of Lee Priory, near Canterbury.

The Miracle of the Peace in France. Celebrated by the Ghost of the Divine Do Bartas. Translated by Iostah Sylvester. Imprinted at London by Richard Bradocke for John Browne, and are to be sold at his shop in Fleet-streete at the signe of the Bible. 1599. pp. 70. In fours.

This little article of a voluminous and very unequal writer has not been noticed by either Herbert or Ritson. It is dedicated in a sonnet to M. Anthony Bacone whose arms are on the back of the title. The contents are

* Mr. Ellis in his second volume has given a specimen of Sylvester's poetry. The poem of "a contented mind” there selected must have been a close imitation of one inserted in the Cens. Lit. vol. x. p. 282.

+ The poems are to be found in the 4to. collection of Sylvester's works.

sonnets

sonnets relative to the peace, a dialogue vpon the troubles past betweene Heraclitys and Democritus; an ode on Astrea, and some epigrams and epitaphs. The ode may be selected as containing some pleasing and tender images, though dilated with too many of the usual conceits of the translation.

"An ode of the loue and beauties of Astrea.

To the most matchles, faire, and vertuous, M. M. H.
Tetrasticon.

Thou for whose sake my freedom I forsake,
Who murdring me doost yet maintaine my life:
Here vnder Peace, thy beauties type I make
Faire war-like nymph that keep'st me still in strife.
Sacred peace if I approoue thee,

If more than my life I loue thee,
'Tis not for thy beauteous eyes :
Though the brightest lampe in skies
In his highest sommer shine,
Seemes a sparke compared with thine;
With thy paire of selfe-like sunnes,
Past all els-comparisons.

'Tis not, deare, the dewes ambrosiall
Of those pretie lips so rosiall,
Make me humble at thy feet;
Though the purest honie sweet
That the Muses birds doe bring
To Mount Hybla euery spring,
Nothing neare so pleasant is
As thy liuely, louing kisse.
'Tis not, Beautie's Emperesse,
Th' amber circlets of thy tresse,
Curled by the wanton windes,
That so fast my freedome bindes;
Though the precious glittering sand
Richly strow'd on Tagus' strand;
Nor the grains Pactolus told

Neuer were so fine a gold.

'Tis not for the polish't rowes

Of those rockes whence prudence flowes,

That I still my suite pursue;

Though that in those countries new

In the orient lately found,
(Which in precious gemmes abound)
'Mong all baytes of auarice

Be no pearles of such a price.
'Tis not, sweet, thine yuorie necke,
Makes me worship at thy becke;
Nor that pretie double hill
Of thy bosome panting still:
Though no fairest Leda's swanne,
Nor no sleekest marble can
Be so smooth or white in show,
As thy lillies, and thy snow.
'Tis not, O my paradice!

Thy front euener than the yce,
That my yeelding heart doth tye
With his mild-sweet maiestie:
Though the siluer moone be faine,
Still by night to mount her waine,
Fearing to sustaine disgrace
If by day shee meet thy face.
'Tis not that soft sattin limme,

With blewe trailes enamel'd trimme,
Thy hand, handle of perfection,
Keepes my thoughts in thy subiection :
Though it haue such curious cunning,
Gentle touch, and nimble running,
That on lute to heare it warble,

Would mooue rocks and rauish marble.

'Tis not all the rest beside,

Which thy modest vaite doth hide
From mine eyes (ah, too iniurious)
Makes me of thy lone so curious:
Though Diana being bare,
Nor Leucothoe passing rare,
In the christall-flowing springs,
Neuer bath'd so beauteous things.

What then, (O diuinest dame)
Fires my soule with burning flame?
If thine eyes be not the matches
Whence my kindling taper catches?
And what nectar from aboue
Feeds and feasts my ioyes, my loue,
If they tast not of the dainties
Of thy sweet lippes sugred plenties?

What

What fell heat of couetize
In my feeble bosome fries;
If my heart no reckoning hold
Of thy tresses purest gold?
What inestimable treasure

Can procure me greater pleasure,
Then those orient pearles I see,

When thou daign'st to smile on mee?

What, what fruit of life delights
My delicious appetites,
If I ouer-passe the messe

Of those apples of thy brests?
What fresh buddes of scarlet rose
Are more fragrant sweet than those :
Then those twins, thy strawberry teates,
Curled-purled, cherrilets?

What (to finish) fairer limme,

Or what member yet more trimme,
Or what other rarer subiect

Makes me make thee all mine obiect?
If it be not all the rest

By thy modest vaile supprest:
Rather which an enuious cloud
From my sight doth closely shroud.

Ah 'tis a thing farre more diuine,
'Tis that peerles soule of thine;
Master-peece of heau'ns best art,
Made to maze each mortall hart:
'Tis thine all-admired wit,
Thy sweet grace and gesture fit,
Thy mild pleasing curtisie
Makes thee triumph ouer me.

But, for thy faire soules respect,
I loue twinne-flames that reflect
From thy bright tralucent eyes;
And thy yellow lockes likewise;
And those orient pearlie rockes
Which thy lightning smile vn-lockes;
And the nectar passing blisses
Of thy honey-sweeter kisses.

I loue thy fresh rosie cheeke
Blushing most Aurora-like,

And