In this last kiss I here surrender thee
Back to thyself; so thou again art free.
Thou, in another, sad as that, re-send

The truest heart that lover e'er did lend.
Now turn from each: so fare our sever'd hearts

As the divorc'd soul from her body parts.

FRANCIS QUARLES

Was a very voluminous and very popular writer; and though, as Mr Headley justly observes," he too often "mistook the enthusiasm of devotion for the inspiration of

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fancy," he certainly deserved a great part of the reputation for which he was principally indebted to his loyalty and devotion. Mr Jackson of Exeter, in his "Thirty Letters," and Dr Anderson, in his life of P. Fletcher, have defended him against the contempt of Pope.

His principal works are his " Emblems;"" Divine Poems," consisting of pieces first published separately; " Argalus and Parthenia ;" and "Solomon's Recantation;" all of which, especially the " Emblems," have passed through various editions. His "Enchiridion," 1658, sm. 12mo, a collection of brief observations in prose, is highly and deservedly praised by Mr Headley.

Quarles was of an ancient family, nephew to Sir Robert Quarles; born 1592; educated at Christ's College, Cambridge; studied in Lincoln's Inn; afterwards cup-bearer to the queen of Bohemia, secretary to the primate of Ireland, and chronologer to the city of London. He died in 1644. See Mr Headley's more particular account, as well as the specimens he has given, amply sufficient to vindicate our author's fame.

The following lines, extracted from his "Shepherd's Ora"cles," 1646, 4to. will perhaps be thought worth preserving, as they describe with some humour the taste of the Puritans.

Song of Anarchus.

KNOW then, my brethren, heaven is clear,

And all the clouds are gone;

The righteous now shall flourish, and
Good days are coming on:

Come then, my brethren, and be glad,

And eke rejoice with me;

Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down,

And hey! then up go we!

We'll break the windows which the Whore

Of Babylon hath painted,

And when the popish saints are down,

Then Barrow shall be sainted. There's neither cross nor crucifix Shall stand for men to see;

Rome's trash and trumperies shall go down, And hey! then up go we!

Where learning is profess'd,

Because they practise and maintain

The language of the beast.

We'll drive the doctors out of doors,

And arts, whate'er they be;

We'll cry both arts and learning down,

And hey! then up go we!

If once that Anti-christian crew

Be crush'd and overthrown, We'll teach the nobles how to crouch,

And keep the gentry down. Good manners have an ill report,

And turn to pride we see ;

We'll therefore cry good manners down, And hey! then up go we!

The name of lord shall be abhorr'd,
For every man's a brother;

No reason why, in church, or state,
One man should rule another.
But when the change of government
Shall set our fingers free,

We'll make the wanton sisters stoop,
And hey! then up go we!

Our coblers shall translate their souls
From caves obscure and shady;

We'll make Tom T*** as good as my lord, And Joan as good as my lady.

We'll crush and fling the marriage ring

Into the Roman see;

We'll ask no bands, but e'en clap hands,

And hey! then up go we!