Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains,

And peace still slumber by these purling fountains!

Which we may every year

Find, when we come a-fishing here.

IGNOTO.

Tears at the grave of Sir Albertus Morton, who was buried at Southampton ;

WEPT BY SIR H. WOTTON.

SILENCE, in truth, would speak my sorrow best, For deepest wounds can least their feelings tell;

Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest,

But time to bid him, whom I lov'd, farewell.

Oh my unhappy lines! you that before

Have served my youth to vent some wanton cries, And now, congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore Strength to accent! Here my Albertus lies!

This is the sable stone, this is the cave

And womb of earth that doth his corpse embrace. While others sing his praise, let me engrave These bleeding numbers to adorn the place.

Here will I paint the character of woe,

Here will I pay my tribute to the dead; And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow, To humanize the flints whereon I tread:

Where, though I mourn my matchless loss alone, And none between my weakness judge and me; Yet e'en these pensive walls allow my moan, Whose doleful echoes to my plaints agree.

But he is gone! and dwell I rhyming here

As if some muse would listen to my lay, When all distun'd sit waiting for their dear, And bathe the banks where he was wont to play?

Dwell thou in endless light, discharged soul,

Freed now from nature's and from fortune's trust, While on this fluent globe my glass shall roll, And run the rest of my remaining dust.

Upon the Death of Sir A. Morton's Wife.

He first deceased; she, for a little tried
To live without him, lik'd it not, and died.

SIR JOHN DAVIS,

The son of a wealthy tanner in Wiltshire, born about 1569, educated at Oxford, and in the Middle Temple; practised as a barrister; was elected a burgess in Parliament in 1601; and, after the death of Elizabeth, was successively promoted, by King James, to the offices of solicitor and attorney-general, and judge of Assize in Ireland, and of serjeant at law, and chief justice of the King's Bench in England; but died in 1626, before he could enter upon the duties of this office.

His poem "on the Immortality of the Soul," is a noble monu

ment of his learning, acuteness, command of language, and facility of versification. His similies (as Mrs. Cowper and Mr. Headley have justly observed) are singularly happy; always enlivening, and often illustrating his abstruse and difficult subject: but while we admire his wit and ingenuity, we sometimes regret the more indefinite, but sublimer conceptions of his model, Lucretius.

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Besides the "Nosce Teipsum," he composed (but, perhaps, never finished) a poem on Dancing;" and twenty-six Acrostick Hymns, on the words Elizabetha Regina, one of which is here given. They are probably the best acrosticks ever written, and all equally good; but they seem to prove that their author was too fond of struggling with useless difficulties.

He also (according to Wood) wrote a version of the Psalms, (never published), and a book of Epigrams. The latter, as appears from Drummond of Hawthornden, are those which stand at the end of Marlowe's "Translation of Ovid's

"Epistles," printed at Middleburgh. The reader will judge of their style by the two following specimens.

The Nosce Teipsum was first published in 1599, and again in 1602, 1608, 1619, 1622, &c. His "Orchestra" appeared in 1596. His Acrostick Hymns in 1599.

IN MEDONEM. EP. 10.

GREAT Captain Medon wears a chain of gold,
Which at five hundred crowns is valued,
For that it was his grandsire's chain of old,
When great King Henry Boulogne conquered.

And wear it Medon! for it may ensue
That thou, by virtue of this massy chain,
A stronger town than Boulogne may'st subdue,
If wise men's saws be not reputed vain.

For what said Philip, king of Macedon? "There is no castle so well fortified

But, if an ass laden with gold comes on, "The guards will stoop, and gates fly open wide.”

IN FUSCUM. EP. 39.

Fuscus is free, and hath the world at will; Yet, in the course of life that he doth lead, He's like a horse, which, turning round a miil, Doth always in the self-same circle tread.

First, he doth rise at ten; and at eleven

He goes to Gyl's, where he doth eat till one; Then sees a play 'till six; and sups at seven; And after supper, straight to bed is gone.

And there, till ten next day, he doth remain; And then, he dines; and sees a comedy; And then he sups; and goes to bed again: Thus round he runs without variety:

Save that sometimes he comes not to the play, But falls into a brothel by the way.