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PRELUDE.

Not dim and shadowy, like a world of dreams,
We summon back the past Cromwellian time,
Raised from the dead by invocative rhyme,
Albeit this no Booke of Magick seems :

Now,-while few questions of the fleeting hour
Cease to perplex, or task th' unwilling mind,—
Lest party-strife our better-Reason blind
To the dread evils waiting still on Power.

We see Old England torn by civil wars,
Oppress'd by gloomy zealots-men whose chain
More galled because of Regicidal stain,
Hiding from view all honourable scars:

We see how those who raved for Liberty,
Claiming the Law's protection 'gainst the King,
Trampled themselves on Law, and strove to bring
On their own nation tenfold Slavery.

So that with iron hand, with eagle eye,
Stout Oliver Protector scarce could keep
The troubled land in awe; while mutterings deep
Threatened to swell the later rallying cry.

Well had he probed the hollow friends who stood Distrustful of him, though their tongues spoke praise; Well read their fears, that interposed delays

To rob him of his meed for toil and blood.

A few brief years of such uneasy strife,

While foreign shores and ocean own his sway;
Then fades the lonely Conqueror away,

Amid success, weary betimes of life.

So passing, kingly in his soul, uncrown'd, With dark forebodings of th' approaching storm, He leaves the spoil at mercy of the swarm

Of beasts unclean and vultures gathering round.

For soon from grasp of Richard Cromwell slips Semblance of power he ne'er had strength to hold And wolves each other tear, who tore the fold, While lurid twilight mocks the State's eclipse.

Then, from divided counsels, bitter snarls, Deceit and broken fealty, selfish aim— Where promptitude and courage win the game,— Self-scattered fall they; and up mounts

KING CHARLES.

;

June 1st, 1876.

J. W. E.

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Charles.-"They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world." (As You Like It, Act i. sc. 1.)

§ I. CHOYCE DROLLERY INHIBITED.

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E may be sure the memory of many a Cavalier went back to that sweetest of all Pastorals, Shakespeare's Comedy of "As You Like It," while he clutched to his breast the precious little volume of Choyce Drollery, Songs and Sonnets, which

was newly published in the year 1656. He sought a covert amid the yellowing fronds of fern, in some old park that had not yet been wholly confiscated by the usurping Commonwealth; where, under the broad shadow of a beech-tree, with the squirrel

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