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One would have thought (so cunningly the rude
And scorned parts were mingled with the fine)
That nature had for wantonness ensued

Art, and that art at nature did repine;
So striving each th' other to undermine,
Each did the other's work more beautify;
So differing both in wills, agreed in fine :
So all agreed through sweet diversity,
This garden to adorn with all variety.

And in the midst of all a fountain stood
Of richest substance that on earth might be,
So pure and shiny, that the silver flood
Through every channel running one might see;
Most goodly it with curious imagery

Was overwrought, and shapes of naked boys,
Of which some seem'd with lively jollity

To fly about, playing their wanton toys,

While others did embaye themselves in liquid joys.

And over all, of purest gold was spread

A trail of ivy in his native hue:

For the rich metal was so coloured,

That wight, who did not well advis'd it view,
Would surely deem it to be ivy true:

Low his lascivious arms adown did creep,

That themselves dipping in the silver dew,

Their fleecy flowers they fearfully did steep,

Which drops of crystal seem'd for wantonness to weep.

Infinite streams continually did well

Out of this fountain, sweet and fair to see,

The which into an ample laver fell,

And shortly grew to be so great quantity,

That like a little lake it seem'd to be;

Whose depths exceeded not three cubits height,

That through the waves one might the bottom see,

All pav'd beneath with jasper shining bright,

That seem'd the fountain in that sea that did sail upright.

And all the margin round about was set
With shady laurel trees, thence to defend
The sunny beams, which in the billows beat,
And those which therein bathed might offend.

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Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound,
Of all that might delight a dainty ear,
Such as at once might not on living ground,
Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere:
Right hard it was for wight which did it hear,
To read what manner music that might be:
For all that pleasing is to living ear,
Was there consorted in one harmony;

Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.

The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade,
Their notes unto the voice attemper'd sweet;

Th' angelical soft trembling voices made
To th' instruments divine respondence meet
The silver sounding instruments did meet,
With the base murmur of the water's fall;
The water's fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call :
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.

The while, some one did chant this lovely lay;
Ah see, whoso fair thing thou dost fain to see,
In springing flower the image of thy day;
Ah see the virgin rose, how sweetly she
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty,
That fairer seems, the less ye see her may;
Lo, see soon after, how more bold and free
Her bared bosom she doth broad display;

Lo, see soon after, how she fades and falls away!

So presseth, in the passing of a day,

Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flower,

No more doth flourish after first decay,

That erst was sought to deck both bed and bower

Of many a lady, and many a paramour;

Gather, therefore, the rose, while yet is prime,

For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower:

Gather the rose of love, while yet is time,

While loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime.'

To the preceding extracts from the 'Fairy Queen,' which we have given in a modernized spelling, we shall add the following highly poetical description, in the poet's own orthography.

DESCRIPTION OF BELPHEBE.

In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,
Kindled above at th' heavenly Maker's light,
And darted fyrie beames out of the same,
So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,
That quite bereav'd the rash beholder's sight:
In them the blinded God his lustfull fyre
To kindle oft assayd, but had no might;

For, with dredd majestie and awfull yre,

She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desyre.

Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave

Like a broad table did itselfe dispred,

For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave,

And write the battailes of his great godhed:

All good and honour might therein be red;

For there their dwelling was. And, when she spake,
Sweete wordes, like dropping honey, she did shed;
And 'twixt the perles and rubins softly brake
A silver sound, that heavenly musicke seem'd to make.

Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,
Under the shadow of her even browes,

Working belgardes and amorous retrate;
And everie one her with a grace endowes,
And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes:
So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,
And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,

How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face,

For feare, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace!

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And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held,
And at her backe a bow, and quiver gay

Stuft with steel-headed dartes, wherewith she queld
The salvage beastes in her victorious play,

Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay
Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide

Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May,
Now little gan to swell, and being tide

Through her thin weed their places only signifide.

Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,
And, when the winde emongst them did inspyre,
They waved like a penon wyde despred,
And low behinde her backe were scattered:
And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap,

As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,

In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap,

And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap.

Besides the important productions that we have noticed, Spenser was the author of some beautiful minor poems, the principal of which are The Tears of the Muses, Daphnaida, Amoretti, and the Elegy of Astrophel, the last of which was occasioned by the death of his lamented friend and early patron, Sir Philip Sidney.

Lecture the Eighth.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL-SAMUEL DANIEL-MICHAEL DRAYTON-EDWARD FAIRFAX -JOHN HARRINGTON-HENRY WOTTON-JOHN DAVIES-JOHN DONNE-ROBERT CORBET.

HE bitter and acrimonious spirit of religious intolerance and oppression

fortunately did not cease, even after Protestantism had gained a fixed and permanent ascendency under Elizabeth. The mild and amiable Southwell suffered as unjustly for conscience' sake, in her reign, as either Latimer or Tyndale had in that of her rigorous father, Henry the Eighth.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL was of Roman Catholic parentage, and was born at St. Farths, in 1560. His parents being anxious to have him carefully educated, sent him, when very young, to the English College at Douay, in Flanders, where he advanced in his studies with unusual rapidity, and at the early age of sixteen he left Douay for Rome, and immediately entered the society of Jesuits. In 1584, having completed his studies, and taken priest's orders, he returned to England as a missionary of the society to which he belonged, and during eight successive years administered, unostentatiously, but zealously, to the scattered adherents of his creed, without, as far as has ever been ascertained, doing any thing to disturb the peace of society, or the faith of the established church. In 1592, he was apprehended in a gentleman's house at Uxenden in Middlesex, and committed to a dungeon in the Tower, so filthy, that when he was brought out for examination, his clothes, even, were noisomely offensive. When his father, who was a man of good family, beheld his situation, he presented a petition to the queen, requesting that, 'if his son had committed any thing for which, by the laws, he deserved death, he might suffer death; if not, as he was a gentleman, he hoped her majesty would be pleased to order him to be treated as a gentleman.' Southwell was afterward somewhat better lodged, but an imprisonment of three years, with ten inflictions of the rack, at length wore out his patience, and he entreated to be brought to trial. Being found guilty of heresy, on his own confession that he was a Romish priest, he was

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