made after his departure, calculated to the Lattitude of there affections who composed them; as a rellish taken from both appetites I have here sent you a cuple.

Bacons Epitaph, made by his Man.

Death why soe crewill! what no other way
To manifest thy splleene, but thus to slay
Our hopes of safety; liberty, our all
Which, through thy tyrany, with him must fall
To its late Caoss? Had thy riged force
Bin delt by retale, and not thus in gross

Griefe had bin silent: Now wee must complaine
Since thou, in him, hast more then thousand slane
Whose lives and safetys did so much depend
On him there lif, with him there lives must end.
If't be a sin to thinke Death brib'd can bee
Wee must be guilty; say twas bribery
Guided the fatall shaft. Verginias foes

To whom for secrit crimes, just vengeance owes
Disarved plagues, dreding their just disart
Corrupted Death by Parasscellcian art

Him to destroy; whose well tride curage such

There heartless harts, nor arms, nor strength could touch.
Who now must heale those wounds, or stop that blood

The Heathen made, and drew into a flood?

Who i'st must pleade our Cause? nor Trump nor Drum
Nor Deputations; these alass are dumb.

And Cannot speake. Our Arms (though nere so strong)
Will want the aide of his Commanding tongue,
Which Conquer'd more than Ceaser: He orethrew
Onely the outward frame; this Could subdue
The ruged workes of nature. Soules repleate
With dull Child could, he'd annemate with heate
Drawne forth of reasons Lymbick. In a word
Marss and Minerva, both in him Concurd
For arts, for arms, whose pen and sword alike
As Catos did, may admireation strike

In to his foes; while they confess with all
It was there guilt stil'd him a Criminall.
Onely this differance doth from truth proceed
They in the guilt, he in the name must bleed
While none shall dare his Obseques to sing
In disarv'd measures; untill time shall bring
Truth Crown'd with freedom, and from danger free
To sound his praises to posterity.

Here let him rest; while wee this truth report
Hee's gon from hence unto a higher Court

To pleade his Cause: where he by this doth know WHETHER TO CEASER HEE WAS FRIEND, OR FOE.

Upon the Death of G: B.

Whether to Ceaser he was Friend or Foe?
Pox take such Ignorance, do you not know?
Can he be Friend to Ceaser, that shall bring
The Arms of Hell, to fight against the King?
(Treason, Rebellion) then what reason have
Wee for to waite upon him to his Grave,
There to express our passions? Wilt not bee
Worss then his Crimes, to sing his Ellegie
In well tun'd numbers; where each Ella beares
(To his Flagitious name) a flood of teares?
A name that hath more soules with sorow fed,
Then reched Niobe, single teares ere shed;

A name that fil'd all hearts, all eares, with paine,
Untill blest fate proclamed, Death had him slane.
Then how can it be counted for a sin

Though Death (nay though my selfe) had bribed bin,
To guide the fatall shaft? we honour all

That lends a hand unto a T[r]ators fall.

What though the well paide Rochit soundly ply
And box the Pulpitt, in to flatterey;

Urging his Rhethorick, and straind elloquence,
T' adorne incoffin'd filth and excrements;
Though the Defunct (like ours) nere tride

A well intended deed untill he dide?
"Twill be nor sin, nor shame, for us, to say
A two fould Passion checker-workes this day
Of Joy and Sorow; yet the last doth move
On feete impotent, wanting strength to prove
(Nor can the art of Logick yeild releife)
How Joy should be surmounted, by our greife.
Yet that wee Grieve it cannot be denide,
But 'tis because he was, not cause he dide.
So wep the poore destresed, Ilyum Dames
Hereing those nam'd, there Citty put in flames,
And Country ruing'd; If wee thus lament
It is against our present Joyes consent.
For if the rule, in Phisick, trew doth prove,
Remove the cause, th' effects will after move,
We have outliv'd our sorows; since we see
The Causes shifting, of our miserey.

