Ned Squash hath fetched his bands from Anon they'll think the house goes round,

LADY ELIZABETH CAREW.

LADY ELIZABETH CAREW is believed to be the author of the tragedy of 'Mariam, the Fair Queen of Jewry,' 1613. Though wanting in dramatic interest and spirit, there is a vein of fine sentiment and feeling in this forgotten drama. The following chorus, in act the fourth, possesses a generous and noble simplicity:

If we a worthy enemy do find,

To yield to worth it must be nob.y done;
But if of baser metal be his mind,

In base revenge there is no honour won.
Who would a worthy courage overthrow,
And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ?

We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield;
Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor:
Great hearts are tasked beyond their power, but seld
The weakest lion will the loudest roar.

Truth's school for certain doth the same allow,
High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn.
To scorn to owe a duty over-long;

To scorn to be for benefits forborne;

To scorn to lie; to scorn to do a wrong;

To scorn to bear an injury in mind;

To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.

But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have,
Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind;
Do we his body from our fury save,

And let our hate prevail against our mind?
What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Than make his foe more worthy far than he?
Had Mariam scorned to leave a due unpaid,

She would to Herod then have paid her love,
And not have been by sullen passion swayed.
To fix her thoughts all injury above

Is virtuous pride. Had Mariain thus been proud,
Long famous life to her had been allowed.

BISHOP CORBET.

RICHARD CORBET (1582–1635) was the son of a man who, though only a gardener, must have possessed superior qualities, as he ob tained the hearty commendations, in verse, of Ben Jonson. The son was educated at Westminster and Oxford, and having taken orders, he became successively bishop of Oxford and bishop of Norwich. The social qualities of witty Bishop Corbet, and his never-failing vivacity, joined to a moderate share of dislike to the Puritans, recommended him to the patronage of King James, by whom he was raised to the mitre. His habits were rather too convivial for the dignity of his office, if we may credit some of the anecdotes which have been related of him. Meeting a ballad-singer one market-day at Abing don, and the man complaining that he could get no custom, the jelly doctor put off his gown, and arrayed himself in the leathern jacket of the itinerant vocalist, and being a handsome man, with a clear full voice, he presently vended the stock of ballads. One time, as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see the ceremony, Corbet exclaimed: Bear off there, or I'll confirm ye with my staff.' The bishop and his chaplain, Dr. Lushington, it is said, would sometimes repair to the wine-cellar together, and Corbet used to put off his epis copal hood, saying: 'There lies the doctor;' then he put off his gown,

saying: 'There lies the bishop;' then the toast went round: 'Here's to thee, Corbet;' 'Here's to thee, Lushington.' Jovialities like these

seem more like the feats of the jolly Friar of Copmanhurst than the acts of a Frotestant bishop: but Corbet had higher qualities; his toleration, solid sense, and lively talents procured him deserved esteem and respect. His poems were first collected and published in 1647. They are of a miscellaneous character, the best known being a Journey to France,' written in a light easy strain of descriptive humour. The 'Farewell to the Fairies' is equally lively, and more poetical.

To Vincent Corbet, his Son.

What shall I leave thee, none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well:
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health;

I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but to support;

Nor too much wealth nor wit come to To keep thee not in doing many

thee,

So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning not for show,
Enough for to instruct and know;
Not such as gentlemen require
To prate at table or at fire.

From the

I went from England into France,
Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance,
Nor vet to ride nor fence:

Nor did I go like one of those
That do return with half a nose

They carried from hence.

But I to Paris rode along,
Much like John Dory* in the song,
Upon a holy tide.

I on an ambling nag did get-
I trust he is not paid for yet-
And spurred him on each side.

And to Saint Denis fast we came,
To see the sights of Notre Dame

Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And, when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.

Journey to France'

The man that shews them snuffles-
Where who is apt for to believe,
May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve,
And eke her old pantofles;

Her breast, her milk, her very gown
That she did wear in Bethlehem town,
When in the inn she lay:

Yet all the world knows that's a fable,
For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable,
Upon a lock of hay.

There is one of the cross's nails,
Which, whoso sees, his bonnet vails,
And, if he will, may kneel.
Some say 'twas false, 'twas never so⚫
Yet, feeling it, thus much I know,
It is as true as steel.

There is a lanthorn which the Jews,
When Judas led them forth, did use;
It weighs my weight downright:
But, to believe it, you must think
The Jews did put à candle in 't,

And then 'twas very light.

There's one saint there hath lost his nose:
Another's head, but not his toes,

His elbow and his thumb.
But when that we had seen the rags,
We went to th' inn and took our nags,
And so away did come.

*This alludes to one of the most celebrated of the old English ballads. It was the favourite performance of the Euglish minstrels, as lately as the reign of Charles II.; and Dryden alludes to it as to the most hackneyed song of the time

But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear such chits in story,
'Twill turn all politics to jests,

To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts.

RITSON'S Ancient Songs.

We came to Paris on the Seine;
"Tis wondrous fair, 'tis nothing clean,
'Tis Europe's greatest town.
How strong it is, I need not tell it,
For all the world may easily smell it,
That walk it up and down.

There many strange things are to see,
The palace and great gallery,

The Place Royal doth excel:

The new bridge, and the statues there,
At Notre Dame, Saint Q. Pater,
The steeple bears the bell.

For learning, th' University;
And, for old clothes, the Frippery,
The house the queen did build.

Farewell rewards and fairies,

Saint Innocents, whose earth devours
Dead corpse in four-and-twenty hours,
And there the king was killed:

The Bastile, and Saint Denis Street,
The Shafflenist, like London Fleet,
The arsenal no toy.

But if you'll see the prettiest thing,
Go to the court and see the king,
Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy.*

He is, of all dukes and peers,
Reverenced for much wit at 's years,
Nor must you think it much;
For he with little switch doth play,
And make fine dirty pies of clay,
Oh, never king made such!

Farewell to the Fairies.

Good housewives now may say,

For now foul sluts in dairies

Do fare as well as they.

Witness those rings and roundelays.
Of theirs, which yet remain,

Were footed in Queen Mary's days
On many a grassy plain;

And though they sweep their hearths no But since of late Elizabeth,

less

Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late, for cleanliness,
Finds sixpence in her shoe?

Lament, lament, old abbeys,
The fairies lost command;
They did but change priests' babies,
But some have changed your land;

And all your children sprung from thence
Are now grown Puritans;

Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your domains.

At morning and at evening both,
You merry were and glad,

So little care of sleep or sloth
These pretty ladies had;

When Tom came home from labour,
Or Cis to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.

And later, James came in,

They never danced on any heath

As when the time hath been.

By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession,
Their songs were Ave-Maries,
Their dances were procession
But now, alas! they all are dead
Or gone beyond the seas;
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure,
And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punished sure;
It was a just and Christian deed,
To pinch such black and blue:
Oh, how the commonwealth doth need
Such justices as you!

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

WILLIAM HABINGTON (1605-1645) had all the vices of the metaphysical school, excepting its occasional and frequently studied licentiousness. He tells us himself (in his preface), that if the innocency of a chaste muse shall be more acceptable, and weigh heavier in the balance of esteem, than a fame begot in adultery of study, I doubt I shall leave no hope of competition.' And of a pure attachment, he says finally, that when Love builds upon the rock of Chastity, it may safely contemn the battery of the waves and threatenings of the

* Louis XIII