AN ELEGIE

WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF DR. RAVIS,

BISHOP OF LONDON.

WHEN I past Paul's, and travell'd in that walke

Where all our Britaine-sinners sweare and
talk';

Ould Harry-ruffians, bankerupts, southsayers,
And youth whose cousenage is as ould as theirs;
And then beheld the body of my lord
Trodd under foote by vice that he abhorr'd;
It wounded me the landlord of all times
Should let long lives and leases to their crimes,
And to his springing honour did afford
Scarce soe much time as to the prophet's gourd.
Yet since swift flights of vertue have apt ends,
Like breath of angels, which a blessing sends,
And vanisheth withall, whilst fouler deeds
Expect a tedious harvest for bad seeds;
I blame not fame and nature if they gave,
Where they could give no more, their last, a grave.
And wisely doe thy grieved friends forbeare
Bubbles and alabaster boyes to reare
On thy religious dust: for men did know
Thy life, which such illusions cannot show :
For thou hast trod among those happy ones
Who trust not in their superscriptions,
Their hired epitaphs, and perjured stone,
Which oft belyes the soule when she is gon;
And durst committ thy body, as it lyes,
To tongues of living men, nay unborne eyes.
What profits thee a sheet of lead? What good
If on thy coarse a marble quarry stood?
Let those that feare their rising purchase vaults,
And reare them statues to excuse their faults;
As if, like birds that peck at painted grapes,
Their judge knew not their persons from their shapes.
Whilst thou assured, through thy easy dust
Shall rise at first; they would not though they must.

1 Saint Paul's cathedral was in Corbet's time the resort of the idle and profligate of all classes. VOL. V.

IN LIBRUM SUUM.

De te pollicitus librum es, sed in te Est magnus tuus hic liber libellus.

ΤΟ

THOMAS CORYATE.

I Do not wonder, Coryate, that thou hast
Over the Alpes, through France and Savoy past,
Parch'd on thy skin, and founder'd in thy feete,
Faint, thirstie, lowsy, and didst live to see't.
Though these are Roman sufferings, and do show
What creatures back thou hadst could carry so,
All I admire is thy returne, and how

Thy slender pasterns could thee beare, when now
Thy observations with thy braine ingendered,
Have stuft thy massy and voluminous head
With mountaines, abbies, churches, synagogues,
Preputial offals, and Dutch dialogues:

A burden far more grievous than the weight
Of wine or sleepe; more vexing than the freight
Of fruit and oysters, which lade many a pate,
And send folks crying home from Billingsgate.
No more shall man with mortar on his head
Set forwards towards Rome: no! thou art bred
A terrour to all footmen, and all porters,
And all laymen that will turne Jews' exhorters,
To flie their conquered trade. Proud England, then,
Embrace this luggage', which the man of men
Hath landed here, and change thy well-a-day!
Into some homespun welcome roundelay.
Send of this stuffe thy territories thorough
To Ireland, Wales, and Scottish Eddenborough.
There let this booke be read and understood,
Where is no theame nor writer halfe so good.

A CERTAIN POEM,

AS IT WAS PRESENTED IN IATINE BY DIVINES AND OTHERS BEFORE HIS MAJESTY IN CAMBRIDGE, BY WAY OF ENTERLUDE, STYLED LIBER NOVUS DE ADVENTU REGIS AD CANTABRIGIAM, FAITHFULLY DONE INTO ENGLISH, WITH SOME LIBERAL ADDITIONS. MADE RATHER TO BE SUNGE THAN READ, TO THE TUNE OF BONNY NELL

(THE NOTES ARE from a ms. cOPY IN MR. GILCHRIST'S POSSESSION.)

Ir is not yet a fortnight since
Lutetia entertain'd our prince,
And vented hath a studied toy
As long' as was the seige of Troy:
And spent herself for full five days
In speeches, exercise, and plays.

3" Coryate's Crudities hastily gobbled up in five months travels in France, Savoy, Italy, Rhetia, Helvetia, some parts of High Germany, and the Netherlands." 4to. 1611. Re-printed in 3 vols. Svo. 1776. G.

• Quia valde lutosa est Cantabrigia.
Ludus per spatium 6 horarum infra.

To trim the town, great care before
Was tane by th' lord vice-chancellor;
Both morn and even he cleans'd the way,
The streets he gravelled thrice a day:
One strike of March-dust for to see
No proverb would give more than he.

Their colledges were new be-painted,
Their founders eke were new be-sainted;
Nothing escap'd, nor post, nor door,
Nor gate, nor raile, nor bawd, nor whore:
You could not know (Oh strange mishap!)
Whether you saw the town or map.

