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Langbaine enumerates five-and-twenty plays written by this
voluminous author. The following extracts are taken from his “ Pleasant Dialogues and Dramas, &c.” small 12mo. 1037.
Pack clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
To give my love good-morrow.
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
To give my love good-morrow,
Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast,
Sing birds in every furrow;
Give my fair love good-morrow.
Blackbird, and thrush, in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!
$11 EPHERD'S SONG.
We that have known no greater state
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
These that have plenty, wear, we see
OF MENSTRIE, EARL OF STERLING,
Was born in 1580. Having been early distinguished for his
proficiency in classical learning, he was warmly patronized by James I. by whom he was knighted in 1014, and appointed Master of the Requests. By Charles I. he was created Viscount, and afterwards Earl, of Sterling, and Secretary of State for Scotch affairs; a post which he retained during 15 years, and died in February, 1640. His works consist of “ Darius," a tragedy, 1603. “ Cræsus,” a tragedy, 1604. “The Alexandrian Tragedy," 1604. “Julius Cæsar," 1604. “ A Parænesis on the Prince, and Aurora,” a collection of sonnets. The latter, which was printed with the collection of his works (London, 1607), has not been republished.
Extract from a Speech of Coelia, in the Tragedy of
Fierce tyrant, Death, that in thy wrath didst
take One half of me, and left an half behind, Take this to thee, or give me th’ other back,
Be altogether cruel, or all kind :
For whilst I live, thou canst not wholly die
0! even in spite of death, yet still my choice ! Oft, with Imagination's love-quick eye
I think I see thee, and I hear thy voice.
And to content my languishing desire,
Each thing, to ease my mind, some help affords : I fancy whiles thy form—and then a-fire,
In every sound I apprehend thy words.
Then, with such thoughts my memory to wound,
I call to mind thy looks, thy words, thy graceWhere thou didst haunt, yet I adore the ground ! And where thou stept–o sacred seems that
My solitary walks, my widow'd bed,
My dreary sighs, my sheets oft bath'd with tears, These can record the life that I have led
Since first sad news breath'd death into mine ears!
I live but with despair my sprite to dash;
Thee first I lov’d, with thee all love I leave ; For my chaste flames extinguish'd in thy ash,
Can kindle now no more but in thy grave !