« ZurückWeiter »
of verse taken out of Peter's Complaint, which she usually sung and played on the winde instrument.” This meditation is an intermixture of prose and verse. The latter is taken from the polished metre of South
Chap. xii. consists of " A Madrigall made by Berny Grymeston upon the conceit of his Mother's play to the former ditties.
“How many pipes, as many sounds
Do still impart
To your sonne's hart
Each stroke a dart,
Each stound a smart, Poore captive me confounds. And yet how oft the strokes of sounding keys hath slain, As oft the looks of your kind eies restores my life againe."
Chap. xiii. an Evening Meditation, contains “Odes in imitation of the seven penitential psalmes in seven severall kinde of verse.” Taken perhaps from the poems of Verstegan, noticed in Censura, Vol. II. p. 96.
Chap. xiii. and last, entitled “ Memoratives," comprehends a selection of ancient moral maxims and sententious reflections, which are highly creditable to the maternal tenderness and good sense of the selector.
St. Peter's Complaint, with other poems, by father Southwell, appeared in 1595, and had many subsequent impressions; as may hereafter be specia ked, in the progress of this publication,
ART. XVI. Notices of, and Exhortations to, Mar
lowe, Lodge, and Peele. From “ Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, bought with a Million of Repentance.” Printed in 159, 1617, and 21.
“To those Gentlemen, his quondam acquaintance, that spend their wits in making Plays, R. G. wisheth a better exercise, and wisedome to prevent his extremities.
“Wonder not, for with thee [Chr. Marlowe) will I first beginne, thou famous graces of Tragedians, that Greene, who hath said with thee (like the fool) in his heart, “There is no God,' should now give glory unto his greatnesse ; for penetrating is his power, bis hand lies heavy upon me. Why should thy excellent wit, his gift, be so blinded that thou shouldest give no glory to the Giver? O swinish töly! what are his rules but mere confused mockeries, able to extirpate, in small time, the generation of mankinde. I know the least of
my deinerits merit this miserable death; but wilfull striving against knowne truth, exceedeth all the terrors. of my soule. Defuse not (with me) till this last poynt of extremity; for little knowest thou, how in the end thou shalt be visited.
“ With thee I joyne young Juvenal, that biting Satyrist, [This. Lodge, that lastly with mee together writ a comedy. Sweet boy, might I advise thee, be advised, and get not many en mies by bitter words. Inveigh against vaine men, for thou canst doe it, no man beiter; no man so weil: thou hast a liberty to reprove
all; and name none: for one being spoken to, all are offended; none being blamed, no man is in
jured, jured. Stop shallow water, still running, it will rage; tread on a worme, and it will turne: then blame not schollers who are vexed with sharpe and bitter lines, if they reproove thy too much liberty of reproofe.
“ And thou [Geo. Peele) no lesse deserving than the oiher tuo: in some things rarer, in nothing inferiour; driven (as my selfe) to extreme shifts, a little have I. to say to thee: and were it not an idolatrous oath, I would sicar by sweet St. George, thou art unworthy better hap, sith thou dependest on so mcane a stay. Base-minded men, all three of you, if by my misery yee bee not warned: for umto none of you (like me) sought those burs to cleave; those puppets (I mean) that speak from our mouths; those anticks, garnisht in our colours. Is it not strange that I, to whom they all have been beholding; is it not like that you, to whom they all have been behoiding, shall (were ye in that case that I am now) be both of them at once forsaken? Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tyger's heart, wrapt in a player's hyde, supposes he is as wel able to bombast out a blank verse, as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes fac tolum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shake-scene* in a country.
“ But now returne I againe to you three, knowing my misery is to you no newes: and let me heartily intreat you to be warned by my harmes. Delight not (as. I have done) in irreligious oaths, despise drunkenness, fie lust, abhor those epicures, whose loose life hath made Religion loathsome to your eares; and
Shakspeare, says Tyrwhitt. See Malone's Chronological Order of his Plays, and Chalmers' Supplemental Apology for the Believers of the Shaki
when they sooth you with termes of mastership, remember Robert Greene (whom they have often flattered) perishes now for want of comfort. Remember Gentlemen, your lives are like so many light tapers, that are with care delivered to all of
to maintaine; these, with wind-puft wrath may be extinguished, with drunkennesse put out, with negligence let fall. The fire of my light is now at the last snuffe. My hand is tyred, and I am forc't to leave where I would begin. Desirous that you should live, though himselfe be dying.
“ Robert GREENE.”, who to, sad
ART. XVII. Churchyard's Praise of Poetric. 1595.
(CONTINUED FROM VOL. III, P. 317.]
The old court poet thus proceeds in his survey of metrical writers, sacred and prophane.
Nathan spake of a lamb, ungracious'y taken from his bosume. Davis and Salo.rar, Jivite pels. I Plato's dialogie callej lor.
Brings each rare wit to sun from shade
To weare the laurell croune.
True stories old, with new delite
Shall fill your harts and eares;
Their books good witness beares. *
If aunshent authors and great kings
No credit gets herein;
That duth great glory win.t
Plucke up cleere judgment from the pit
Of poore esprit and sense,
And looke on this defence ; &
That Sydney makes a matchlesse worke,
A matter fresh and new,
And seldome came to view.ll
He cals them poets, that embrace
True vertue in her kinde,
With wanton blotted minde. $
• Lelius, a Roman, and Socrates, both were poets. + James the First, that was King of Scotland, and K. James the Sisi, now raigning, great poets.
The Greeke Socrates put Æsop's fables into verse, and Aristotle wrate the arte of poerrie.
| Emperers, kings, captains, and senators, werc poets, and favoured the art.
§ Adrian and Sophocles, great poets.