To whom, sleeping before the Altar, Diana answers in a Vision the same Night.

BRUTUS, far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now void, it fits thy people: thither bend
Thy course; there thou shalt find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,

And kings be born of thee, whose dreadful might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

FROM DANTE.

AM Constantine! of how much ill was cause,
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains
That the first wealthy Pope received of thee !

FROM DANTE.

FOUNDED in chaste and humble poverty,

'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy born?
Impudent whore, where hast thou placed thy hope?
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth?
Another Constantine comes not in haste.

FROM ARIOSTO.

THEN pass'd he to a flowery mountain green,
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously;
This was the gift, if you the truth will have,
That Constantine to good Sylvester gave.

FROM HORACE.

WHOM do we count a good man? Whom but he
Who keeps the laws and statutes of the senate,
Who judges in great suits and controversies,
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause?
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood,
Sees his foul inside through his whited skin,

FROM EURIPIDES.

THIS is true liberty, when freeborn men,
Having to advise the public, may speak free;
Which he who can and will deserves high praise;
Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace;
What can be juster in a state than this?

FROM HORACE.

LAUGHING, to teach the truth,

What hinders? As some teachers give to boys Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace,

FROM HORACE.

JOKING decides great things,

Stronger and better oft than earnest can.

FROM SOPHOCLES.

'Tis you that say it, not I. You do the deeds, And your ungodly deeds find me the words,

FROM SENECA.

THERE can be slain

No sacrifice to God more acceptable,
Than an unjust and wicked king.

SONNETS.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly' Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; As thou, from year to year, hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why :

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year?
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom show'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu❜th.

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call Fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple' and tower Went to the ground; and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save th' Atherian walls from ruin bare.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunu'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the bill of heavenly truth;
The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee but pity' and ruth. Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure Thou, when the Bridegroom, with his feastful friends Passes to bliss, at the mid hour of night, Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council, and her Treasury,
Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON THE WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.

A BOOK was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new it walk'd the Town awhile,
Numb'ring good intellects; now seldom por❜d on.
Cries the stall reader, "Bless us! what a word on