But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps, Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamour'd swain: As much estate, and principle, and wit, As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber, shall think fit; And, if a borough choose him, not undone See, to my country happy I restore This glorious youth, and add one Venus more. 329.-THE NEW DRESS. RICHARD BRATHWAYTE. [RICHARD BRATHWAYTE, a most voluminous writer of small Tracts, both in verse and prose, the son of a gentleman of Westmorland, was educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He died 1673, aged 69. His works were popular in his own day, although they are now only found in the collections of the bibliographical antiquary. The following is from 'Contemplations,' appended to his Essays upon the Five Senses,' printed in 1625.] O, my soul, how long wilt thou attire thyself in these rags of sin? how long in these robes of shame? When thine heavenly bridegroom comes, he will not endure to look on thee; He can by no means like thee; nor love thee, nor espouse himself unto thee, so long as these sullied garments of sin cover thee. To a clean lord must be a clean habitation. A pure heart must be his mansion, purged by faith, adorned with good works, inflamed with heavenly thoughts. No edging of vanity, no pearl of vain glory, no tinsel lustre of hypocrisy, must set forth thy nuptial garment; for these would detract from thy virgin beauty. The Egyptian laces, and Babylonian borders, might attract a wandering cye, but purely fixed be the eyes of thy spouse. Whatsoever is without thee cannot take Him; it is thine inward beauty that doth delight Him. Let thy affections then be renewed, thy virgin beauty restored, thy decays repaired. Come not in his sight till thou hast put off those rags of sin, and, having put them off, say with the spouse in the Canticles: "I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?" Let thy new dress be a new heart, so shall thy spouse take delight in thee, with his sweet arms embrace thee, and be enamoured of thee when he looks on thee; and, in the knowledge of thy beauty, say thus unto thee; "Thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot in thee." Cast thine eye all about thee, O my soul, but let it not wander, lest thou lose thine honour. Take a full view of the renewal of all creatures, and reflect upon thyself, who, though sovereigness over all, becomes least renewed of all. Thou seest the hart, the eagle, the swallow, how they are renewed; nay, even the snake, how by casting his slough he is renewed. Again, thou observest how years, days, hours, and minutes are renewed; how the earth itself is renewed. She is with fresh flowers adorned, with a native tapestry embroidered, with a new beauty afreshed. Meantime, how art thou renewed? Where be those fresh fragrant flowers of divine graces, and permanent beauties, wherewith thou shouldst be adorned? Must all things change for better, and thou become ever worse in the sight of thy Maker? None more inconstant than thou in humoring the fashions of our time; none more constant than thou in retaining the fashion of sin. What canst thou see in thee that may please thee, or appear pleasing to him that made thee? Sin is a soil which blemisheth the beauty of thy soul. In this, then, to glory, were the highest pitch of infelicity. Thou art only to approve that with a discreet choice, which may make thee most amiable in the sight of thy spouse. When thou eyest the vanity of earth, fix the eye of thy heart on the eternity of Heaven. Mix not thy delights in such objects where surfeit or excess begets a loathing, but in those lasting pleasures where fruition begets in thee an affectionate longing. Fashion not thyself after this world, where there is nothing that tempts but taints. Desire rather to be numerous in hours than in years: so dispose of thy time, that time may bring thee to eternity. Ever consider, O my soul, that thou art here in a wilderness, and far removed from the Canaan of true happiness. A captive's proper melody is Lachrymæ: he cannot raise his voice to any other note, unless he mad himself in his misery, and forget his own state. Fie, then, in sighs with sins. Take compassion of thy woful condition. Be not commanded by thine hand-maid. Restrain her, lest she grow imperious; show thyself a mistress, that she may become more obsequious. She is worthy to obey that knows not how to command. Do not lose thy perogative; preserve thy style, retain thy state, and make her know how dangerous it is to incur thine hate. The more thou bringest her to contempt, the more shalt thou partake of content. Shouldst thou delicately feed her, or in her desires supply her, or loose thy reins and give liberty unto her, she would not stick to deprive thee of thine honour, and by thy unworthy subjection become an usurping commander. To free thee from this danger, let devotion be thy succour; so shall the shadow of the Almighty be thy shelter. "Though the servant earnestly desire the shadow, and the hireling look for the reward of his work, or rather the end of the day, to conclude his work, tarry thou the Lord's leisure; with patience endure the heat of the day, the weight of thy labour." Though a pilgrim be wearied, he must not fail nor faint till his journey be ended ; wherein he accounts himself so much the happier, as he is to his own native country nearer. If thou fit and furnish thyself in all points for this journey, thou shalt be joyfully received in thine arrival to thy country. Run, then, to the gaol which is set up for thee; strive to come to the mark which is before thee. Let no impediments foreslow thee, no delights on earth divert thee. Seal up thine eye if it wander, but open it if it promise to fix on our Saviour. Hourly thy dissolution is expected; the marriage-feast prepared; and, though invited, let thy garment be holiness, so shall thy end be happiness. 