Nor let one river boast

Thy tunes alone;

But prove the air, and sail from coast to coast: Salute old Mône.

But first to Cluid stoop low,

The vale that bred thee pure, as her hills' snow.

VI.

From thence display thy wing again

Over Iêrna main

To the Engenian dale;

There charm the rout

With thy soft notes, and hold them within pale That late were out.

Music hath power to draw,

Where neither force can bend, nor fear can awe.

VII.

Be proof, the glory of his hand,

(Charles Montjoy) whose command

Hath all been harmony:

And more hath won

Upon the Kerne, and wildest Irishry
Than time hath done,

Whose strength is above strength,
And conquers all things; yea itself, at length.

VIII.

Who ever sipt at Baphyre river,

That heard but spight deliver
His far-admirèd acts,

And is not rapt

With entheate rage to publish their bright tracts?

But this more apt

When him alone we sing;

Now must we ply our aim, our swan's on wing.

IX.

Who (see) already hath o'erflown
The Hebrid Isles, and known
The scattered Orcades;

From thence is gone

To utmost Thule; whence he backs the Seas

To Caledon,

And over Grampius mountain

To Loumond lake, and Twede's black-springing fountain.

X.

Haste, haste, sweet singer! nor to Tine,

Humber, or Owse decline;

But over land to Trent:

There cool thy plumes,

And up again, in skies and air to vent

Their reeking fumes;

Till thou at Tames alight,

From whose proud bosom thou began'st thy flight.

XI.

Tames, proud of thee and of his fate

In entertaining late

The choise of Europe's pride,

The nimble French,

The Dutch, whom wealth (not hatred) doth divide,

The Danes that drench

Their cares in wine: with sure Though slower Spaine, and Italy mature.

XII.

All which, when they but hear a strain
Of thine shall think the Mainc

Hath sent her Mermaides in,
To hold them here;

Yet, looking in thy face, they shall begin

To lose that fear;

And (in the place) envie

So black a bird so bright a qualitie.

XIII.

But should they know (as I) that this

Who warbleth PANCHARIS,

Were Cycnus, once high flying

With Cupid's wing;

Though now, by Love transformed and daily dying, (Which makes him sing

With more delight and grace);

Or thought they Leda's white adult'rer's place

XIV.

Among the stars should be resigned

To him, and he there shrined;

Or Tames be rapt from us

To dim and drown

In heaven the sign of old Eridanus:

How they would frown!

But these are mysteries

Concealed from all but clear prophetick eyes.

XV.

It is enough, their grief shall know

At their return, nor Po,

Iberus, Tagus, Rheine,

Scheldt, nor the Maas,

Slow Arar, nor swift Rhone, the Loyre, nor Seine,

With all the race

Of Europe's waters can

Set out a like, or second to our Swan.

ON THE AUTHOR, WORKS, AND TRANSLATOR.1
Prefixed to the Translation of "The Spanish Rogue"
by James Mabbe, 1623.

HO tracks this author's, or translator's, pen
Shall finde that either hath read bookes and

W

men:

To say but one were single: Then it chimes,
When the old words doe strike on the new times,
As in this Spanish Proteus; who, though writ
But in one tongue, was form'd with the world's wit;
And hath the noblest marke of a good booke,
That an ill man dares not securely looke
Upon it, but will loathe, or let it passe,
As a deformed face doth a true glasse.
Such bookes deserve translators of like coate,
As was the genius wherewith they were wrote:
And this hath met that one that may be stil'd
More than the foster-father of this child.

For though Spayne gave him his first ayre and vogue,
He would be call'd henceforth The English Rogue,
But that he's too well suted, in a cloth
Finer than was his Spanish, if my oath

Will be receiv'd in Court; if not would I
Had cloath'd him so. Here's all I can supply

For a knowledge of the existence of these excellent lines, which are now for the first time included in an edition of Ben Jonson's works, I am indebted to Mr. Fitzedward Hall, the distinguished Sanscrit scholar, who under the title of "Modern English" has published a volume on our language, which is simply a perfect mine of instruction and entertainment, and deserves to be in everybody's hands.

James Mabbe learned his Spanish by accompanying Sir John Digby when he went as ambassador to Spain. He adopted the quaint name of Don Diego Puede-Ser (that is, Don James May-Be), and translated several other Spanish books. He was entered at Magdalen College, Oxford, in 1587, and died about 1642.

To your desert, who have done it, friend. And this
Faire emulation, and no envy, is,

When you behold me with my selfe the man
That would have done that which you only can.
BEN JONSON.

FROM "THE SPANISH TRAGEDY." 1602.5

[HORATIO, the Son of HIERONIMO, is murdered while he is sitting with his mistress BELIMPERIA by night in an arbour in his father's garden: the murderers (BALTHAZAR, his rival, and LORENZO, the brother of BELIMPERIA) hang his body on a tree. HIERONIMO is awakened by the cries of BELIMPERIA, and coming out into his garden, discovers, by the light of a torch, that the murdered man is his son. Upon this he goes distracted. C. LAMB.]

Isabella.

Y me, Hieronimo, sweet husband, speak. Hier. He supp'd with us to night, frolic and merry,

And said he would go visit Balthazar

At the Duke's palace: there the prince doth lodge.
He had no custom to stay out so late,

He may be in his chamber; some go see-
Roderigo, ho!

Enter PEDRO and JAQUES.

Isab. Ay me, he raves! sweet Hieronimo! Hier. True, all Spain takes note of it. Besides, he is so generally belov'd.

His Majesty the other day did grace him

• These passages appear for the first time in the edition of the Spanish Tragedy, which was published immediately after the payments to Jonson.