They would have given him generous education,
Taught him another garb, to wear his lock
And shape as gaudy as the summer, how
To dance and wag his feather àlamode,

To compliment and cringe, to talk not modestly,
Like ay forsooth and no forsooth, to blush
And look so like a chaplain; there he might
Have learnt a brazen confidence, and observed
So well the custom of the country, that
He might by this time have invented fashions
For us, and been a benefit to the kingdom;
Preserved our tailors in their wits, and saved
The charge of sending into foreign courts
For pride and antic fashions. Observe
In what a posture he does hold his hat now!
Fred. Madam, with your pardon, you have
practised

Another dialect than was taught me when
I was commended to your care and breeding.
I understand not this; Latin or Greek
Are more familiar to my apprehension ;
Logic was not so hard in my first lectures
As your strange language.

Aret. Some strong waters,-oh!

Lit. Comfits will be as comfortable to your stomach, madam. [Offers his box. Aret. I fear he's spoil'd for ever: he did name Logic, and may, for ought I know, be gone So far to understand it. I did always Suspect they would corrupt him in the college. Will your Greek saws and sentences discharge The mercer or is Latin a fit language To court a mistress in? Master Alexander, If you have any charity, let me Commend him to your breeding; I suspect I must employ my doctor first to purge The university that lies in's head To alter's complexion.

Kick. If you dare

Trust me to serve him

Aret. Mr. Littleworth,

Be you join'd in commission.
Lit. I will teach him
Postures and rudiments.

Aret. I have no patience

To see him in this shape, it turns my stomach.
When he has cast his academic skin,

He shall be yours.
To see him bred, his own 'state shall maintain
The charge while he's my ward. Come hither, sir.

I am bound in conscience

Fred. What does my aunt mean to do with me? Stew. To make you a fine gentleman, and trans

late you

Out of your learned language, sir, into
The present Goth and Vandal, which is French.
Born. Into what mischief will this humour ebb?
She will undo the boy; I see him ruin'd.
My patience is not manly, but I must
Use stratagem to reduce her, open ways
Give me no hope.

Stew. You shall be obey'd, madam.

[Exeunt all but FREDERICK and the STEWARD.

Stew. More suitable to the town and time. We
No Lent here, nor is't my lady's pleasure you
Should fast from anything you have a mind to,
Unless it be your learning, which she would have you
Forget with all convenient speed that may be
For the credit of your noble family.

The case is alter'd since we lived in the country;
We do not [now] invite the poor o' the parish
To dinner, keep a table for the tenants;
Our kitchen does not smell of beef, the cellar
Defies the price of malt and hops; the footmen
And coach-drivers may be drunk like gentlemen
With wine; nor will three fiddlers upon holidays,
With aid of bagpipes, that call'd in the country
To dance and plough the hall up with their hobnails,
Now make my lady merry; we do feed
Like princes, and feast nothing [else] but princes,
And are those robes fit to be seen amongst 'em?

Fred. My lady keeps a court then? Is Sir Thomas Affected with this state and cost?

Stew. He was not,

But is converted. But I hope you will not
Persist in heresy, but take a course
Of riot to content your friends; you shall
Want nothing. If you can be proud and spend it
For my lady's honour, here are a hundred
Pieces will serve you till you have new clothes;
I will present you with a nag of mine,
Poor tender of my service-please to accept,
My lady's smile more than rewards me for it.
I'must provide fit servants to attend you,
Monsieurs for horse and foot.

Fred. I shall submit,

If this be my aunt's pleasure, and be ruled.
My eyes are open'd with this purse already,
And sack will help to inspire me. I must spend it.

FROM CHABOT ADMIRAL OF FRANCE*." The Queen insulting the Wife and Father of the accused Admiral in their misfortunes.

Persons. The Constable of France, Queen, Wife and Father of CHABOT.

Constable introducing the Wife of CHABOT. Cons. SHE attends you, madam.

Queen. This humbleness proceeds not from your heart;

Why, you are a queen yourself in your own thoughts;

The admiral's wife of France cannot be less; You have not state enough, you should not move Without a train of friends and servants.