330. THE DIVINA COMMEDIA OF DANTE.-I. [DANTE, OF DURANTE, ALIGHIERI-the greatest of Italian poets-in some respects one of the greatest pocts the world has produced-was born at Florence in 1265. He died in 1321. His life was render, d miserable by his connection with one of the two great factions that contended for supremacy at Florence. A long career of exile and wandering gave a solemn and even bitter character to his writings. His great poem is essentially connected with the events of his life. The following abstract of The Divina Commedia' is from the pen of Mr. A. Vieusseux, and was originally published in The Store of Knowledge.' The quotations are from the excellent translation of the late Mr. Cary, with the exception of the Third Canto of 'The Inferno,' which is from the admirable translation by Mr. Wright of Nottingham.] The poet describes himself as having wandered out in a forest on Good Friday of the year 1300, being then in his 35th year ('Inferno,' Canto i. v. 1, and xxi. v. 109, 110), which he styles the middle period of man's natural life. Emerging from the forest he found himself at the end of a valley with a mountain before him, the summit of which was lighted by the rays of the morning sun. He began to ascend the mountain, when three fierce animals, a panther, a lion, and a she-wolf, opposed his way. This passage, which is evidently allegorical, has greatly puzzled the commentators. It is generally agreed that the panther means Lust; the lion means Ambition, or Pride; and the she-wolf is the emblem of Avarice. These three passions are those that most torment mankind, and stand in the way of that moral reform which it was the poet's object to promote. But there is also a political allegory contained in this passage, namely, that the three beasts represent the ruling vices of the Italian cities of the time. Some say that they represent the Guelph league of Florence, designated by a panther: Papal Rome, under the old political emblem of the wolf; and France represented by a lion. Dante, in his perplexity at the foot of the mountain, meets with the soul of Virgil, who introduces himself as sent by Beatrice, Dante's early love, to guide him through the regions of Hell, and afterwards through Purgatory. After much hesitation on the part of Dante, through fear of his want of firmness to bear the fearful journey, being re-assured by Virgil, he consents to follow him. Dante had studied the Latin classics only, for in his time Greek was nearly unknown in Italy; and from a passage in Dante's 'Convito' it appears that there was no Latin translation of Homer. Dante, therefore, looked upon Virgil as the first of poets whom he knew, and he speaks of him as his master and model in the poetic art. Virgil led the poet through a turning of the forest to a gate which opened into a subterranean road. 4TH QUARTER. "Through me ye enter the abode of woe: Through me to endless sorrow are ye brought: K Ere I was form'd, no things created were, All hope abandon-ye who enter here." Whereat I cried: "O master! with deep awe The melancholy shades shalt thou survey, I cried: "O master, what is this I hear? And who are these so plunged in grief profound?" He answered me: "The groans which thou hast heard Proceed from those, who, when on earth they were, Nor praise deserved, nor infamy incurr'd. Here with those caitiff angels they abide, From them no glory could the damn'd obtain." "O master, what infliction do they bear," I said, "which makes them raise such shrieks of woe?" He answered: "That I will in brief declare. No hope of death have this unhappy crew; And their degraded life is sunk so low, No record hath the world of this vile class, Alike by Justice and by Pity spurn'd: Speak we no more of them-but look—and pass.” That seem'd incapable of rest, and turn'd, While shades were following in so long a train, That Death such myriads of mankind had slain. The cruel swarm bedew'd their cheeks with blood, A mighty stream, with numbers standing near; As by the doubtful twilight I discern?" "These things," he answer'd me, "shall all be told, Soon as our feet upon the bank are placed Of Acheron, that mournful river old." Mine eyes cast down, my looks o'erwhelm'd with shame Fearing my questions had oppress'd the sage, I spake not till beside the stream we came. Lo! in a vessel o'er the gloomy tide An old man comes-his locks all white with age:"Woe, woe to you, ye guilty souls!" he cried; "Hope not that heaven shall ever bless your sight: I come to bear you to the other shore,To ice, and fire, in realms of endless night: And thou-who breathest still the vital airBegone-nor stay with these who live no more," But when he saw that yet I linger'd there"By other port," he said, "by other way, And not by this, a passage must thou find; But they-soon as these threatenings met their ear- Beckoning the mournful troop, collects them there, Are gather'd here from every region wide: Goaded by heavenly Justice in its ire, |