But the pure house of Emanuel'
Would not be like proud Jesabel,
Nor shew her self before the king
An hypocrite, or painted thing:
But, that the ways might all prove fair,
Conceiv'd a tedious mile of prayer.

Upon the look'd-for seventh of March,
Outwent the townsmen all in starch,
Both band and beard, into the field,
Where one a speech could hardly wield;
For needs he would begin his stile,
The king being from him half a mile.

They gave the king a piece of plate,
Which they hop'd never came too late;
But cry'd, Oh! look not in, great king,
For there is in it just nothing:"
And so prefer'd with tune and gate,
A speech as empty as their plate.

Now, as the king came neer the town,
Each one ran crying up and down,
Alas poor Oxford, thou 'rt undone,
For now the king's past Trompington,
And rides upon his brave gray dapple,
Seeing the top of Kings-Colledge chappel

Next rode his lordship' on a nag,
Whose coat was blue, whose ruff was shag,
And then began his reverence
To speak most eloquent non-sense:
"See how" (quoth he) "most mighty prince,
For very joy my horse doth wince.

"What cryes the town? What we?" (said he) "What cryes the University?

What cry the boys? What ev'ry thing?
Behold, behold, yon comes the king:"
And ev'ry period he bedecks
With En et ecce venit rex.

Now come we to the wonderment
Of Christendom, and eke of Kent,
The Trinity; which to surpass,
Doth deck her spokesman" by a glass:
Who, clad in gay and silken weeds,
Thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds.

"I wonder what your grace doth here,
Who have expected been twelve year,
And this your son, fair Carolus,
That is so Jacobissimus 12:

Here's none, of all, your grace refuses,
You are most welcome to our Muses.

"Although we have no bells to jangle,
Yet can we shew a faire quadrangle,
Which, though it ne're was grac'd with king,
Yet sure it is a goodly thing:

My warning's short no more I'le say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play."

But nothing was so much admir'd,
As were their playes so well attir'd;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Then did their actors most divine 13:
So did they drink their healths divinely;
So did they dance and skip so finely.

Their plays had sundry grave wise factors,
A perfect diocess of actors

Upon the stage; for I am sure that
There was both bishop, pastor, curat:
Nor was their labour light, or small,
The charge of some was pastoral.

Our playes were certainly much worse,
For they had a brave hobby-horse,
Which did present unto his grace
A wondrous witty ambling pace:
But we were chiefly spoyl'd by that
Which was six hours of God knows what 14.

His lordship then was in a rage,
His lordship lay upon the stage,
His lordship cry'd, all would be marr'd:
His lordship lov'd a-life the guard,
And did invite those mighty men,
To what think you? even to a Hen.

He knew he was to use their might
To help to keep the door at night,
And well bestow'd he thought his Hen,
That they might Tolebooth 15 Oxford men:
He thought it did become a lord
To threaten with that bug-bear word.

11 Nethersoli Cant. orator, qui per speculum seipsum solet ornari.

12 Orator hoc usus est vocabulo in oratione ad regem.

13 Actores omnes fuere theologi.

14 Ludus dicebatur Ignoramus, qui durabat per spatium sex horarum.

15 Idem quod Bocardo apud Oxon.

Now pass we to the civil law,
And eke the doctors of the spaw,
Who all perform'd their parts so well,
Sir Edward Ratcliff bore the bell,
Who was, by the king's own appointment,
To speak of spells, and magick oyntment.

The king being gone from Trinity,
They make a scramble for degree;
Masters of all sorts, and all ages,
Keepers, subcizers, lackeyes, pages,
Who all did throng to come aboard,
With " Pray make me now, Good my lord."

They prest his lordship wondrous hard,
His lordship then did want the guard;
So did they throng him for the nonce,
Until he blest them all at once,
And cryed, "Hodiissimè :
Omnes Magistri estote."

Nor is this all which we do sing,

For of your praise the world must ring:
Reader, unto your tackling look,
For there is coming forth a book
Will spoyl Joseph Barnesius
The sale of Rex Platonicus.

(FROM AN AUTOGRAPH IN MR. GILCHRIST'S POSSESSION.)

A BALLAD late was made,

But God knows who 'es the penner,
Some say the rhyming sculler',

And others say 't was Fenner':
But they that know the style

Doe smell it by the collar,

And doe maintaine it was the braine
Of some yong Oxford scholler.

