Where worth in meanest is rewarded, And,-to speak briefly in a word,— I think not all the world again So near resembles Saturn's reign! HENRY KING Was born in 1591 at Wornal, in Bucks, and educated at Westminster, whence he was elected a student of ChristChurch, Oxford, in 1608. Having taken the degrees in Arts, he "became a most florid preacher," says Wood, and successively chaplain to James I. arch-deacon of Colchester, residentiary of St Paul's, canon of ChristChurch, chaplain to Charles I. doctor of divinity, and dean of Rochester, from which he was advanced to the bishopric of Chichester in 1641, which he held till the time of his death in 1669. He turned the Psalms into verse (12mo. 1651, and 1654,) being disgusted with the old translation, and published in 1657 a small volume of "Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes, and Sonnets." His Elegies are written on the deaths of Gustavus Adolphus, Prince Henry, Sir Walter Raleigh, Dr Donne, Ben Jonson, and others, more particularly his father, Dr John King, bishop of London. His poems are terse and elegant, but, like those of most of his contemporaries, deficient in simplicity. The Dirge. WHAT is th' existence of man's life, But open war, or slumber'd strife; Where sickness to his sense presents The combat of the elements; And never feels a perfect peace Till Death's cold hand signs his release ? It is a storm, where the hot blood It is a flower, which buds, and grows, It is a dream, whose seeming truth Where all the comforts he can share It is a dial, which points out Till all-obscuring earth hath laid It is a weary interlude, Which doth short joys, long woes include; The world the stage, the prologue tears, The acts vain hope and varied fears; Down! stormy Passions, down! no more Let your rude waves invade the shore Where blushing Reason sits, and hides Her from the fury of your tides. Fall, easy Patience, fall, like rest, Whose soft spells charm a troubled breast! And where those rebels you espy, O! in your silken cordage tie Their malice up! so shall I raise and praise Altars to thank your power, The Surrender. My once dear love, hapless that I no more To love each other, with which thoughts the day We, that did nothing wish that heaven could give Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live Beyond that wish,--all these now cancel must, As if not writ in faith, but words, and dust. Yet, witness those clear vows which lovers make! Witness the chaste desires that never brake Into unruly hearts! witness that breast Which in thy bosom anchor'd his whole rest! 'Tis no default in us, I dare acquite Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white As thy pure self. Cross planets did envy Us to each other, and heaven did untie Faster than vows could bind— * * * * **** Like turtle doves Dislodged from their haunts, we must in tears 1 |