Others again here lived in my days,
That have of us deservèd no less praise
For their Translations, than the daintiest Wit
That, on Parnassus thinks he high'st doth sit;
And for a chair may, 'mongst the Muses, call,
As the most curious Maker of them all:

As reverend CHAPMAN. Who hath brought to us, MUSEUS, HOMER, and HESIODUS

Out of the Greek; and, by his skill, hath reared
Them to that height, and to our tongue endeared;
That were those Poets at this day alive,

To see their books thus with us to survive;
They would think (having neglected them so long)
They had been written in the English tongue!
And SYLVESTER: who, from the French more weak,
Made BARTAS of his Six Days' Labour speak
In natural English. Who, had he there stayed;
He had done well! and never had bewrayed
His own invention to have been so poor:
Who wrote still less, in striving to write more!

Then dainty SANDYS, that hath to English done,
Smooth-sliding OVID; and hath made him run
With so much sweetness and unusual grace :
As though the neatness of the English pace
Should tell the jetting Latin, that it came
But slowly after, as though stiff and lame.

So Scotland sent us hither, for our own, That man, whose name I ever would have known

To stand by mine, that most ingenious Knight,
My ALEXANDER! to whom, in his right,

I want extremely! Yet, in speaking thus,
I do but shew the love that was 'twixt us:

And not his Numbers, which were brave and high;
So, like his mind, was his clear Poesy.

And my dear DRUMMOND, to whom much I owe For his much love; and proud was I to know His Poesy. For which two worthy men,

I, Menstry still shall love; and Hawthornden!

Then, the two BEAUMONTS, and my BROWNE arose!
My dear companions! whom I freely chose
My bosom friends: and, in their several ways,
Rightly-born Poets. And, in these last days,
Men of much note, and no less nobler parts:
Such as have freely told to me their hearts;
As I have, mine to them. But if you shall
Say, In your knowledge, that these be not all
Have writ in Numbers; be informed, That I
Only, myself to these few men do tie;

Whose Works, oft printed, set on every post,
To public censure subject have been most.

For such, whose Poems, be they ne'er so rare! In private chambers that incloistered are, And by transcription daintily must go;

As though the World unworthy were to know

Their rich composures! Let those men that keep
These wondrous relics, in their judgement deep,
And cry them up so; let such pieces be
Spoke of, by those that shall come after me!
I pass not for them! nor do mean to run
In quest of these, that them applause have won
Upon our Stages, in these latter days;

That are so many! Let them have their bays,
That do deserve it! Let those Wits that haunt
Those public Circuits, let them freely chant
Their fine composures; and their praise pursue!

And so, my dear friend, for this time, Adieu !

1

THE MAD MERRY PRANKS OF

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

FROM OBERON, in Fairy Land,

The King of ghosts and shadows there;
Mad ROBIN I, at his command,

Am sent to view the night-sports here.
What revel rout

Is kept about,

In every corner where I go,

I will o'ersee!

And merry be,

And make good sport, with 'Ho! ho! ho!'

More swift than lightning can I fly,

And round about this airy welkin soon; And, in a minute's space, descry

If

Each thing that 's done below the moon.
There's not a hag,

Or ghost, shall wag;

Nor cry, 'Goblin!', where I do go:

But ROBIN I,

Their feats will spy;

And fear them home, with 'Ho! ho! ho!'

any wanderers I meet,

That from their night-sports do trudge home; With counterfeiting voice, I greet,

And cause them on with me to roam!

Through woods, through lakes, Through bogs, through brakes, O'er bush and briar, with them I go! I call upon

Them to come on;

And wend me, laughing 'Ho! ho! ho!'

Sometimes I meet them like a man;
Sometimes, an ox; sometimes, a hound:
And to a horse, I turn me can,

To trip and trot about them round;
But if, to ride,

My back they stride,

More swift than wind, away I go!
O'er hedge and lands,
Through pools and ponds,

I whirry, laughing 'Ho! ho! ho!'

When Lads and Lasses merry be,
With possets and with junkets fine;
Unseen of all the company,

I eat their cates, and sip their wine!
And to make sport;

I start and snort,

And out the candles I do blow!
The maids I kiss,

They shriek, 'Who 's this?'
I answer nought but 'Ho! ho! ho!'