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says, "which Ritson seems to have questioned." But the stages of the demonstration were not published.

Sir Egerton Brydges pronounces the poetical genius of Breton to be certainly delicate and copious, if not powerful. His piety shows itself ardent and elevated. The following selections are made from his "Soul's Harmony," "Longing of a Blessed Heart," and "A Divine Poem, divided into two parts, the Ravisht Soul and the Blessed Weeper."


What is the gold of all this world but dross?
The joy but sorrow, and the pleasure pain;
The wealth but beggary, and the gain but loss;
The wit but folly, and the virtue vain;

The power but weakness, and but death the life;
The hope but fear, and the assurance doubt;
The trust deceit, the concord but a strife,
Where one conceit doth put another out;
Time but an instant, and the use a toil;

The knowledge blindness, and the care a madness,
The silver lead, the diamond but a foil,

The rest but trouble, aud the mirth but sadness?
Thus, since to heaven compared, the earth is such,
What thing is man to love the world so much?


If thou speak'st of power, all powers
To his power are in subjection;
If thou speak'st of time, all hours
Run their course by his direction;
If of wisdom, all is vanity;
But in his Divine humanity.

If of truth, it is his trial;
If of love, it is his treasure;
If of life, it is his dial;
If of grace, it is his pleasure;

If of goodness, 'tis his story;
If of mercy, 'tis his glory.

If of justice, Judgment sheweth
His proceeding is impartial;
If of valour, all hell knoweth
Who is heaven's high marshal;

If of bounty, 'tis his blessing;
If of place, 'tis his possessing.

If of patience, his perfection;
If of comfort, 'tis his favour;
If of virtue, his affection;
If of sweet, it is his savour;

If of triumph, 'tis his merit;
If perfection, 'tis his spirit.

If above all these thou singest,
Ravisht in thy reason's glory;
Tell the world, whate'er thou bringest,
Admiration's, wonder's story,

To such height my Saviour raiseth,
As above all praises praiseth.

Let all kings and princes then
In submission fall before Him;
Virgins, angels, holy men,

Both in heaven and earth adore Him,

In his only mercy seeing,

All, and only all your being.


When the angels all are singing,
All of glory ever springing,

In the ground of high heaven's graces,
Where all virtues have their places:

Oh that my poor soul were near them,
With an humble heart to hear them.

Then should Faith in Love's submission,
Joying but in Mercy's blessing,

Where that sins are in remission,
Sing the joyful soul's confessing,

Of her comfort's high commending,
All in glory, never ending.

But, ah! wretched, sinful creature!
How should the corrupted nature
Of this wicked heart of mine,
Think upon that love divine

That doth tune the angels' voices,
Whilst the host of heaven rejoices!

No, the song of deadly sorrow,
In the night that hath no morrow-
And their pains are never ended,
That have heavenly powers offended-
Is more fitting to the merit

Of my foul infected spirit.

Yet while Mercy is removing
All the sorrows of the loving,
How can Faith be full of blindness,
To despair of Mercy's kindness;
While the hand of heaven is giving
Comfort from the ever-living?

No, my soul, be no more sorry;
Look unto that life of glory
Which the grace of Faith regardeth,
And the tears of Love rewardeth:
Where the soul the comfort getteth,
That the angels' music setteth.

There when thou art well conducted,
And by heavenly grace instructed
How the faithful thoughts to fashion
Of a ravished lover's passion,

Sing with saints, to angels nighest,
Hallelujah in the highest!

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SIMON WASTELL was a native of Westmoreland, and descended from those of his name living at Wastellhead, in the same county. He was entered a student of Queen's College, Oxford, in or about the year 1580. "He took one degree in arts five years after, at which time," says Anthony à Wood, "being accounted a great proficient in classical learning and poetry, he was made master of the free school at Northampton, whence, by his sedulous endeavours, many were sent to the universities." From a tabular arrangement of the incumbents of Daventry, given in Bridges' "History of Northamptonshire," it appears that Wastell was vicar of that parish from 1631 to 1635, in which year he was succeeded by Thomas Easton. Considering the advanced period of Wastell's life at the time of the latter date, we have presumed that death alone could have caused his removal from the living, and have accordingly ventured to give the year of his decease as above.

Wastell published, in 1623, "The True Christian's Daily Delight: being a sum of every chapter of the Old and New Testament, set down alphabetically in English verse, that the Scriptures we read may more happily be remembered." In 1629, this work was enlarged and reprinted under the the title of "Microbiblion; or, the Bible's epitome in verse." It seems to have been intended to fix the history of the Bible in the memory of young

persons; and for this purpose the author begins each stanza with the various letters of the alphabet in regular succession, except that the last four letters being hopelessly profane or untractable, are systematically excluded from such initial honour. The poetry is pretty much on a level with the mnemonic verse which used to be in vogue to facilitate the comprehension of the mysteries of the multiplication table, and the acquirement and retention of other useful or ornamental information. To the edition of the "Microbiblion" published in 1629, were affixed two poems, one of which, "Upon the Image of Death," is more properly referred to Robert Southwell. The following stanzas have sometimes been inserted amongst the poems of Quarles. They can scarcely claim a very copious inspiration. To say that they exhibit a fairly judicious selection from the first fifty types of fleetness and evanescence that occurred to the memory or challenged observation, would be almost sufficiently to characterize them. But the kind of aggregation of which they are an example—of illustration after illustration, of "line upon line "-has a certain picturesqueness of aspect and popularity of interest which may justify their insertion.


Like as the damask rose you see,
Or like the blossom on the tree,
Or like the dainty flower of May,
Or like the morning to the day,
Or like the sun, or like the shade,
Or like the gourd which Jonas had:
Even such is man, whose thread is spun,
Drawn out and cut, and so is done:
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth,
The flower fades, the morning hasteth;
The sun sets, the shadow flies,
The gourd consumes-and man he dies!


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