[* As Chapman had certainly the larger share in this Tragedy, the specimen should have been placed by Mr. Campbell under Chapman. Gifford at first thought Chabot was scarce admissible in a collection of Shirley's Works]

Wife. There is some mystery Within your language, madam. I would hope You have more charity than to imagine My present condition worth your triumph, In which I am not so lost but I have Some friends and servants with proportion To my lord's fortune; but none within the lists Of those that obey me can be more ready To express their duties, than my heart to serve Your just commands.

Queen. Then pride will ebb, I see;
There is no constant flood of state and greatness;
The prodigy is ceasing when your lord

Comes to the balance; he, whose blazing fires
Shot wonders through the kingdom, will discover
What flying and corrupted matter fed him.
Wife. My lord?

Queen. Your high and mighty justicer,
The man of conscience, the oracle

Of state, whose honourable titles

[mortal ;

Would crack an elephant's back, is now turn'd
Must pass examination and the test
Of law, have all his offices ripp'd up,
And his corrupt soul laid open to the subjects;
His bribes, oppressions, and close sins, that made
So many groan and curse him, now shall find
Their just reward; and all that love their country
Bless Heaven and the king's justice, for removing
Such a devouring monster.

Father. Sir, your pardon.

Madam, you are the queen, she is my daughter,
And he that you have character'd so monstrous
My son-in-law, now gone to be arraign'd.

The king is just, and a good man; but 't does not
Add to the graces of your royal person
To tread upon a lady thus dejected
By her own grief: her lord's not yet found guilty,
Much less condemn'd, though you have pleased to
Queen. What saucy fellow's this? [execute him.

Father. 'Cause you are a queen, to trample o'er
Whose tongue and faculties are all tied up ;
Strike out a lion's teeth, and pare his claws,
And then a dwarf may pluck him by the beard-
"Tis a gay victory.

Queen. Did you hear, my lord?
Father. I ha' done.

Wife. And it concerns me to begin.

I have not made this pause through servile fear,
Or guilty apprehension of your rage,
But with just wonder of the heats and wildness
Has prepossess'd your nature 'gainst our innocence.

You are my queen, unto that title bows
The humblest knee in France, my heart made lower
With my obedience and prostrate duty,
Nor have I powers created for my use
When just commands of you expect their service;
But were you queen of all the world, or something
To be thought greater, betwixt Heaven and us,
That I could reach you with my eyes and voice,
I would shoot both up in defence of my
Abused honour, and stand all your lightning.
Queen. So brave?

Wife. So just and boldly innocent.

I cannot fear, arm'd with a noble conscience,
The tempest of your frown, were it more frightful
Than every fury made a woman's anger,
Prepared to kill with death's most horrid ceremony;
Yet with what freedom of my soul I can
Forgive your accusation of my pride.

Queen. Forgive? What insolence is like this lanCan any action of ours be capable [guage? Of thy forgiveness? Dust! how I despise thee! Can we sin to be object of thy mercy?

Wife. Yes, and have done 't already, and no stain To your greatness, madam; 'tis my charity, I can remit ; when sovereign princes dare Do injury to those that live beneath them, They turn worth pity and their prayers, and 'tis In the free power of those whom they oppress To pardon 'em ; each soul has a prerogative And privilege royal that was sign'd by Heaven. But though, in th' knowledge of my disposition, Stranger to pride, and what you charge me with, I can forgive the injustice done to me, And striking at my person, I have no Commission from my lord to clear you for The wrongs you have done him, and till he pardon The wounding of his loyalty, with which life Can hold no balance, I must talk just boldness To say

Father. Nomore! Now I must tell you, daughter, Lest you forget yourself, she is the queen, And it becomes you not to vie with her Passion for passion: if your lord stand fast To the full search of law, Heaven will revenge him, And give him up precious to good men's loves. If you attempt by these unruly ways To vindicate his justice, I'm against you; Dear as I wish your husband's life and fame, Subjects are bound to suffer, not contest With princes, since their will and acts must be Accounted one day to a Judge supreme.

