How other feek him to offend: O! fhameless whore! is dread then gone? The shop of craft! the den of ire! Stricken shall be thy lechers all. Thy proud towers, and turrets high Thine idols burnt that wrought iniquity: When none thy ruin shall bemoan; Immortal praise with one accord.” This is an extraordinary poem to have been written in 1543. The irony is well sustained; the fatire is fharp and biting; and the citizens are duly dowered with the vices which they punished in the poet. His next Prifon Poem is of a graver kind; a deeper vein; and far more worthy (worthy as the fatire is) of the poet's genius. The machinations of his enemies were gaining ftrength day by day. Still Surrey pursued his course with his wonted bravery and chivalrous daring. Mr. Robert Bell has given fo admirable a fummary of the events immediately preceding his arreft, that we cannot do better than quote it. He fays, "On Christmas day, Surrey attended a chapter of the garter at Hampton Court, and was prefent, in the following April, on a fimilar occafion at Greenwich. During this period, he was actively employed in raifing and equipping men for a new expedition for the defence of Boulogne, and having been appointed to the command of the vanguard of five thousand men, he croffed over to Calais in Auguft. He was fhortly afterwards placed in the command of Guifnes, from whence he was removed, at his own folicitation, to Boulogne. This was the poft of honour and danger, and his appointment to it evinces the confidence repofed in his capacity. He applied himself with energy to the task of putting the place into a proper state of defence, and was inceffantly occupied in fkirmishes and forties. By one of these sudden movements which characterised his operations, he compelled the French to relinquish an important pofition at Outreau, and at another time dispersed their fleet, the English admiral taking seven fail of their line, laden with wine and provifions. But a reverse awaited him that caft a fhadow over these brilliant fucceffes. In an attempt to intercept the enemy with inferior numbers, near St. Etienne, in January, 1545-6, a portion of his force was feized with panic, and fled in disorder; and, although the lofs on the side of the French was greater than that of the English, the iffue could not be otherwise regarded than as a disastrous defeat. It has been supposed that this misfortune led to his recal; yet it is certain that he remained three months longer in his command, and that he had fo little to imagine that he had fallen under the king's cenfure, that he forwarded a request to his majesty that his countess might be permitted to join him at Boulogne, which was not acceded to, on account of the apprehenfions that were entertained of an approaching fiege. The first intimation he received of having incurred the royal displeasure, was the appointment of Lord Hertford as the king's lieutenant-general within the English Pale in France; and Paget, the king's private secretary, who communicated the news, ftrongly advised him, as a means of avoiding worfe confequences, to folicit some command under Hertford, rather than remain suspended and inactive. Surrey's pride revolted from this suggestion; and, early in April, 1547, Lord Gray was placed in the local command at Boulogne, and Surrey fummoned to England, oftenfibly for the purpose of affording information on the fubject of the fortifications. Disguised by a little official courtesy, this fummons was, in effect, a recal."* It was not the method of Henry to be laggard in his perfecutions. He was often long before he struck, but when he did it was at once and effectively. There was no hope for any one who had fallen under his displeasure. His was not the throne at which to look for mercy. The noble victim of royal, and of Hertford's jealoufy, was not fawning enough, nor careful enough, not to afford his enemies a speedy opportunity of attack. He was loud and bitter in his affaults on his fupplanter. He uttered his complaints, where they foon reached the king, and as these complaints reflected on the royal doings, Surrey was foon imprifoned in Windfor Caftle. Here, according to the best authorities, fupported by the intrinfic evidence of the poem itself, he wrote "PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED. "So cruel prifon how could betide, alas, With a Kinges son, my childish years did pafs, * Annotated Edition of the Poets.-Surrey. Where each sweet place returns a taste full four; The large green courts where we were wont to hove, With eyes caft up into the maiden's tower, e; And easy fighs, fuch as folk draw in love. The stately feats, the ladies bright of hue, The dances short, long tales of great delight; With words and looks that tigers could but rue Where each of us did plead the other's right. The palme-play, where, defpoiled for the game, With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love Have miffed the ball, and got fight of our dame. To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above. The gravelled ground, with fleeves tied on the helm, On foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts; With chere, as though one should another whelm, Where we have fought, and chafed oft with darts, With filver drops the mead yet spread for ruth, In active games of nimbleness and strength, Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth, Our tender limbs, that yet shot up in length. The fecret groves, which oft we made refound Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise ; Recording oft what grace each one had found, What hope of speed, what dread of long delays. The wild foreft, the clothed holts with green; With reins availed, and swiftly-breathed horse, With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between ; Where we did chafe the fearful hart of force. The void walls eke, that harboured us each night : Wherewith, alas! reviveth in my breast The fweet accord, fuch fleeps as yet delight; The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest; The fecret thoughts, imparted with such truft; The wanton talk, the divers change of play; The friendship fworn, each promise kept so just, Wherewith we paffed the winter night away. And with this thought the blood forfakes the face; The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue; The which, as foon as fobbing fighs, alas! Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew : 'O! place of blifs! renewer of my woes! Give me account where is my noble fere? |