SIR FRANCIS KINASTON, Author of "Leoline and Sydanis," with "Cynthiades," 1641, son of Sir Edward Kinaston, knt. of Otely in Shropshire, became gentleman-commoner of Oriel College, 1601, took his master's degree in Cambridge, and returned to Oxford 1611. Thence he went to Court, was knighted in 1619, and afterwards made esquire of the body of Charles I. He was the first regent of the academy called the Musæum Minervæ, 1635. He printed this year two books of a Latin translation of Chaucer's Troilus and Cresseid ; and died 1642, or thereabouts, says Wood, who adds: "This is the person also who "by experience falsified the alchymists' report, that a hen "being fed for certain days with gold, beginning when Sol "was in Leo, should be converted into gold, and should lay 66 'golden eggs ; but indeed became very fat." To Cynthia, on concealment of her beauty. Do not conceal those tresses fair, Do not conceal those breasts of thine, Do not conceal that fragrant scent, No spices grow in all the east! Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse Thy pearly teeth with coral lips; Lest that the seas cease to bring forth Gems which from thee have all their worth! Do not conceal no beauty, grace, To Cynthia, on her Mother's decease. APRIL is past! then do not shed, Nor do not waste in vain Upon thy mother's earthy bed Thy tears of silver rain. Thou canst not hope that her cold earth A flower like thee, or will give birth 'Tis true the rain fall'n from the sky, Or from the clouded air, Doth make the earth to fructify, And makes the heaven more fair. With thy dear face it is not so, If thou rain down thy showers of wo, Therefore, when sorrow shall becloud Thy fair serenest day, Weep not! my sighs shall be allow'd THOMAS BEEDOME Was the author of "Poems Divine and Humane,” 12mo. London, 1641 (with an address to the reader, signed " Hen. "Glapthorne," as well as Latin and English verses by the same). These posthumous poems contain many good lines, but in general wretchedly marred by extravagant conceits. The following is, perhaps, the least faulty specimen. From the numerous complimentary verses by contemporary wits, which, according to the custom of the times, usher in the author and his productions with hyperbolical praise, it appears that Beedome died very young. The Question and Answer. WHEN the sad ruin of that face By time undone, falls slack and dies; And when thy glass shall it present Without those smiles which once were there, Showing, like some stale monument, A scalp departed from its hair; At thyself frighted, wilt not start, and swear Yes, yes, I know thou wilt; and so Pity the weakness of thy scorn, That now hath humbled thee to know, Though fair it was, it is forlorn. Love's sweets thy aged corpse embalming not, Then shall I live; and live to be (Being nighted from thy beauty's day) "'Tis he! and had my pride not wither'd me, "I had, perhaps, been still as fresh as he." Then shall I smile, and answer, True; thy scorn "Left thee thus wrinkled, slackt, corrupt, forlorn." |