ON A YOUNG ROSCIUS,

IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

By Ben Jonson.

*s. P. A CHIld of QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL:

WEEP with me all you that read

This little story;

And know for whom a tear you shed,-
Death's self is sorry.

'Twas a child that did so thrive

In age and feature,

As Heav'n and Nature seem'd to strive,
Which own'd the creature.

Yeeres he number'd scarce thirteen,
When Fates turn'd cruel,

Yet three full zodiacks had he been
The stage's jewel.

And did act, what now we moane,

Old men so duely,

As sooth the Parce thought him one,

He plaid so truely.

So by error, to his fate,

They all consented;

But viewing him since, alas, too late,

They have repented.

And have sought, to give new birth.

In bathes to steep him ;

But being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.

Most likely SAL PAVY, who had a part in Cynthia's Revels, and the Poetaster.

ON LADY VENUSIA DIGBY.

By Randolph.

BEAUTY itself lies here, in whom alone
Each part enjoy'd the same perfection.
In some the eyes we praise, in some the hair
In her the lips, in her the cheeks are fair;
That nymph's fine feet, her hands we beauteous call;
But in this form we praise no part, but all.
The ages past have many beauties shown,
And I more plenty in our time have known:
But in the age to come I look for none;
Nature despairs, because the pattern's gone.

A TRUE REPORT OF

MRS. ISABELLA HARINGTON,

Mother of the Translator of Orlando
Furioso, &c.

A BODY chast, a virtuous mind,
A temperat toung, an humble hart,
Secret and wise, faithful and kind,
Plaine without guile, milde without art,
A friend to peace, a foe to strife,
A spotlesse maid, a matchlesse wife.

ON JOHN MILLS.

HERE lies John Mills, who over hills
Pursu'd the hounds with hollow;
The leap tho' high, from earth to skie,
The huntsman we must follow.

ON WILLIAM THE THIRD.

By Dr. Watts.

BENEATH these horrors of a tomb
Greatness in humble ruin lies;
(How earth confines in narrow room
What heroes leave beneath the skies!)

Preserve, O venerable pile!

Inviolate thy sacred trust;
To thy cold arms the British isle,
Weeping, commits her richest dust.

Ye gentlest ministers of fate!

Attend the monarch as he lies, And bid the softest slumbers wait,

With silken cords to bind his eyes,

Rest his dear sword beneath his head; Round him his faithful arms shall stand;

Fix his bright ensigns on his bed,

The guards and honours of our land,

Ye sister arts of paint and verse,
Place Albion fainting by his side!
Her groans arising o'er the hearse,
And Belgia sinking when he died,

High o'er the grave Religion set,

In solemn gold; pronounce the ground Sacred, to bar unhallow'd feet,

And plant her guardian virtues round.

Fair Liberty, in sables drest,

Write his lov'd name upon his urn; "William the scourge of tyrants past, "And awe of Princes yet unborn.”

Sweet Peace his sacred reliques keep, With olives blooming round her head; And stretch her wings across the deep, To bless the nations with the shade.

Stand on the pile, immortal Fame!
Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe!
Thy thousand voices sound his name,
In silver accents, round the globe.

Flatt'ry shall faint beneath the sound, While hoary Truth inspires the song; Envy grow pale and bite the ground,

And Slander gnaw her forky tongue.

Night and the Grave remove your gloom,
Darkness becomes the vulgar dead;
But Glory bids the royal tomb

Disdain the horrors of a shade.

Glory, with all her lamps, shall burn!
And watch the Warrior's sleeping clay,
Till the last Trumpet rouse his urn,
To aid the triumphs of the day..

ON A GENTLEMAN.

WHY start? the case is yours, or will be soon;
Some years perhaps, perhaps another moon:
Life, in its utmost span, is still a breath,

And those who longest dream must wake in death.
Like you, I once thought ev'ry bliss secure,
And gold of ev'ry ill the certain cure:

Till, steep'd in sorrows, and besieg'd with pain,
Too late I found all earthly riches vain ;
Disease, with scorn, threw back the sordid fee,
And Death still answer'd, "What is gold to me?”
Fame, titles, honour, glory, next I sought,
And fools obsequious nurs'd the childish thought.
Circled with brib'd applause, and purchas'd praise,
I built on endless pleasure, endless days;
Till death awak'd me from a dream of pride,
And laid a prouder beggar by my side.
Pleasure I courted, and obey'd my taste;

The banquet smil'd, and smil'd the gay repast:
A loathsome carcase was my constant care,
And worlds were ransack'd but for me to share.
Go on, poor wretch! to luxury be firm ;
But, know, I feasted, but-to feast a worm.
Already, sure, less terrible I seem ;

And you, like me, will own that life's a dream.
Farewel; remember, nor my words despise,
The only happy are the early wise.

ALL

NORTHLEIGH.

you that told lies of my Come to my grave and see.

mother and me,