The braine of man maist warlie did invent

That Purging place, he answerit mee againe :
For grediness together they consent

To say that saulles in torment mon remaine,
Till gold and gudes releif them of thair paine.
O spytfull spreits that did the same begin!
O blindit beists, your thochts ar all in vaine,
My blude alone did saif thy saull from sin.

This Pit is Hell, quhairthrow thou now mon go.
Thair is thy way that leids thee to the land:
Now play the man, thou neids not trimbill so,
For I sall help and hald thee by the hand.
Allace! said I, I have na force to stand,
For feir I faint to sie that vglie sicht:
How can I cum among that bailfull band?
O help mee now, I have na force nor micht!

Oft have I heard, that they that enters thair,
In this greit golfe, sall never cum againe :
Curage, said hee, have I not bocht thee deir?'
My precious blude it was nocht shed in vaine.
I saw this place, my saull did taist this paine,
Or ever I went into my Father's gloir ;
Throw mon thou go, bot thou sall not remaine,
Thou neids not feir, for I sall go befoir.

I am content to do thy haill command,
Said I againe, and did him fast imbrace:
Then lovenglie he held mee be the hand,
And in wee went into that feirfull place.
Hald fast thy grip, said hee, in any cace
Let mee not slip, quhat ever thou sall sie;
Dreid not the deith, bot stoutlie forwart preis,
For Deith nor Hell sall never vanquish thee.

His words sa sweit did cheir my heavie hairt,
Incontinent I cuist my cair asyde:
Curage, said hee, play not ane cowart's part,
Thocht thou be waik, zit in my strenth confyde.
I thocht me blist to have sa gude ane guyde,
Thocht I was waik, I knew that he was strang;
Under his wings I thocht me for to hyde,
Gif anie thair sould preis to do mee wrang.

Into that Pit, quhen I did enter in,

I saw an sicht quhilk maid my heart agast,-
Puir damnit saullis, tormentit sair for sin
In flaming fyre, war frying wonder fast:
And vglie spreits, and as we thocht them past,
My heart grew faint, and I begouth to tyre;
Or I was war, ane gripit mee at last,

And held me heich above ane flaming fyre.

The fyre was greit, the heit did peirs me sair,
My faith grew waik, my grip was wonderous small,
I trimbellit fast, my feir grew mair and mair,
My hands did shaik, that I him held withall.
At length thay lousit, than they begouth to fall,
I cryet, O Lord! and caught him fast againe,
Lord Jesus, cum, and red mee out of thrall:
Curage, said he, now thou art past the paine.

With this greit feir, I stackerit and awoke,
Crying, O Lord! Lord Jesus, cum againe :
Bot efter this no kynde of rest I tuke,
I preisit to sleip, bot that was all in vaine.
I wald have dreamit of pleasur efter paine,
Becaus I knaw I sall it finde at last :

God grant my guyde may still with mee remaine,
It is to cum that I beleifit was past.

LADY ELIZABETH CAREW,

Is understood to be the authoress of The tragedy of Mariam, the fair queen of Jewry, written by that learned, virtuous, and truly noble lady, E. C. 1613.

In the MS. Notes of Oldys on Langbaine, in the British Museum, I find the following observation concerning her: "I believe her name should be spelt Cary, for John Davis of Hereford dedicates his Muses' Sacrifice, or Divine Meditations, to the noble and renowned ladies, darlings as well as patronesses of the Muses, Lucy, Countess of Bedford, Mary, Countess dowager of Pembroke, and Elizabeth, Lady Cary, wife of Sir Henry Cary, printed 12mo. 1612: and in the poetical dedication there are four or five stanzas upon her, wherein it appears that Davis was a writing-master; she had been his scholar," &c.

Chorus in Act III. of MARIAM.

'Tis not enough for one that is a wife
To keep her spotless from an act of ill;
But from suspicion she should free her life,

And bare herself of power as well as will. 'Tis not so glorious for her to be free, As by her proper self restrain'd to be.

When she hath spacious ground to walk upon, Why on the ridge should she desire to go? It is no glory to forbear alone

Those things that may her honour overthrow: But 'tis thankworthy, if she will not take All lawful liberties for honour's sake.

That wife her hand against her fame doth rear, That more than to her lord alone will give A private word to any second ear;

And though she may with reputation live, Yet tho' most chaste, she doth her glory blot, And wounds her honour, tho' she kills it not.

When to their husbands they themselves do bind,

Do they not wholly give themselves away? Or give they but their body, not their mind,

Reserving that, tho' best, for others' prey? No, sure, their thoughts no more can be their own, And therefore should to none but one be known.

Then she usurps upon another's right,

That seeks to be by public language grac'd; And tho' her thoughts reflect with purest light Her mind, if not peculiar, is not chaste.

For in a wife it is no worse to find

A common body, than a common mind.