INDEX II.

POEMS BY WOTTON AND OTHERS.

Page

34

xii

27

84

Dum puer es, vanæ nescisque incommoda vocis (Hoskins)
Eternal Mover, whose diffused glory (Wotton)

46

xlii

Eternal Time, that wastest without waste (A. W.).....
Farewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles (Uncertain. See also p. 135.) 111
Go! bid the world, with all its trash, farewell (Breton)..

98

Go! Echo of the mind (Unknown)..

93

He first deceas'd: she for a little tried (Wotton. See also p. 136.).

44

9

29

83

9 xlii lxix 69

37

10

4

AND now all Nature seem'd in love+ (Wotton)
Believe it, Sir, you happily have hit (Wotton)
Dazzled thus with height of place (Wotton)

Here lies the man was born and cried (Hoskins)

How happy is he born and taught (Wotton)..

If breath were made for every man to buy (Unknown)

If life be time that here is lent (Hoskins).

In vain I live, such sorrow lives in me (A. W.)......
It is not I that die, &c. (Ascribed to Sidney)

My prime of Youth is but a frost of cares (Tychbourne)..
My Soul, exalt the Lord with hymns of praise (Wotton)
Noble, lovely, virtuous creature (Wotton and Hoskins)..
O faithless World, and thy most faithless part (Wotton).
Of many now that sound with hope's consort (Gorges).
O Thou great Power! in Whom I move (Wotton)
Rouse up thyself, my gentle Muse (Wotton)..
Silence (in truth) would speak my sorrow best (Wotton).
Sweet Benjamin, since thou art young (Hoskins)

The World's a bubble, and the life of man (Lord Bacon).
The worst is told, the best is hid (Hoskins)..

Thy flower of youth is with a north wind blasted (Unknown)
Untimely Fever, rude insulting guest (Wotton)....
Who would have thought there could have been (Dr. Brooke).
Wotton, the country and the country swain (Bastard)

You meaner Beauties of the night (Wotton. See also p. 135)
You that on stars do look (Wotton)..

xxxix

51

24

41 85

78

+ Another copy begins, "This day dame Nature seem'd in love”—.

I.

TIMMS

A POEM WRITTEN BY SIR HENRY
WOTTON IN HIS YOUTH.

[THIS Poem was first printed in Davison's Poeticall Rhapsodie, 1602, as "An Elegie," and with the signature "H.W." Wotton was then thirty-four years old; and it is therefore probable that it was written some years before that time. If there were any truth in the assertion that Wotton was addressed as a poet by Bastard in 1598, it would follow that his other youthful compositions are now lost; for this single piece would scarcely entitle him to the rank of a poet, and the others ascribed to him in Rel. Wotton. and reprinted in this volume, can be referred,- in most cases with certainty, and in all with probability,—to a much later date. But the statement arose from a misapprehension of the meaning of Bastard's Epigram, which will be found in the Introduction to this volume.

His claim to this piece has been disputed; for it is ascribed to Sir Benjamin Rudyard by the Editor of the Poems

of Pembroke and Rudyard (1660); but the authority of Davison and Izaak Walton will more than counterbalance that of Dr. Donne the younger.

The Variations are from three copies of the Poem; viz. A=Davison's Rhapsodie, in the fourth edition of which it has the longer title, "Of a woman's heart," but no signature at all (1621, p. 202.).—B=Rudyard's Poems, p. 34; Title, "Verses made by Sir B. R.”—C=MS. Rawl. Poet. 147, p. 74. Signature, "H. Wotton." The additional variations, marked D, are borrowed from Mr. Dyce's edition of Sir Henry Wotton's Poems, printed for the Percy Society. They were taken from a MS. in the handwriting of Sir Roger Twysden, and are here retained to corroborate those of other copies, for it will be seen that none of them are peculiar to that transcript.]

FAITHLESS World, and thy [most]

A Womans Heart; [faithless part,
The true Shop of variety, where sits
Nothing but Fits

[5] And fevers of desire, and pangs of love,
Which toys remove!

Why was she born to please? or I to trust
Words writ in Dust,

[10]

Suffering her Eyes to govern my despair,
My pain for Air;

And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
The food of youth?

Untrue she was; yet I believ'd her eyes,
(Instructed spies,)

[15] Till I was taught, that Love was but a School
To breed a fool.