'If you had seene his death,' saith he, Ten thousand thousand times would yee And suffer for his sake all paine Of torments, and all woes.' These are his wordes and eke his life Whereas he comes or goes. 125 IV. THE LYE, BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH, ..... --is found in a very scarce miscellany intitled 'Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided into sixe books . . . . . The 4th impression newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo.' This poem is reported to have been written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two editions of Davison's poems before that time, one in 1608,1 the other in 1611. So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th edit. it must have been written long before the death of Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's Life of Sir W. Raleigh, p. 173, fol.3 GOE, Soule! the bodies guest, 5 1 Catalog. of T. Rawlinson, 1727.-2 Cat. of Sion Coll. library. This is either lost or mislaid. This beautiful poem has been ascribed to others, such as Richard Edwards, Lord Essex, T. Davison, and Joshua Sylvester, but was ascribed to Raleigh during his lifetime. A copy of it is traced as far back as 1593. He did write a poem, some say two, on the night ere his execution, but not the above.-ED. VOL. II. Goe, tell the court, it glowes Tell potentates they live Acting by others actions; Not strong but by their factions; Tell men of high condition, Tell them that brave it most, Tell zeale, it lacks devotion; Tell age, it daily wasteth; Tell wit, how much it wrangles In tickle points of nicenesse; Tell wisedome, she entangles Herselfe in over-wisenesse; And if they do reply, Straight give them both the lye. Tell physicke of her boldnesse; Tell skill, it is pretension; Tell charity of coldness; Tell law, it is contention; 40 45 50 Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, But vary by esteeming; Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse, If arts and schooles reply, Give arts and schooles the lye. 65 Tell faith, it's fled the citie; Tell how the countrey erreth; So, when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbin, Although to give the lye Deserves no less than stabbing, 70 75 : V. VERSES BY KING JAMES I. In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen of his majesty's poetic talents, some Punning Verses made on the disputations at Stirling but it having been suggested to the editor, that the king only gave the quibbling commendations in prose, and that some obsequious court-rhymer put them into metre; it was thought proper to exchange them for two Sonnets of K. James's own composition. James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the multitude of his poems, we have here selected two, which (to shew our impartiality) are written in his best and his worst manner. The first would not dishonour any writer of that time; the second is a most complete example of the bathos. A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON PRINCE HENRY: From K. James's works in folio: Where is also printed another called his Majesty's own Sonnet; it would perhaps be too cruel to infer from thence that this was not his Majesty's own Sonnet.2 1 See a folio intitled, "The Muses welcome to King James.'-2 See Washington Irving's paper in the Sketch-book, 'A Royal Poet.'-ED. GOD gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine, If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, Observe the statutes of our heavenly king; And from his law make all your laws to spring; Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true and plaine; A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH HINDRED THE SPORTS AT NEWMARKET IN JANUARY 1616. This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's works, folio: where also may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling's upon this Sonnet, which concludes with the finest anticlimax I remember to have seen. How cruelly these catives do conspire! What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band Betwixt the cankred king of Creta land,1 That melancholy old and angry sire, And him, who wont to quench debate and ire Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd?2 But now his double face is still dispos'd, With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire. 1 Saturn. Janus. 5 |