in me, to heare a man stile a woman, Diuine creature, of a heavenly feature, goddess of my thoughts, natures vttermost indeuour, &c. whose bodie he knoweth to bee compos'd of putrefaction, and shall one daie come to that degree of rottenness, that (as he now, in the nostrils of God) it shall stink in the nostrils both of men and beastes. Reason and Religion teach a man (as her remembrancer) thus to court his Mistress: Faire Queene of dust and durt, will it please your euery-hower-decaying maiestie, after some fewe yeares, or moneths, or daies, to have those star-shining eyes of yours eaten-out with wormes, and the holes become cages for cankers? when your delicate, smooth body shall be enfolded in earths rugged armes; and your soft, swelling, moist, ruby lippes be kissed by her mouldy mouth; whe your pure red and white, shall be turned into poore browne and blacke; and that face, which hath driven so many into consumptions, shall it selfe bee consumed to nothing. Yet, for all this, our young gentlemen will not forbeare their amorous, profane, loue-discourses; but yeelde as much honour to women, as to their Maker.” (p. 39--43.) There have been various opinions among writers whether poverty be, or be not, an evil: poets, who have generally severely suffered under it, have often taken an ineffectual revenge upon it in their writings: Chaucer in one piece terms it a hateful good," but before he has proceeded far, he admits that "very povert is sinne properly;" and Stafford is of the same opinion, for he accuses it of being the "veile of wisdome, curbe to the minde, the common enemy to vertue:" indeed, none bestow upon it applause, unless it be accompanied by content, (certainly not its ordinary associate,) and then, as Bentley well says in his only English poem, the possessor is "Great without patron, rich without South Sea." Swearing is next censured; and of avarice our author observes, that "it first made theft so capitall a crime; it having in this our Land a greater punishment allotted to it then adulterie, and many more enormous, hainous crimes;" and then he sarcastically adds, "I know no reason why adulterie should not be rewarded with death, as well as theft, but onelie this, that whereas man accounts his wife but onely as flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, he esteems of his coyne, as soule of his soule." In a free, and rather rambling style, he traces the progress of a child from infancy to manhood, shewing the various trials his virtue has to encounter, which brings the author to reflect upon the degraded state of nobility and gentry at the time he wrote. Here, as the reader will perceive by the ensuing quotation, he bursts out in a curious rhapsodical apostrophe to the soul of Sir Philip Sidney, of whom we have already seen that he was a most enthusiastic worshipper. "The beasts themselues haue sense; nay, they have appearing (thogh not apparent) vertues; but none of them euer yet mouted one degree of Contemplations rising scale: by which the wise man, with an aspirin zeale, ascends the throne of God; and seeing most things there inscrutable, in humilitie descends againe vpon his footestoole. O! but Gentry now degenerates: Nobilitie is now come to bee nuda relatio, a meere bare relation, and nothing else. Hovv manie Players haue I seene vpon a stage, fit indeede to be Noblemen? how many that be Noblemen, fit onely to represent them? VVhy? this can Fortune do, who makes some companions of her Chariot, vvho for desert should be lackies to her Ladiship. Let me want pittie, if I dissolue not into pittie, when I see such poore stuffe under rich stuffe; that is, a body richlie clad, vvhose mind is capable of nothing but a hunting match, a racket-court, or a cock-pit, or, at the most, the story of Susanna* in an ale-house Rise, Sidney, rise! thou Englands eternall honour, reuiue! and lead the reuolting spirits of thy countrey-men against the soules basest foe, Ignorance. But, what talke I of thee? heauen hath not left earth thy equall: neither do I think that ab orbe condito, since Nature first was, any man hath beene, in whom Genus and Genius met so right. Thou Atlas to all vertues, thou Hercules to the Muses, thou Patron to the poor, thou deseruest a Quire of ancient Bardi to sing thy praises; who, with their musickes melody, might expresse thy soules harmonie. Were the transmigration of soules certain (which opinion, as Cæsar saith, the ancient Brittish Druidæ imbraced) I would thy soule had fitted into my bodie; or wold thou wert aliue again, that we might lead an indiuiduall life together. Thou wast not more admired at home, then famous abroad; thy penne and sword being the Heraldes of thy Heroicke deedes. A worthy witnesse of thy worth