"The ladies opened the windows to see
So fine and goodly a sight-a," &c.

I thinke the lampoon sayes he made an inglorious chardge against the Scotts.

A.... he went into France, where after some time being come to the bottom of his fund, reflecting on the miserable and despicable condition he should be reduced to, having nothing left to maintaine him, he (having a convenience for that purpose, lyeing at an apothecarie's house, in Paris) tooke poyson, which killed him miserably with vomiting. He was buryed in the Protestant church-yard. This was (to the best of my remembrance) 1646. His picture, which is like him, before his Poems, says that he was but 28 years old when he dyed. He was of middle stature and slight strength, brisque round eie, reddish fac't, and red nosed (ill liver), his head not very big, his hayre a kind of sand colour; his beard turn'd up naturally, so that he had a brisk and gracefull looke. He died a batchelour.

Mem. He made a magnificent entertainment in London, at . . . . for a great number of ladies of quality, all beauties and young, which cost him hundreds of poundes, where were all the rarities that this part of the world could afford, and the last service of all was silke stockings and garters, and I thinke also gloves.

....

A: D 1637 Sir John Suckling, Will. Dave

nant, poet laureat, (not then knighted), and Jack Young came to the Bathe. Sir John came like a young prince for all manner of equipage and convenience, and Sir W. Davenant told me that he had a cart-load of bookes carried downe, and 'twas there, at Bath, that he writt the little tract in his booke about Socinianism. 'Twas as pleasant a journey as ever men had; in the height of a long peace and luxury, and in the venison season. The second night they lay at Marlborough, and walking on the delicate fine downes at the backside of the towne, whilest supper was making ready, the maides were drying of cloathes on the bushes. Jack Young had espied a very pretty young girle, and had gott her consent for an assignation, which was about midnight, which they happened to heare on the other side of the hedge, and were resolved to frustrate his designe. They were wont every night to play at cards after supper a good while; but Jack Young pretended wearinesse, &c. and must needes goe to bed, not to be perswaded by any meanes to the contrary. They had their landlady at supper with them; said they to her, "Observe this poor gentleman how he yawnes, now is his mad fit comeing upon him. We beseech you that you make fast his dores, and gett somebody to watch and looke to him, for about midnight he will fall to be most outrageous: gett the hostler or some strong fellow to stay up, and we will well content him, for he

is our worthy friend, and a very honest gentleman, only, perhaps, twice in a yeare he falls into these fitts." Jack Young slept not, but was ready to goe out as the clock struck to the houre of appointment, and then goeing to open the dore he was disappointed, knocks, bounces, stamps, calls, Tapster! Chamberlayne! Hostler!" sweares and curses dreadfully; nobody would come to him. Sir Jo. and W. Davenant were expectant all this time, and ready to dye with laughter. I know not how he happened to gett open the dore, and was comeing downe stayres, the hostler, a huge lusty fellow, fell upon him, and held him, and cryed, "Good sir, take God in your mind, you shall not goe out to destroy yourselfe." J. Young struggled and stormed insomuch that at last he was quite spent and dispirited, and faine to goe to bed to rest himselfe. In the morning the landlady of the house came to see how he did, and brought him a cawdle. "Oh sir," sayd she,

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you had a heavy fitt last night, pray, sir, be pleased to take some of this to comfort your heart." Jack Young thought the woman had been mad, and being exceedingly vexed, flirted the porringer of cawdle in her face. The next day his camerades told him all the plott, how they crosse-bitt him. That night they went to Bronham-house (then a noble seate, since burnt in the civil warres), Sir Edw. Baynton's, where they were nobly entertained several dayes, from

thence, they went to West Kington, to Parson Davenant, Sir Wm.'s eldest brother, where they stayed a weeke-mirth, witt, and good cheer flowing. From thence to Bath, six or seven miles.

Mem. Parson Robert Davenant hath told me, that that tract about Socinianism was writt on the table in the parlour of the parsonage at West Kington.

My Lady Southcot, whose husband hanged himselfe, was Sir Jo. Suckling's sister, to whom he writes a consolatory letter, viz. the first. She afterwards maried. . . . Corbet, D.D. of Merton coll. Oxon.* At her house, in Bishop's Gatestreet, London, is an originall of her brother, Sir John, of Sir Anth. Van Dyke, all at length, leaning against a rock, with a play-booke, contemplating. It is a piece of great value. There is also another rare picture, viz. of that pretty creature, Mris Jane Shore, an originall. When his 'Aglaura" was [acted,] he bought all the cloathes himselfe, which were very rich; no tinsill, all the lace pure gold and silver, which cost him.......... I have now forgott. He had some scenes to it, which in those dayes were only used at masques.

Memorand. Mr. Snowdon tells me, that after St John's unluckie rencounter, or quarrell, wth S

* Dr. Corbet maried Sir Nath Brent's daughter. [IR Anthony d Wood's hand-writing. EDIT.]

John Digby, wherein he was baffled: 'twas strange to see the envie, and ill-nature of people to trample, and scoffe at, and deject one in disgrace; inhumane as well as unchristian. The Lady Moray had made an entertainment for severall persons of quality at Ashley (in Surrey, near Chertsey), whereat Mr. Snowdon then was.---There was the Countesse of Middlesex, whom S. John had highly courted, and had spent on her, and in treating her, some thousands of pounds. At this entertainment she could not forbear, but was so severe and ingrate as to upbraid S: Jo. of his late received baffle; and some other ladyes had their flirts. The Lady Moray (who invited them) seeing S John out of countenance, for whose worth she alwaies had a respect: "Well," sayd shee, "I am a merry wench, and will never forsake an old friend in disgrace, so come sitt downe by me, S: John" (sd she), and seated him on her right hand, and countenanced him. This raysed S: John's dejected spirites that he threw his repartees about the table with much sparkliness and gentileness of witt, to the admiration of them all.

SIR PHILIP SYDNEY, KNIGHT,

Was the most accomplished cavalier of his time; he was the eldest son of the right honbe Sr Henry Sydney, Knight of the Noble Order of