And first he rails on Cambridge,
And thinkes her to disgrace,
By calling her Lutetia,

And throws dirt in her face:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For all the world must grant,
If Oxford be thy mother,

Then Cambridge is thy aunt.

Then goes he to the town,

And puts it all in starch,

For other rhyme he could not find
To fit the seventh of March:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For I must vail the bonnet,
And cast the caps at Cambridge
For making song and sonnet.

Thence goes he to their present,
And there he doth purloyne,
For looking in their plate

He nimmes away their coyne:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For 't is a dangerous thing
To steal from corporations
The presents of a king.

Next that, my lord vice-chancellor

He brings before the prince,
And in the face of all the court
He makes his horse to wince,
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For sure that jest did faile,
Unless you clapt a nettle
Under his horse's taile..

Then aimes he at our orator,

And at his speech he snarles,

Because he forced a word, and called

The prince "most Jacob-Charles." But leave it, scholler, leave it,

For he did it compose

That puts you down as much for tongue As you do him for nose.

1 The former is Taylor, the celebrated waterpoet: the latter, William Fenner, a puritanical poet and pamphleteer of that period, was educated at Pembroke-hall, Oxford. He was preferred to the rectory of Rochford in Essex, by the earl of Warwick. He died about 1640. G.

Then flies he to our comedies,

And there he doth professe
He saw among our actors
A perfect diocess.

But leave it, scholler, leave it,

'T was no such witty fiction, For since you leave the vicar out, You spoile the jurisdiction.

Next that he backes the hobby-horse, And with a scholler's grace,

Not able to endure the trott,

He 'd bring him to the pase: But leave it, scholler, leave it,

For you will hardly do it, Since all the riders in your muse Could never bring him to it.

Polonia land can tell,

Through which he oft did trace, And bore a fardell at his back,

He nere went other pace. But leave him, scholler, leave him, He learned it of his sire, And if you put him from his trott He 'l lay you in the myre.

Our horse has thrown his rider;

But now he meanes to shame us,
And in the censuring of our play
Conspires with Ignoramus.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,

And call 't not "God knows what," Your head was making ballads

When you should mark the plot.

His fantasie still working,

Finds out another crotchet;
Then runs he to the bishop,
And rides upon his rotchet.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
And take it not in snuff,
For he that weares no picadell
By law may weare a ruffe,

Next that he goes to dinner,

And like an hardy guest,

When he had cramm'd his belly full
He railes against the feast.

But leave it, scholler, leave it;
For, since you eat his roast,

It argues want of manners

To raile upon the host,

Now listen, masters, listen,
That tax us for our riot,

For here two men went to a hen,
So slender was the diet.

Then leave him, scholler, leave him,
Ye yieldes himself your debtor,
And next time he 's vice-chancellor
Your table shall be better.

Then goes he to the regent-house,
And there he sits and sees
How lackeys and subsisers press
And scramble for degrees.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,

'T was much against our mind, But when the prison doors are ope Noe thief will stay behind,

Adibat ad comœdiam

Et cuncta circumspexit, Actorum diocesin

Completam hic detexit: Sed parce, precor, parcito, Hæc cogitare mente Non valet jurisdictio Vicario absente,

Fictitio equo subdidit
Calcaria, sperans fore
Ut eum ire cogeret

Gradu submissiore:
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Hoc non efficietur

Si iste stabularius
Habenis moderetur,

Testis est Polonia,

Quam sæpe is transivit, Et oneratus sarcina Eodem gradu ivit.

Tum parce, precor, parcito, Et credas hoc futurum, Si Brutum regat Asinus Gradatim non iturum,

Comœdiam Ignoramus
Eum spectare libet,
Et hujus delicatulo

Structura non arridet,
At parce, precor, parcito,
Tum aliter versatus
In faciendis canticis
Fuisti occupatus,

Tum pergit maledicere
Cicestriensi patri,
Et vestes etiam vellicat
Episcopi barbati.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Et nos tu sales pone,
Ne tanti patris careas
Benedictione,

Tum cibo se ingurgitans
Abunde saginatur,

Et venter cum expletus est,
Danti convitiatur.

Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam illud verum erit,
Quicquid ingrato infecerit
Oxoniensi, perit,

At ecce nos videmur

Tenaces nimis esse,

Gallinam unam quod spectasset

Duos comedisse.

O parce, precor, parcito,
Hæc culpa corrigetur
Cum rursus Cantabrigia
Episcopo regetur,

Sed novo in sacello
Pedisse quos aspexit,
Quos nostra Academia
Honoribus erexit.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam ipse es expertus,
Effugiunt omnes protinus
Cum carcer est apertus,