was Lipsius; vvhen in amazement he cried out, Nihil tibi deest, quod aut Naturæ, aut Fortunæ adest: Nothing, saith he, to thee is absent, that either to Nature or Fortune is present. And in another place hee addeth, O tu Britanniæ tuæ clarum siduș, cui certatim lucem effundunt Virtus, Musa, Oratia, Fortuna! O, saith he, thou bright star of thy Brittany, whose light is fedde by Vertue, the Muses, Fortune, and all graces! The verses vvhich are extant in S. Pauls Quire at London, made in a grateful memory of this King of Knights, sufficiently declare his deserts: vvhich verses, valour and honour command me heer to insert. England, Netherland, the heavens, and the Arts, * Perhaps Stafford alludes to the Story of Susanna and the Elders, told by Robert Greene, in a small pamphlet called The Mirrour of Modestie, printed at the latter end of the reign of Elizabeth. The Heavens haue his soule; the Arts haue his fame; All souldiers the griefe; the World his good name. "Lord, I haue sinned against thee, and heaven; and I am not worthy to be called thy childe: yet, let thy mercie obtaine this Boone for me from thee, that when it shal please thee that my name be no more, it may end in such a man as was that Sidus Sydneyorum." (p. 111–117.) Such a panegyric is not easily exceeded either in eloquence or in singularity. The epitaph is also preserved in Camden's Remains, as well as in Churchyard's True Discourse historicall of the succeeding Governours in the Netherlands," 1602, a curious pamphlet, reviewed in our Number for June. Many were the effusions of a like kind poured out by his poetical admirers, some of great merit, and others of none: among the last we may place the following by Bancroft, inserted in his very scarce two bookes of Epigrammes," as he misnames them: we believe that it has never been referred to by any writer of the life of Sidney, and as we understand that a new Memoir is in the press, we quote it merely that it may be useful. "On Sir Philip Sidney. "Idols I hate, yet would to Sidneys wit 66 Offer Castalian healths, and kneele to it." We shall conclude our extracts from "Staffords Niobe, or his Age of Teares," by the following passionate address to Queen Elizabeth: in 1611 this high-flown applause had no unworthy motive to debase it to flattery, and the author probably had some solid ground for his admiration, as he calls her in another place "the great fautour of his family." "Elizabeth, thou glorie of thy sexe, thou mirror of Maiestie and modestie, thou resemblance of that sacred Elizabeth, looke down through those thy Crystal spectacles, vpon thy meanest of subiects, who, in defence of thine honor, would oppose himselfe against all mortalitie, and expose his life to death for thee. I loued thee more then I did all the world, or more then all the world could loue thee. Incomparable, immutable, inimitable Queen! I am not affraid to say, that generations shall call thee Blessed; althogh a generation of Vipers, not forewarned of the vengeance to come, sting thy reputation, and seeke to debase thy euer-exalted name. The Queene of the South cam to see Salomon: had Salomon liued in thy time, or thou in his, he wold himselfe haue come to visit the Queen of the North; & beeing the wisest of men, would haue wondered to find so much wisedome in Woman. Blessed Virgine, thou restest from thy labours, & we labour for thy rest; and with ceaseless paine striue to attaine to that endlesse pleasure vvhich novv thou enioyest. Thou abidest novv farre enough out of the reach of contumelious tongues, & art secure from all that pale Enuie, or meager malice can charge thee with. There is no greater signe that thou wast vertuous, then that thou art maligned of all vvho are vitious. For, as a great bodie is not without a like shadow; no more is any eminent vertue vvithout imminent detraction, Mee thinks, that Calumny should end with the carcasse of her subiect, and not haunt the Graue til the last bone be consumed. VVhich to effect, Solon made a law, that no man should speake ill of the dead; and his reason was, for feare of immortall enemies. But they will not sticke to write against the dead, vvho are not afraid to write against the liuing." (p. 135-138.) From the "Niobe dissolv'd into a Nilus" we have already made one extract, in which we proved that Stafford was probably a favourite author with Milton. It opens with a prefatory epistle "to the younger gentry of England," in which he exhorts them to wean themselves from their degrading vices, telling them, "You are the Vainest of the Vulgar, in that you exceed the Vulgar in nothing but in vanitie." In this second part the author's Spleen is sup posed to reply to his Soule, who had harangued at much length in the first