PATRICK HANNAY:

Appears to have served in a military capacity under Sir Andrew Gray, knt. a colonel of foot, and general of artillery to the king of Bohemia. His "Happy Husband, with a Wife's Behaviour after Marriage," was printed in 1619, and again, with "Philomela, the Nightingale," "Sheretine and Mariana," " Elegies," " Songs and Sonnets," in 1622. These productions he describes to be the"fruit of some hours he with the Muses spent."

SONG.

Amantium ira amoris redintegratio est.

CŒLIA jealous, lest I did

In my heart affect another,
Me her company forbid.

Women cannot passion smother.

The dearer love, the more disdain,
When truth is with distrust requited:

I vow'd (in anger) to abstain.

She found her fault, and me invited.

I came with intent to chide her,
'Cause she had true love abus'd,

Resolved never to abide her:

Yet, her fault she so excus'd,

As it did me more entangle;

Telling "True love must have fears.". They ne'er lov'd that ne'er did wrangle; Lovers' jars but love endears.

SONG.

"SERVANT, farewell!"-Is this my
Do my deserts no more require?
No! do not think to cheat me so;
I will have more yet ere you go.

Thy lov'd idea I'll arrest,
And it imprison in my breast:
In sad conceit it there shall lie,

My jealous love shall keep the key.

Nor think it ever shall part thence,
Or that I will with it dispense:
Thy love alone can me avail,
Thyself alone I'll take for bail.

hire?

[Extracted from "Philomela."]

THE maple with a scarry skin
Did spread broad pallid leaves;
The quaking aspin, light and thin,
To th' air light passage gives;
Resembling still

The trembling ill

Of tongues of womankind,

Which never rest,

But still are prest

To wave with every wind.

JOHN HAGTHORPE.

A small volume of his poems, consisting of “ Divine Meditations and Elegies," was published in 1622, and in the next year a second collection, which he calls "Visiones Rerum, the Visions of Things." All of these bear testimony to his learning and piety, but his subjects were too sublime for his genius. Of the anecdotes of his life I know nothing.

On Time.

TIME! I ever must complain

Of thy craft and cruel cunning;

Seeming fix'd here to remain,

When thy feet are ever running :
And thy plumes

Still resumes

Courses new, repose most shunning.

Like calm winds thou passest by us;

Lin'd with feathers are thy feet;
Thy downy wings with silence fly us,
Like the shadows of the night;

Or the stream

That no beam

Of sharpest eye discerns to fleet.

Therefore mortals all, deluded
By thy grave and wrinkled face,
In their judgments have concluded
That thy slow and snail-like pace
Still doth bend

To no end,

But to an eternal race.

Budding youth's vain blooming wit Thinks the spring shall ever last,

And the gaudy flowers that sit

On Flora's brow shall never taste

Winter's scorn,

Nor forlorn

Bend their heads with chilling blast.

Riper age expects to have

Harvests of his proper

toil,

Times to give and to receive

Seeds and fruits from fertile soil:

But at length

Doth his strength,

Youth, and beauty, all recoil.