I have elsewhere vow'd a duty; Where gaudy clothes And feigned oaths may love obtain : Whose look swears No, Can he prize the tainted posies, Which on every breast are worn, That may pluck the virgin roses From their never-touched thorn? I can go rest On her sweet breast, That is the pride of Cynthia's train: Thy mermaid song Is all bestow'd on me in vain. DR. HENRY KING. [Born, 1592. Died, 1669.] DR. HENRY KING was chaplain to James the First, and Bishop of Chichester *. SONG. DRY those fair, those crystal eyes, To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks Then clear those waterish stars again, * His" Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes and Sonnets" (8vo. 1657) have a neatness, elegance and even a tenderness, which entitle them to more attention than they now obtain.] SIC VITA. LIKE to the falling of a star, LIFE. WHAT is the existence of man's life It is a storm-where the hot blood It is a flower-which buds, and grows, It is a dream-whose seeming truth It is a dial-which points out It is a weary interlude Which doth short joys, long woes, include: DR. ROBERT WILDE WAS a dissenting clergyman. The dates of his birth and death are not given by Jacob. He was author of a poem, entitled "Iter Boreale," and "The Benefice," a comedy. A COMPLAINT OF A LEARNED DIVINE IN PURITAN TIMES. 252 SIR JOHN MENNIS AND JAMES SMITH. All the arts I have skill in, Yet all's not worth a shilling. I preached with a weaver; He quoted Dod and Clever : He got a cloak and beaver. Alas, poor, &c. Ships, ships, ships I discover, Shall I in and go over, To Geneva or Amsterdam ? Bishoprics are void In Scotland, shall I thither? Do want a priest to shrieve them? O no, 'tis blustering weather. Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it: Be bound at a venture An apprentice to a free-school; By William Lilly's charter; Both Will, and Tom, and Arthur. Hath gnawn these cords, and marr'd them quite, Thy paunch, and draw thy glaring eyes? Leaving such relics as may be For frets, not for my lute, but me. Puss, I will curse thee! may'st thou dwell Where rat ne'er peep'd, where mouse ne'er fed, Or with some close-pared brother, where Did not thy conscious stomach find To conjure, for I am, look to't, And they re-catted, straight should fall For a strange sight; puss should be sung As Agincourt, or Chevy Chace. Thus, puss, thou see'st what might betide thee; So I've but scratch'd these notes of mine. JASPER MAYNE. [Born, 1604 Died, 1679.] THIS writer has a cast of broad humour that is amusing, though prone to extravagance. The idea in The City Match of Captain Quartfield and his boon companions exposing simple Timothy dead drunk, and dressed up as a sea-monster for a show, is not indeed within the boundaries of either taste or credibility; but amends is made for it in the next scene, of old Warehouse and Seathrift witnessing in disguise the joy of their heirs at their supposed deaths. Among the many interviews of this nature by which comedy has sought to produce merriment and surprise, this is not one of the worst managed. Plotwell's cool impudence is well supported, when he gives money to the waterman (who tells that he had escaped by swimming at the time the old citizens were drowned,) There, friend, there is A fare for you: I'm glad you 'scaped; I had Dr. Mayne was a clergyman in Oxfordshire. He lost his livings at the death of Charles I. and became chaplain to the Earl of Devonshire, who made him acquainted with Hobbes; but the philosopher and poet are said to have been on no very agreeable terms. At the Restoration he was reinstated in his livings, made a canon of Christ-church, archdeacon of Chichester, and chaplain in ordinary to the king. Besides the comedy of the City Match, he published a tragicomedy called The Amorous War; several sermons; dialogues from Lucian; and a pamphlet on the Civil Wars. FROM "THE CITY MATCH," ACT III. SCENE III. A son and nephew receiving the news of a father's and an uncle's death. Persons-WAREHOUSE and SEATHRIFT, two wealthy old merchants in disguise; CYPHER the former's factor, disguised as a waterman; PLOTWELL, nephew to WAREHOUSE; TIMOTHY, son to SEATHRIFT; CAPTAIN QUARTFIELD, BRIGHT, and NEWCUT, companions of PLOTWell. PLACE:-A Tavern. Cyph. THEN I must tell the news to you 'tis sad. Plot. I'll hear't as sadly. Cyph. Your uncle, sir, and Mr. Seathrift are Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich. Plot. Drown'd! Cyph. They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one O' th' oars that row'd 'em ; a coal-ship did o'er-run us, I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen Took hold of one another, and sunk together. Bright. How some men's prayers are heard! We did invoke The sea this morning, and see the Thames has took 'em. Plot. It cannot be; such good news, gentlemen, Cannot be true. Ware. "Tis very certain, sir; 'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange. Sea. We heard it too In Paul's now as we came. Plot. There, friend, there is A fare for you; I'm glad you 'scaped; I had Plot. Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might Sue me in chancery. Cyph. Sir, you show the virtues of an heir. And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth, Quart. I shall be glad To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle draughts, And shall love Scotch-coal for this wreck the better As long as I know fuel. Plot. Then my poet No longer shall write catches, or thin sonnets, His god of wine t'inspire him. He shall no more Converse with the five-yard butler; who, like thunder, Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour: [flow Plot. Gentlemen, [poem New. 'Slight, sir, here be Two fishmongers to buy you, beat the price; Tim. How's this! my hands Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders? Plot. We have rare news for you. Tim. No letter from the lady, I hope? And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away. Plot. They by this have made a meal And worship sea-coals, for a ship of them Plot. This fellow here Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends Of ours confirm it. Cyph. "Tis too true, sir. Tim. Well, We are all mortal; but in what wet case Sea. No? Tim. No, but to think, And that a shrewd mischance. Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty Plot. You'd not do Like your penurious father, who was wont New. Indeed they say he was a monument of Tim. Yes, he was there As constant as Duke Humphrey. I can show More pavement out with walking than would make Bright. I've heard He'd make his jack go empty, to cozen neighbours. Plot. Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm A mastich-patch t' apply to his wife's temples, |