and happy had he been if he had gone two or three years since; before the world was weary of him, or that he had left that scandal behind him. He was not long sick, past eight or ten days, and died of a burning fever and putrefaction of his lungs, a defect he never complained of. He hath left his lady, (for so she is now generally held to be,) 1500l. a year, and most of his moveables; and of five children that she fathered upon him at the parting from her former husband, I do not hear that be provided for more than three, leaving to the eldest son, I hear, between 3 and 40001. a year, and to a daughter 60007. in money." . The contradictions in these several accounts, and the circumstances that may be advanced in extenuation of this unfortunate lady's conduct, may be left to the reader's discernment. She was unhappily married at an early period, and was the object of attachment with two of the most accomplished and elegant men of the age in which she lived. The adage of "fortes creantur fortibus," may be very safely extended to the natural endowments of form and features; Lady Rich was without doubt remarkable for personal beauty, her two sons by Lord Rich, who make so conspicuous a figure in Clarendon's history, were the handsomest men of their day, and a portrait of her grand daughter Isabella first Countess of Radnor, now before the writer, presents one of the loveliest images ever created by that painter of the graces, Sir Peter Lelly. The following are from the Arcadia :— An Epitaph. His being was in her alone And he not being she was none. A Song. Why dost thou haste away O Titan fair, the giver of the day? Is it to carry news To western wights, what stars in east appear? Or dost thou think that here Is left a sun, whose beams thy place may use? Yet stay and well peruse, What be her gifts that make her equal thee, Bend all thy light to see In earthy form inclos'd a heavenly spark: Thy running course cannot such beauties mark. No, no, thy motions be Hasten'd from us with bar of shadow dark, Because that thou, the author of our sight, Disdain'st we see thee stain'd with other's light. From a long piece, The lad Philisides Lay by a river side, In flow'ry field a gladder eye to please; His pipe was at his foot, His lambs were him beside; A widow turtle near on bared root Each thing both sweet and sad To think, and think with pain, Of Mira's beams eclips'd by absence bad. From a longer piece. As I my little flock on Ister bank, A little flock, but well my pipe they couth, Did piping lead, the sun already sank Beyond our world, and e'er I got my booth, Each thing with mantle black the night did scoth: Saving the glow-worm, which would courteous be Of that small light oft watching shepherds see. The welkin had full niggardly enclosed In coffer of dark clouds his silver groats, Amid my sheep, though I saw naught to fear, M The song I sang old Lanquet had me taught, For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true; And lowest sink not down to jot of ill: With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill, How shepherds were of yore, how now they thrive, Spoiling their flocks, the while 'twixt them they strive. He liked me, but pitied lustful youth: sore, His good strong staff my slippery years upbore; He still hoped well, because I loved truth: 'Till forced to part with heart and eyes e'en To worthy Corydon he gave me o'er; But thus in oak's true shade recounted he, Which now, in night's deep shade, sheep heard of me. * * * Hubert Languet, justly praised in this extract, was a Frenchman, born at Viteaux in 1518. He was converted to the protestant faith by reading the works of Melancthon, and afterwards entered into the service of the reformed princes of Germany. A series of his letters to Sir Philip Sidney is extant, which exhibits him to great advantage, as a profound schola", a wise and prudent adviser, and a firm friend. He died at Antwerp in 1581, leaving behind him the character of being one of the most learned men, and ablest politiians of his time. Sonnet. Since nature's works be good, and death doth serve As nature's work; why should we fear to die? Since fear is vain, but when it may preserve; Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? Fear is more pain, than is the pain it fears, Disarming human minds of native might: While each conceit an ugly figure bears, Which were not ill well viewed in reason's light. And let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind: Let mother earth now deck herself with flowers, But like the turtles fair, Live one in two a well united pair; Which that no chance may stain, O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain. O Heaven awake, shew forth thy stately face, Like to the elm and vine, With mutual embraces them to twine: In which delightful pain, O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain |