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to be jealous. Yet Greene himself was no common writer. He possessed a facility, (and I must contend, notwithstanding he has been accused of Euphuism,) a simplicity, of thought and language, which give even now the power both of interest and instruction to his works.

But every thing concurred, in the Elizabethan Era, to give a vigour and a range to genius, to which neither prior nor subsequent times have been equally propitious. An heroic age, inflamed with the discovery of new worlds, gave increased impulse to fancies enriched by

access both to the recovered treasures of ancient literature, and the wild splendours of Italian fiction. A command of language equal to the great occasion was not wanting. For what is there either in copiousness or force of words, or in clearness of arrangement, or in harmony, or grandeur of modulation, which Spenser at least has not given proofs that that age could produce?

The more, therefore, we study those early writers, the more shall we admire the variety and strength of our language. And I trust that in furnishing the modern reader of taste and

curious research with additional specimens to those with which he has, within the last few years, been not scantily enriched, from stores rarely accessible, I shall perform a grateful, and not entirely useless service. If he find no value or attraction in these extracts beyond their antiquity, I lose my aim. I will not fear to own that, in my humble judgment, most of them possess intrinsic merit. But let the reader candidly proceed, and judge for himself.

A GODLY AND VIRTUOUS SONG,

MADE BY

THE HONOURABLE THE EARL OF ESSEX,
Late deceased, in Anno Domini, 1576.

HEAVENLY God, O Father dear,

Cast down thy heavenly eye

Upon a wretch, that prostrate here,
Before thy throne doth lie!

O pour the precious oil of grace
Into my wounded heart;

O let the drops of mercy suage

The rigour of my smart!

My sinful soul oppressed sore
With careful clog of sin,

In humble-wise submits itself

Thy mercy for to win.

Grant mercy then, O Saviour sweet,

To me most woeful thrall; Whose mournful cry to you alone

Doth still for mercy call!

Thy blessed name I have despis'd,

Upon a stubborn mind;

And to the sway of worldly things

Myself I have inclin’d.

Forgetting Heaven, and Heavenly powers,

Where God and Saints do dwell,

My life had like to tread the steps,
That lead the way to hell.

But O my Lord and Loadstone bright,

I will no more do so:

To think upon my former life

My heart doth bleed for woe!

Alas! I sigh; alas! I sob;

Alas! I do repent,

That ever my licentious life

So wickedly was bent.

Still thus therefore with doleful plaints

I do thy mercy crave,

O Lord, for thy great mercy's sake
Let me thy mercy have!

Restore to life the wretched soul

That else is like to die:

So shall my voice unto thy name
Sing praise eternally!

Now blessed be the Father first,
And blessed be the Son;

And blessed be the Holy Ghost,
By whom all things are done.
Bless me, O blessed Trinity,

With thy eternal grace,

That after death my soul may have,
In Heaven a dwelling place."

SLEEP.

SLEEP, Death's ally, oblivion of tears,

Silence of Passion, balm of angry sore,

Suspense of Loves, serenity of Fears,

Wrath's lenative, Heart's ease, Storm's calmest shore, Sense's and Soul's reprieval from all cumbers,

Benumbing sense of ill with quiet slumbers! b

a Sloane MSS. Brit. Mus. 1896, p. 52.

b Harl. MSS. f. 164.

GABRIEL HARVEY'S XIIIth SONNET.

FROM HIS "GREENE'S MEMORIAL," 1592.

LIVE

HIS INTERCESSION TO FAME.

ever, valorous renowned knights:

Live ever, Smith and Bacon, peerless men:
Live ever Walsingham, and Hatton wise:
Live ever Mildmay's honourable name:

Ah! that Sir Humphry Gilbert should be dead:
Ah! that Sir Philip Sydney should be dead:
Ah! that Sir William Sackville should be dead:
Ah! that Sir Richard Granville should be dead:
Ah! that brave Walter Devereux should be dead:

Ah! that the flower of knighthood should be dead: What maugre deadliest deaths, and stoniests stones, That cover worthiest worth, shall never die!

Sweet Fame, adorn thy glorious triumph new:

On Virtues all, and Honours all, adieu!

SONG.

A MAN of late was put to death,

For that he had his part

Of stolen goods: should you then 'scape

That stolen have my heart?

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