For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May:
Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play;
When, in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by
In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply,
As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw.
To Philomel, the next the linnet we prefer;

And by that warbling bird the wood-lark place we then,
The red-sparrow, the nope, the red-breast, and the wren.
The yellow pate; which, though she hurt the blooming tree,
Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she.

And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind,
That hath so many sorts descending from her kind.
The tydy from her notes as delicate as they,
The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay;
The softer with the shrill, (some hid among the leaves,
Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves,)
Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun
Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath rin,
And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps
To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.

THE PARTING.

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part;
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows;
And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain.-
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,

Poly-bion

When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And Innocence is closing up his eyes,

Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

PALACE OF THE FAIRIES: QUEEN MAB'S CHARIOT AND JOURNEY

This palace standeth in the air,

By necromancy placed there,
That it no tempest needs to fear,

Which way soe'er it blow it:

And somewhat southward toward the noon,
Whence lies a way up to the moon,
And thence the Fairy can as soon
Pass to the earth below it.

The walls of spiders' legs are made,
Well morticed and finely laid,
He was the master of his trade

It curiously that builded;
The windows of the eyes of cats,
And for the roof, instead of slats,
Is cover'd with the skins of bats,

With moonshine that are gilded.

-The queen her maids doth call, And bids them to be ready all, She would go see her summer hall, She could no longer tarry. Her chariot ready straight is made, Each thing therein is fitting laid, That she by nothing might be stay'd, For nought must her be letting: Four nimble gnats the horses were, The harnesses of gossamer, Fly Cranion, her charioteer,

Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colors did excel;
The fair queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning:
The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover (gallantly to see)
The wing of a py'd butterflee,

I trow, 'twas simple trimming.
The wheels composed of crickets' bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For fear of rattling on the stones,

With thistle-down they shod it:

For all her maidens much did fear,
If Oberon had chanc'd to hear,

That Mab his queen should have been there,
He would not have abode it.

She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice,

Until her maids, that were so nice,

To wait on her were fitted,

But ran herself away alone;

Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone,

As she had been diswitted.

Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were
To Mab their sovereign dear,

Her special maids of honor;
Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,
The train that wait upon her.

Upon a grasshopper they got,
And what with amble and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them.

A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow,
Lest any should espy them.

From the Nymphidae.

BEN JONSON. 1574-1637.

BENJAMIN JONSON, or Ben Jonson, as he signed his own name, was the son of a clergyman in Westminster, and born in 1574, about a month after his father's death. He was educated at Westminster, but his mother, having taken a bricklayer for her second husband, removed him from school, where he had made extraordinary progress, to work under his step-father. Disgusted with this occupation, he escaped, enlisted in the army, and went to the Netherlands. On his return to England, he entered Cambridge; but the failure of pecuniary resources obliging him to quit the university, he applied to the theatre for employment. Though at first his station was a low one, he soon, by his own industry and talent, rose to distinction, and gained great celebrity as a dramatic writer. His works altogether consist of about fifty-four dramatic pieces,' but by far the greater part of them are masques and interludes, for which his genius seemed better fitted, being too destitute of passion and sentiment for the regular drama. "His tragedies," says a critic," seem to bear about the same resemblance to Shakspeare's, that sculpture does to actual life." There are, however, interspersed throughout his works, many lyrical pieces that have peculiar neatness and beauty of diction, and will bear a comparison with any in our language. Of these, the following may be taken as specimens:

CUPID.

Beauties, have ye seen this toy,

Called love! a little boy.

Almost naked, wanton, blind,

Cruel now, and then as kind?

If he be amongst ye, say!

He is Venus' run-away.

He hath of marks about him plenty,

You shall know him among twenty:

All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire,

That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave

Dian's shafts, where, if he have

Any head more sharp than other,

With that first he strikes his mother.

1 The four best comedies of Jonson are, “Every Man in his Humor," "The Silent Woman," " pone or The Fox," and the "Alchemist." Two of his best tragedies are entitled, “Catiline," and "The Fall of Sejanus."

2 Many were the wit-combats betwixt Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, which two I beheld lia Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war. Master Jonson, like the former, was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakspeare, with the English man-of-walesser in oulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of al winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention."-Fuller's Worthies.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet⚫

All his practice is deceit,

Every gift is but a bait:

Not a kiss but poison bears,

And most treason in his tears.

If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him.
Since ye hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus' run-away.

HYMN TO CYNTHIA.

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,

State in wonted manner keep:

Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess, excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close
Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess, excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver;

Give unto the flying heart

Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,

Goddess, excellently bright.

The principa, prose composition of Ben Jonson is a small tract entitied Discoverns, o Observations on Poetry and Eloquence." It displays his judgment and classical learning to great advantage, and the style is unusually close, precise, and pure.

DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING WELL.1

For a man to write well, there are required three necessaries :to read the best authors; observe the best speakers; and much exercise of his own style. In style, to consider what ought to be written, and after what manner; he must first think, and excogitate his matter; then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing and ranking both matter and words, that the composition be comely; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be labored and accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward conceits, or first words that offer themselves to us, but

1 "Ben Jonson's directions for writing well should be indelibly impressed upon the mind of every student."-Drake's Essays.

judge of what we invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we have formerly written; which, besides that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the time of sitting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest that fetch their race largest; or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our loose the stronger. Yet if we have, a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sail, so the favor of the gale deceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth; else we would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our judgment, and handle over again those things, the easiness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best writers in their beginnings. They imposed upon themselves care and industry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By little and little, their matter showed itself to them more plentifully; their words answered, their composition followed; and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing.

CHARACTER OF LORD BACON.

One, though he be excellent, and the chief, is not to be imitated alone; for no imitator ever grew up to his author; likeness is always on this side truth. Yet there happened in my time one noble speaker, who was full of gravity in his speaking. His language (where he could spare or pass by a jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever spake more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He commanded where he spoke; and had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The fear of every man that heard him was, lest he should make an end.

My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his place or honors, but I have and do reverence him for the greatness that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed that God would give him strength; for greatness he could not want. Neither could I condole in a word or syllable for him, as knowing no accident could do harm to virtue, but rather help

to make it manifest.