the Historian of English Poetry! But they have deeply sullied his own credit; and the estimation, not only of his moral, but his intellectual qualities. Yet even from him, these sad instances of his malignant temper, and perverted judgment, cannot withdraw the acknowledgement of the merits which he really possessed. To his persevering industry, and the vast stores of minute and accurate discovery which flowed from it, the public are willing to concede, at least, its due share of praise!

In every department of exertion, it is melancholy, and even disgusting, to observe how few can bear a brother near the throne."

If there be any, who can feel envy or jealousy of a being so obscure as I am, let them lay it aside. It will be of no use to the purposes they desire. If I have no well-grounded pretensions to notice, I shall soon be forgotten without the aid of their efforts: if the perseverance from boyhood to the age of forty-six in literary pursuits, have given me any claim, however slight, to public favour, that claim cannot be taken away, or even shaken, by them! But the memory of their offence will long haunt their own consciences, after it has ceased to reach me !

Feb. 20, 1809.

N° LXVII.

Praises of old English Poets, from W. Browne's Britannia's Pastorals.

William Browne, in his BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS, of which the First Book was published in 1613, in folio, and the Second Rook in 1616; and both parts were reprinted in 2 vols. sm. Svo. 1623,i gives the following praises of some of our old English Poets, in Book 2, Song 2.

"SIDNEY began, and (if a wit so mean May taste with him the dews of Hippocrene),

i The first book is dedicated to Edward Lord Zouch; and has commendatory verses by J. Selden, both Latin and English; Michael Drayton; Edward Heyward, of the Inner Temple; Christopher Brooke, Fr. Dynne, of the Inner Temple; and Thomas Gardiner, of the same.

The second book is dedicated to William Earl of Pembroke, and has commendatory verses by John Glanville; Tho. Wenman, of the Inner Temple; W. Herbert; John Davies, of Hereford; Charles Croke (in Latin); Unton Croke, of the Inner Temple; Anth. Vincent; John Morgan; Tho. Heygate; and Augustus Cæsar; all three of the Inner Temple; G.Wither; W. B; and Ben Jonson.

A new edition of Browne's Poems was published in 1772,、 by T. Davies, in 3 small vols. to which were added some short notes, by the Rev. W. Thompson, of Queen's Coll. Oxford.

I sung the Pastoral next, his muse my mover:
And on the plains full many a pensive lover
Shall sing us to their loves, and praising be

My humble lines the more for praising thee.
Thus shall we live with them by rocks, by springs,
As well as Homer by the death of kings.

Then in a strain beyond an oaten quill,
The learned Shepherd k of fair Hitching hill,
Sung the heroic deeds of Greece and Troy
In lines so worthy life, that I employ
My reed in vain to overtake his fame:
All praiseful tongues do wait upon that name.
Our second Ovid, the most pleasing muse
That heaven did e'er in mortals brain infuse,
All-loved DRAYTON, in soul-rapping strains,
A genuine note of all the nymphish trains
Began to tune; on it all ears were hung,
As sometime Dido's on Æneas' tongue.
JONSON, whose full of merit to rehearse,
Too copious is to be confin'd in verse;
Yet therein only fittest to be known,
Could any write a line which he might own;
One so judicious; so well knowing, and
A man, whose least worth is to understand;
One so exact in all he doth prefer

To able censure, for the theatre.

Not Seneca transcends his worth of praise;

Who writes him well shall well deserve the bays.

* Chapman.

Well-languag'd DANIEL; BROOKE,' whose polish'd lines

Are fittest to accomplish high designs;

Whose pen, it seems, still young Apollo guides;

Worthy the forked hill, for ever glides

Streams from thy brain, so fair, that Time shall see
Thee honour'd by thy verse, and it by thee.
And when thy temple's well-deserving bays,
Might imp a pride in thee to reach thy praise:
As in a chrystal glass, fill'd to the ring
With the clear water of as clear a spring,
A steady hand may very safely drop
Some quantity of gold, yet o'er the top
Not force the liquor run; although before,
The glass of water could contain no more;
Yet so, all worthy BROOKE, tho' all men sound
With plummets of just praise thy skill profound;
Thou in thy verse those attributes canst take,
And not apparent ostentation make,

CHRISTOPHER BROOKE was a Yorkshireman, who, after having left the university (whether Oxford or Cambridge, is not known), settled in Lincoln's Inn to study the law, where he became acquainted with the eminent wits of his day; especially after he had published An Elegy to the Memory of Henry Prince of Wales, Lond. 1613, 4to. In the year following he became a Bencher, and Summer reader of his House; and wrote another book, entitled, Eclogues dedicated to his much-loved friend, Mr. Will. Browne, of the Inner Temple Lond. 1614, 8vo. He had a brother, Sam. Brooke, D. D. Archdeacon of Coventry, and Master of Trinity College, a learned divine, who died Sept. 16th, 1631. Wood's Ath. F. I. 220. See also Brit. Bibliog. II. 235.

That any second can thy virtues raise,

Striving as much to hide, as merit praise.

DAVIS and WITHER, by whose muse's power

A natural day to me seems but an hour;
And could I ever hear their learned lays,
Ages would turn to artificial days:

These sweetly chanted to the Queen of waves,
She prais'd; and what she prais'd, no tongue depraves.
Then base contempt, unworthy our report,

Fly from the Muses, and their fair resort,
And exercise thy spleen on men like thee;
Such are more fit to be contemn'd than we.
'Tis not the rancour of a cank'red heart,
That can debase the excellence of art:

Nor great in titles make our worth obey,
Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they.
For there is hidden in a POET's name

A spell, that can command the wings of Fame,
And maugre all Oblivion's hated birth,

Begin their immortality on earth;

When he, that 'gainst a muse with hate combines,
May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines."

The following is his praise of SPENSER. Having spoken of the bards of Italy and France in his first song of this book, he goes on,

"But let us leave, fair Muse, the banks of Po; Thetis forsook his brave stream long ago; And we must after. See in haste she sweeps

Along the Celtic shores; the Armoric deeps