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A saint she liv'd, and like a saint she dy'd,
Also, the one “ On Mary Dutchess of Richmond.”
" Whether a cheerful air does rise
The portrait which succeeds is gently touched off :
“ Her innocence is the pure white garment that she wore in baptism, which in others loses gloss, and is quickly sullied; but in her holds colour, and conserves its candour still : it is no witless, but guiltless innocence, such as was our first parents' in Paradise; of which, had they been but as wary and tenacious, they had not lost it so easily, nor had paradise been lost so soon. She knows no harm, and therefore does, nor imagines none, her ignorance being a far better and surer guard for her innocence than others' knowledge. She hates. vice almost as much by nature as by grace; nor is there any more beholding to both than she. She is virtue's white-paper, whilst others are only blotted, or coarse blotting-paper at the best; and is only fit to write Heaven's dictates on. Her innocent soul being of the same stuff and piece your angels are made of; which, could she conserve like them, but unblemished and unspotted, she might go to Heaven in it without translation, which her noble birth and breeding promises for her in her infancy; nor is there any doubt but her high honour and virtuous mind will fully perform, when she comes to age, all that they have promised.”
And so is this poem :
“ Now, lovers, in a word to tell
And into melting sweetness turns.”
“ What you'll be in time we know
The following character “ Of one who troubles himself with nothing,” will make an excellent study:
“He suffers none but gay and pleasant thoughts to enter his imagination, putting the rest off till to-morrow still; saying, “To-day is too soon :' and then, quite dismissing them, saying, It is too late. He is as great a master in the art of consolation, as he who, when he lost his eyes, comforted himself that there was so much saved in candle-light, was but a bungler at it, compared to him. He accounts nothing in this world his own, whence he is never afflicted for the loss of any thing; and, for the world itself, counts it but as a pilgrimage, and himself a pilgrim, that has no other business in it but only to pass through it unto the next, to which since all ways equally conduce, he laveers not by sea, but ever sails before the wind, and makes for the next port, be it where it will; and by land, knows all his easiest passages, and all his turnings to avoid uneasy ones; whilst, to beguile the tediousness of the way, he has still choice of the best company, and at relay. So passes he this vale of miseries, so easily, he scarcely feels its miseries ; neither contracting so much wealth nor guiltiness in living, as may make him apprehend to leave the one behind him in this world, when he dies, nor find the punishment of the other in the next. Mean time, that neither the revolution of things, nor inconstancy of persons, may transport or trouble him, he has no tie to any thing, nor person; beauty, riches, nor honours, having never yet the power to make him quit his liberty, nor has the world chains strong enough to make him a slave, he wondering as much at courtiers as at galleyslaves; and for those who, for a little profit, sell their liberties, whilst they call it fishing for a golden fish, he calls it angling with a golden hook. So the splendour of a palace, and obscurity of a cottage, equally take his eyes; nor sees he any thing in the riches of the one to envy, nor in the other's poverty to pity, more than the means that the one has more than the other. Thus having provided against all trouble without himself, that nothing within himself may trouble him, (holding still the mean betwixt idleness and too great employ); he cultivates his mind rather like a garden than a field, delightfully, not laboriously; with studies which may rather render it gay and cheerful, than melancholy and sad : shunning all by-ways of doctrine, to avoid error; and all highways of the vulgar, to avoid ignorance and viciousness ; nor puts he his mind so on the rack of hope to extend them farther than to possible and easy things ; which, failing his expectation, he is no more troubled than at seeing juglers play fast and loose. Lastly, not to live stranger nor enemy to himself, he first makes compact with his genius to lead him to no ill, and then follows it, whatsoever it leads him to ; doing just by it as by his horse, which he is not still putting upon new ways, but only spurs it when it goes on slowly in the old. So constituting his pleasure rather in content than voluptuousness, and in nothing fruition may lessen and destroy, or that may be rendered impotent by age. He can never be without pleasure in himself, nor can any thing out of himself ever molest and trouble him. Nor is this a happiness to be attained to but by long accustomance, and by doing by our mind just as we do by our bodies in time of pestilence, that is, by carefully avoiding all commerce with those that are sick; else, being once infected, all council is in vain, and you may as well bid one that is sick, be well, as one that is sad and grieved, be merry and comforted.”
His epigram on a rich miser is very good :
“ Thou boasts thy money, and if that be all,
And the one“ On Friends and Foes” is well turned :
“ Two painters, friend and foe, once went about
Which t'one to shew, and t'other for to hide,
The following rural dialogue is spirited and pointed : Chorus. “ Once a nymph and shepherd meeting,
Never past there such a greeting;
Thus they meet, and greet, and parted.
Lives a most contented life. Nymph. She her whole contentment loses,
Who a husband ever chooses. Shepherd. I, of women, know too much,
Ere to care for any such. Nymph. I, of men, too much do know,
To care whether you do or no.
Shepherd. Since you are resolv’d, farewell;
Look you lead not apes in hell.
Thither to be led by men.
Be but rul'd by what they bid ye.
Would they but be ruld by you.
Hard to say who best did get;
When, being parted, either said:
When th' are in thy power! but when
“ The Commutation of Love and Death's Darts” is well worth a place here:
“ Love and Death o'th' way once meeting,
The last extract, for which we can allow space, is also the best, and occurs in the play which was damned:
“ Sacred silence, thou that art
ART. VII.- The Life and Death of Thomas Wolsey, Cardinall : divided into three parts; his Aspiring, Triumph, and Death. By Thomas Storer, Student in Christchurch, Oxford. 1599.
We hope, that the very interesting extracts from Cavendish's Life of Wolsey, which graced our last number, have left an impression on the minds of our readers so agreeable, as to