Nor is't a single cause, that's slipt away,
That made us warble out, a well-a-day.
The Braines to plot, the hands to execute
Projected ills, Death Joyntly did nonsute

At his black Bar. And what no Baile could save

He hath committed Prissoner to the Grave;

From whence there's no repreive. Death keep him close
We have too many Divells still goe loose.

Ingrams Proceedings.

The Lion had no sooner made his exitt, but the Ape (by indubitable right) steps upon the stage. Bacon was no sooner removed by the hand of good providence, but another steps in, by the wheele of fickle fortune. The Countrey had, for som time, bin guided by a company of knaves, now it was to try how it would behave it selfe under a foole. Bacon had not long bin dead, (though it was a long time be fore som would beleive that he was dead) but one Ingram (or Isgrum, which you will) takes up Bacons Commission (or ells by the patterne of that cuts him out a new one) and as though he had bin his natureall heire, or that

Bacons Commission had bin granted not onely to him selfe, but to his Executors, Administraters, and Assignes, he (in the Millitary Court) takes out a Probit of Bacons will, and proclames him selfe his Successer.

This Ingram, when that he came first into the Countrey, had gott upon his Back the title of an Esquire, but how he came by it may pussell all the Herolds in England to finde out, u[n]till he informs them of his right name: how ever, by the helpe of this (and) his fine capering, for it is saide that he could dance well upon a rope) he caper'd him selfe in to a fine (though short liv'd) estate: by marying, here, with a rich Widow, vallued at som hundreds of pounds.

The first thing that this fine fellow did, after that he was mounted upon the back of his Commission, was to Spur, or Switch, those who were to pay obedience unto his Authorety, by geting him. selfe proclaimed Generall of all the forces, now raised, or here after to be raised, in Verginia: Which while it was performing at the head of the Army, the Milke-sop stoode with his hatt in his hand, lookeing as demurely as the grate Turks Mustie, at the readeing som holy sentance, extracted forth of the Alchron. The Bell-man haveing don, he put on his hat, and his Janessarys threw up there Caps; crying out as lowde as they could Bellow, God save our new Generall, hopeing, no dout, but he, in imitation of the grat Sultaine, at his election, would have inlarged there pay, or ells have given them leave to have made Jewes of the best Christians in the Countrey: but he being more than halfe a jew him self, at present forbad all plundrings, but such as he him selfe should be parsonally at.

MARY ROWLANDSON

[The early accounts of captivity among the Indians are interesting for the pictures they give of pioneer hardships and of the life of the savages; and they are important because in early New England they were almost the only form of writing that gratified the love for tales of adventure. One of the most notable of these accounts is that of Mary Rowlandson, wife of the pastor at Lancaster, Mass., who suffered an especially trying period of captivity in 1676. According to the preface, "This Narrative was penned by the Gentlewoman her self, to be to her a memorandum of Gods dealing with her." She was persuaded, however, to make it public, and it was printed at Cambridge in 1682 with the title "The Soveraignty & Goodness of God Together With the Faithfulness of his Promises Displayed; Being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson." The narrative went through two American editions and one English edition in 1682, and has since been many times reprinted. It owes its interest not only to the graphic account of fascinating though horrible events, but to the unconscious revelation of the author's character.

No copy of the first edition is known to exist. The selections here given follow the rare second edition, Cambridge, 1682, as reprinted in facsimile by Henry Stedman Nourse and John Eliot Thayer, Lancaster, 1903. The work of the colonial printer was very crude and inaccurate, but the reader will ordinarily find no difficulty in making necessary emendations in the text.]

THE BEGINNING OF THE CAPTIVITY

[From "The Narrative of the Captivity," etc.]

On the tenth of February 1675, Came the Indians with great numbers upon Lancaster: Their first coming was about Sunrising; hearing the noise of some Guns, we looked out; several Houses were burning, and the Smoke ascending to Heaven. There were five persons taken in one house, the Father, and the Mother and a sucking Child they knockt on the head; the other two they took and carried away alive. Their were two others, who being out of their Garison upon some occasion, were set upon; one was knockt on the head, the other escaped: Another their was who running along was shot and wounded, and fell down; he