part, and the Devil steps in as moderator between the disputants. He endeavours to seduce the author by the following novel and poetical description of his infernal dominion, "Alas! Sir, we liue in no paine heere (That is a friuolous fable) nor haue wee anie punishment inflicted vpon vs, but onelie the depriuation of light; which is rather pleasing to mee, then anie waie offensiue. You your selfe, Sir, loue a dark chamber, better then a lightsome: why, and I doe the same. And had I foreseene that darkenes should haue been my portion, I had surelie hastened my fall, to obtaine my welcome and wished-for Inheritance. Within my duskie Vault, I haue pleasures that surmount sense, and strike vnbeliefe into reason; able indeede to enchant the most pseiudiciall soules. I haue Nimphes, Sir, whose flesh is softer then the doun of Swans their lippes distill sweet balsames; the burning beams of their eyes are able to enflame Ice, and make Satietie turne into Appetite: &c. ***** In a worde, Sir, the Turks Paradise is * We may contrast this posthumous applause with the following disgusting specimen of living adulation, addressed to Queen Elibabeth, in "The Arraygnment of Paris," 1584, (a Pastoral which some have stupidly attributed to our Shakespeare): The Shepherd Paris has assigned to Venus the golden apple, and the Fates haue given to the Queen their various emblems. Diana then takes the apple " and deliuereth it into the Queenes owne hands,” saying that it is Prize of the wisdome, beautie and the state That best becomes thy peerelesse excellence. Venus, Juno, and Pallas severally resign their title to the apple, and the piece closes with the Queen's acceptance of it as her right. What a rage would Ritson have been in at reading such fulsome flattery to the object of his hatred. heere and in it are variable delights, to entertaine each seuerall Sense. For your Hearing, Sir, wee haue voices that will make you scorne the songs of Syrens; of power indeede to make Orpheus stand stupid; to amaze Arion, and enforce the Orbes themselues to stand still, and listen. As for your Sight (for you must vnderstand that I haue an artificiall light; though my conscience constraines me to confesse, that it comes farre short of the naturall) whereas it is generally held that the eye giues a being to colours; you shall confesse that the colours which are here, giue a being to your eyes, and that they are preserued by the reception of these formes. Hundred-eyed Argus (were he heere) might finde all his eyes busied at once, and for euery eye haue a hundred objects. Your feeling is already fitted and as for your Taste it will here want imploiment. Now for your Smelling, Sir, we haue sents here, copounded of all the Earths sweetest Simples. Those which you haue vpon earth are counterfeit, in respect of mine: for I robbe the treasurie of the earths Center." (p. 18-22.) He answers the Devil (whom he at intervals calls by_an almost endless variety of ludicrous names, such as Don Deformity, Mons. Madcap, Elector of Erebus, Mr. Filthyface, Mr. Fierie-facies, Mr. Mouldy-face, &c.) with great fervour and indignation, and after an expression of his gratitude to the Saviour, he proceeds to notice some of the delusions practiced on the Jews regarding the Messiah: he takes occasion to tell the following strange story: "One of these, in Germanie, had his daughter gotten with childe by a Germane Gentleman: which so madded him that hee vowed her death, if shee did not speedily reueale the begetter of the bastard. The Wench, fleeing from his presence, betooke her to her Louer: who counselled her to swear to her father, that she knew not how shee should come to bee with childe; for-that no man euer yet touched her vnchastlie. Well: Night being come, her Father went to bedde, with a resolution that shee should neuer rise more from hers. Before the first watch of the night was past, the incensed Father riseth out of his bedde, with a keene knife in his hand, ready to butcher the mother, with her bastard: but he was preuented by a noise which he heard vnder his window. Whither going, and looking-out, hee might perceiue a man clad in white, with a laurel on his head, in al points resembling an Angell. The good olde man, being amazed, cried out, In the name of God, who art thou? The false Angell replied, I am an Angell sent from God, to tell thee thy daughter shal bring forth mas Messias. With that, the louer of the Lass (who had al this while plaid the Angell) departed and the ouer-ioied father ran to the bed of his daughter; and, in stead of killing her, kissed her, and tolde her that her wombe did inclose the worlds Redeemer. He would not go to bedde that night; but sate-vppe, writing Letters to his brethren (dis |