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His father, of whose writings an account is given in the tenth volume of the Censura Literaria, was a preacher at the Temple church, London. His son, the poet, was born in London, but at what time is uncertain. He was educated at the Charter-house through the bounty of two friends, Sir Henry Yelverton, and Sir Francis Crew. From thence he removed to Cambridge, where he became a fellow, and took a degree of master of arts. There he published his Latin poems, in one of which is the epigram from a scripture passage, ending with the line, so well known,
" Lympha pudica Deum videt et erubuit."
“ The modest water saw its God and blushed.” And also his pious effusions, called “ Steps to the Temple.” The title of the latter work was in allusion to the church at Cambridge; near his residence, where he almost constantly spent his time. When the covenant, in 1644, was offered to the universities, he preferred ejection and poverty to subscribing it. Already he had been distinguished as a popular and powerful preacher. He soon after embraced the catholic religion, and repaired to France. In austerity of devotion he had no great transition to make to catholicism ; and his abhorrence at the religious innovations he had witnessed, together with his admiration of the works of the canonized St. Teresa of Spain, still more easily account for his conversion. Cowley found him at Paris in deplorable poverty, and recommended him to his exiled queen, Henrietta Maria. Her majesty gave him letters of recommendation to Italy, where he became a secretary to one of the Roman cardinals, and a canon of the church of Loretto. Soon after the laiter appointment he died, about the year 1650.
SOSPETTO D' HERODE.
Casting the times with their strong signs,
Muse, now the servant of soft loves no more,
The blooms of martyrdom. O be a door
swords, Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke souls for
Great Anthony! Spain's well-beseeming pride,
Deign thou to wear this humble wreath that bows,
Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flow'rs
wing, Suck hidden sweets, which well digested proves Immortal honey for the hive of loves.
Thou, whose strong hand with so transcendent
worth Holds high the rein of fair Parthenope, That neither Rome, nor Athens can bring forth A name in noble deeds rival to thee! [Earth. Thy fame's full noise makes proud the patient Far more than matter for my Muse and me.
The Tyrrhene seas and shores sound all the same,
And in their murmurs keep thy mighty name.
Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties
The judge of torments, and the king of tears :
And to make up Hell's majesty, each horn
eyes the sullen dens of death and night,
groan Disdains to think that Heav’n thunders alone.
His flaming eyes dire exhalation,
In this sad house of slow destruction
A mass of woes, his teeth for torment gnash,
Narcissus ? foolish Phaeton ? who for all
There does he fix his eyes : and there detect