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TO THE MEMORY OF
MASTER BENJAMIN JONSON.
Το press into the throng, where wits thus strive.
But when thou put'st thy tragic buskin on, Or comic sock of mirthful action,
Actors, as if inspired from thy hand,
Speak, beyond what they think, less, understand;
And take thou, BEN, from Verse a second breath, Which shall create Thee new, and conquer death. Sir THOMAS HAWKINS."
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY FRIEND, BEN JONSON.
I SEE that wreath which doth the wearer arm
Amongst those many votaries that come
5 Sir Thomas Hawkins, Knt. was the grandson of Thomas Hawkins, Esq.-of a family resident at the manor of Nash in the parish of Boughton under the Blean in Kent from the time of Edward III.-who attained the age of 101 years and died on the 15th March 1588, and lies buried in the north chancel of the church of Boughton, under a tomb of marble which bears honourable testimony to his services to king Henry VIII, and speaks of him as a man of great strength and lofty stature.
The friend of Jonson was the eldest of seven sons of sir Thomas Hawkins of Nash, and married Elizabeth daughter of George Smith of Ashby Folvile in Leicestershire, by whom he had two sons, John and Thomas, both of whom he survived, and dying without issue in 1640, was succeeded in a considerable patrimony by Richard his brother and heir, the lineal descendant of whom, Thomas Hawkins, Esq. was living at Nash in 1790.
Sir Thomas translated Caussin's Holy Court, several times reprinted in folio; the Histories of Sejanus and Philippa, from the French of P. Mathieu; and certain Odes of Horace, the 4th edition of which is before me, dated 1638. In a poem before the latter he is celebrated by H. Holland, for his skill in music. GILCHRIST.
Whilst some more lofty pens in their bright verse,
And since I nought can add but in desire, Restore some sparks which leap'd from thine own fire.
What ends soever other quills invite, I can protest, it was no itch to write, Nor any vain ambition to be read,
But merely love and justice to the dead,
These drops, as tribute thrown into that spring,
That, thus refined and robed, it shall not spare
Or do the lofty Spaniard affect,
(To shew their skill in foreign dialect) Prove not themselves so' unnaturally wise They therefore should their mother-tongue despise;
(As if her poets both for style and wit,
Not equall'd, or not pass'd their best that writ) Until by studying JONSON they have known The heighth, and strength, and plenty of their
Thus in what low earth, or neglected room Soe'er thou sleep'st, thy Book shall be thy tomb. Thou wilt go down a happy corse, bestrew'd With thine own flowers, and feel thyself renew'd, Whilst thy immortal, never-withering bays Shall yearly flourish in thy reader's praise: And when more spreading titles are forgot, Or, spite of all their lead and sear-cloth, rot; Thou wrapt and shrin'd in thine own sheets wilt lie,
A Relic fam'd by all posterity.
Henry King, eldest son of Dr. John King, bishop of London, was born at Wornal in Buckinghamshire in January 1592. He was educated first at Thame, afterwards at Westminster, and lastly at Christ Church Oxford, where he was entered in 1608. He was successively chaplain to James the first, archdeacon of Colchester, residentiary of St. Paul's, chaplain in ordinary to Charles the first, dean of Rochester, and lastly bishop of Chichester, in which place he died 1st October, 1669, and was buried in the Cathedral. The writings of bishop King are for the most part devotional, but in his "Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes, and Sonnets," 8vo. 1657, there is a neatness, an elegance, and even a tenderness, which entitle them to more attention than they have lately obtained. GILCHRIST.
TO THE MEMORY OF
MIGHT but this slender offering of mine,
I come not t' offend duty, and transgress
Hath made the near attendance of thy hearse.
As when the wearied sun hath stol'n to rest,
Our knock'd inventions may beget a spark,