Wife. I ha' done. If the devotion to my lord, Or pity to his innocence, have led me Beyond the awful limits to be observed By one so much beneath your sacred person, I thus low crave your royal pardon, madam; [Kneels. I know you will remember, in your goodness, My life-blood is concern'd while his least vein Shall run black and polluted, my heart fed With what keeps him alive; nor can there be A greater wound than that which strikes the life Of our good name, so much above the bleeding

Of this rude pile we carry, as the soul

Hath excellence above this earth-born frailty.
My lord, by the king's will, is led already
To a severe arraignment, and to judges
Will make no tender search into his tract
Of life and state; stay but a little while,

And France shall echo to his shame or innocence.
This suit I beg with tears, I shall have sorrow
Enough to hear him censured foul and monstrous
Should you forbear to antedate my sufferings. [cline
Queen. Your conscience comes about, and you in-
To fear he may be worth the law's condemning.
Wife [rising]. I sooner will suspect the stars may
lose

Their way, and crystal Heaven return to chaos;
Truth sits not on her square more firm than he ;
Yet let me tell you, madam, were his life
And action so foul as you have character'd
And the bad world expects, though as a wife
'Twere duty I should weep myself to death
To know him fall'n from virtue, yet so much
I, a frail woman, love my king and country,
I should condemn him too, and think all honours,
The price of his lost faith, more fatal to me
Than Cleopatra's asps warm in my bosom,
And as much boast their killing.

ALEXANDER BROME was an attorney in the Lord Mayor's Court. From a verse in one of his poems, it would seem that he had been sent once in the civil war (by compulsion no doubt), on the parliament side, but had staid only three days, and never fought against the king and the cavaliers. He was in truth a strenuous loyalist, and the bacchanalian songster of his party. Most of the songs and epigrams that were published against the Rump have been ascribed to him. He had besides a share in a translation of Horace, with Fanshawe, Holiday, Cowley, and others, and published a single comedy, the Cunning Lovers,

which was acted in 1651, at the private house in Drury. There is a playful variety in his metre, that probably had a better effect in song than in reading. His thoughts on love and the bottle have at least the merit of being decently jovial, ¦ though he arrays the trite arguments of convivial invitation in few original images. In studying the traits and complexion of a past age, amusement, if not illustration, will often be found from the ordinary effusions of party ridicule. In this view the Diurnal, and other political satires of Brome, have an extrinsic value as contemporary caricatures.

HERRICK'S vein of poetry is very irregular; but here the ore is pure, it is of high value. His ong beginning, "Gather ye 'rose-buds, while ye ay," is sweetly Anacreontic. Nichols, in his History of Leicestershire, has given the fullest ecount of his history hitherto published, and rerinted many of his poems, which illustrate his mily connexions. He was the son of an emient goldsmith in Cheapside, was born in London, nd educated at Cambridge. Being patronised the Earl of Exeter, he was, in 1629, presented Charles I. to the vicarage of Dean Prior, in evonshire, from which he was ejected during e civil war, and then having assumed the habit a layman, resided in Westminster. After the estoration he was replaced in his vicarage.

To his Hesperides, or works human and divine*, he added some pieces on religious subjects, where his volatile genius was not in her ele

ment.

[* What is Divine' has much of the essence of poetry; that which is human, of the frailty of the flesh. Some are playfully pastoral, some sweetly Anacreontic, some in the higher key of religion, others lasciviously wanton and unclean. The whole collection seems to have passed into oblivion till about the year 1796, and since then we have had a separate volume of selections, and two complete reprints. His several excellences have preserved his many indecencies, the divinity of his verse (poetically speaking) the dunghill of his obscener moods. Southey, admitting the perennial beauty of many of his poems, has styled him, not with too much severity, a coarseminded and beastly writer.' Jones' Attempts in Verse, p. 85; see also Quar. Rev. vol. iv. p. 171.]

SONG.

GATHER ye rose-buds, while ye may,

Old Time is still a flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And, whilst ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.