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Though mountains meet not, lovers may,
So others do, and so do they;
The god of love sits on a tree,
And laughs that pleasant sight to see,
Was a physician in the reign of James I. and was author of
two Masques; one presented at Whitehall, on the marriage of lord Hayes (printed, 4to. 1607), and the other represented at lord Knowles's at Cawsome-house, &c. (printed, 4to. 1613.) The following are taken from Davison's poems,
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strinys,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challeng’d echo clear:
But when she doth of mourning speak,
Even with her sighs the strings do break.
And as her lute doth live or die
Led by her passions, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she do of sorrow speak,
Ev’n from my heart the strings do break,
And would you see my mistress' face?
It is a flow'ry garden-place,
Where knots of beauty häve such grace,
That all is work, and no where space.
It is a sweet delicious morn
Where day is breeding, never born:
It is a meadow yet unshorn,
Which thousand flowers do adorn.
It is the heaven's bright reflex,
Weak eyes to dazzle and to vex; .
It is th’ idea of her sex
Envy of whom doth world perplex.
It is a face of death that smiles,
Pleasing, though it kill the whiles,
Where death and love in pretty wiles
Each other mutually beguiles.
It is fair beauty's freshest youth:
It is a feigned Elisium's truth,
The spring that winter'd hearts renew'th,
And this is that my soul pursu'th.
Langbaine's account of this writer is, that he was the youngest
son of Edwin Sandys, archbishop of York, and born at Bishop's-Thorp, A. D. 1577. He was entered at St. Mary Hall, in Oxford, in 1588, and in 1610 began his travels into the East. He died in 1643. His translation of Ovid, once much esteemed, was published in 1632. A tragedy, called “ Christ's Passion, translated from Hugo Grotius, and first printed in 1640, is much praised by Langbaine. The fol. lowing extract is taken from his “ Divine Poems," 1648.
Ye who dwell above the skies,
Free from human miseries;
Ye whom highest heaven embowers,
Praise the Lord with all your powers ?
Angels! your clear voices raise,
Him your heavenly armies praise.
Sun, and moon with borrow'd light,
All ye sparkling eyes of night,
Waters hanging in the air,
Heaven of heavens, his praise declare !
His deserved praise record,
His, who made you by his word.
Made you evermore to last,
Set you bounds not to be past.
Let the earth his praise resound!
Monstrous whales, and seas profound,
Vapours, lightning, hail, and snow,
Storms, which, when he bids them, blow:
Flow'ry hills, and mountains high,
Cedars, neighbours to the sky,
Trees, that fruit in season yield,
All the cattle of the field,
Savage beasts, all creeping things,
All that cut the air with wings,
Ye who awful sceptres sway,
Ye, inured to obey,
Princes, judges of the earth,
All, of high or humble birth,
Youths, and virgins, flourishing
In the beauty of your spring ;
Ye who bow with age's weight,
Ye who were but born of late ;
Praise his name with one consent :
O how great! how excellent !