[i]

THE
POEMS
OF
RICHARD CORBET,
LATE BISHOP OF OXFORD AND OF NORWICH.

THE FOURTH EDITION,
With considerable Additions.

TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED,
“ORATIO IN FUNUS HENRICI PRINCIPIS,”
FROM ASHMOLE’S MUSEUM,
Biographical Notes, and a Life of the Author,
BY
OCTAVIUS GILCHRIST, F.S.A.

London:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1807.

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R. Taylor, and Co. Shoe Lane.

[iii]

TO
MY FRIEND
THOMAS BLORE, Esq.
THIS VOLUME,
UNDERTAKEN AT HIS SUGGESTION, AND PROMOTED BY HIS ASSISTANCE,
IS INSCRIBED BY
THE EDITOR.

[iv]

The public interest has been of late years so strongly manifested in favour of the poets of the seventeenth century, that little apology appears necessary for the republication of the following Poems. It would, however, be equally vain and foolish in the editor to claim for the author a place among the higher class of poets, or to exalt his due praise by depreciating the merits of his contemporaries.—Claiming only for Cæsar what to Cæsar is due, it may without arrogance be presumed that these pages will not be found inferior to the poems of others which have been fortunately[vi] republished, or familiarised to the generality of readers through the popular medium of selections.

The author of the following poems (an account of whose life may be considered as a necessary appendage to these pages) is said to have descended from the antient family of the Corbets in Shropshire. It were too laborious and pedantic in a work of this nature to trace his pedigree, but I should be pleased to find any proofs of their attachment to him: yet as the bishop did not usually “conceal his love,” I suspect he received no mark of their regard, at least till his elevation conferred rather than received obligation by acknowledgment.

Richard Corbet, successively bishop of Oxford and Norwich, was born at the village of[vii] Ewell in Surrey, in the year 1582: he was the only son of Bennet, or Benedicta, and Vincent Corbet, who, from causes which I have not discovered, assumed the name of Poynter. His father, a man of some eminence for his skill in gardening, and who is celebrated by Ben Jonson in an elegy[1] alike[viii] honourable to the subject, the poet, and the friend, for his many amiable virtues, resided[ix] at Whitton, a hamlet in the parish of Twickenham, where the poet passed his declining days. Under the will of his father[2] he inherited sundry freehold lands and tenements lying in St. Augustine’s parish, Watling-street, London, and five hundred pounds in money, which was directed to be paid him by Bennet, the father’s wife and sole executrix, upon his attaining the age of twenty-five years. After receiving the rudiments of education at Westminster School, he entered in Lent term 1597-8 at Broadgate Hall, and the year following was admitted a student of Christ-Church College, Oxford. In 1605 he proceeded Master of Arts, and became celebrated as a wit and a poet.

[x]

The following early specimen of his humour is preserved in a collection of “Mery Passages and Jeastes,” Harl. MS. No. 6395: “Ben Jonson was at a tavern, and in comes bishop Corbet (but not so then) into the next room. Ben Jonson calls for a quart of raw wine, and gives it to the tapster. ‘Sirrah!’ says he, ‘carry this to the gentleman in the next chamber, and tell him I sacrifice my service to him.’ The fellow did, and in those terms. ‘Friend!’ says bishop Corbet, ‘I thank him for his love; but pr’ythee tell him from me that he is mistaken, for sacrifices are always burnt.’”

In 1612, upon the death of the amiable and accomplished Henry Prince of Wales,

and the theme of many a verse; the University, overwhelmed with grief, more especially[xi] as he had been a student of Magdalen College under the tutorage of Mr. John Wilkinson, (“afterwards the unworthy president of that house,”) and desirous of testifying their respect for his memory, deputed Corbet, then one of the proctors, to pronounce a funeral oration; “who,” to use the words of Antony Wood, “very oratorically speeched it in St. Maries church, before a numerous auditory[3].” On the 13th of March in the following year he performed a similar ceremony in the Divinity School on the interment of sir Thomas Bodley, the munificent founder of the library known by his name.

Amid the religious dissensions at this period, encouraged and increased by James’s suspected inclination to popery, it was scarcely[xii] possible to avoid giving offence to the supporters of the various doctrinal opinions which in this confusion of faiths divided the people. At the head of the Church was Dr. George Abbott, a bigoted and captious Puritan: opposed to this disciple of Calvin was Laud, then growing into fame, who boldly supported the opinions of Arminius. With the latter Corbet coincided: but the undisguised publication of his faith had nearly proved fatal to his future prospects; for, “preaching the Passion sermon at Christ-Church, (1613,) he insisted on the article of Christ’s descending into hell, and therein grated upon Calvin’s manifest perverting of the true sense and meaning of it: for which, says Heylyn, he was so rattled up by the Repetitioner, (Dr. Robert Abbott, brother of the archbishop,) that if he had not been a man of a very great courage, it might[xiii] have made him afraid of staying in the University. This, it was generally conceived, was not done without the archbishop’s setting on; but the best was, adds Heylyn, that none sunk under the burthen of these oppressions, if (like the camomile) they did not rise the higher by it[4].”

When James, in 1605[5], visited Oxford in his summer progress, the wits of the sister University vented their raillery at the entertainment given to the royal visitor[6]. Cambridge, which had long solicited the same[xiv] honour, was in the year 1614-5 indulged with his presence. Many students from Oxford witnessed the ceremonial of his reception; and the local histories of the two Universities at that period, are replete with pasquinades and ballads sufficiently descriptive of their mutual animosities. An eye-witness declares, “Though I endured a great deal of penance by the way for this little pleasure, yet I would not have missed it, for that I see thereby the partiality of both sides—the Cambridge men pleasing and applauding themselves in all, and the Oxford men as fast condemning and detracting all that was done; wherein yet I commended Corbet’s modesty, whilst he was there; who being seriously dealt withal by some friends to say what he thought, answered, that he had left his malice and judgment at home, and came there only[xv] to commend[7].” Notwithstanding this conciliatory declaration, the opportunity of retorting upon the first assailants was too tempting to Corbet’s wit to be slighted; and immediately upon his return he composed the ballad, page 13, “To the tune of Bonny Nell.”—This humorous narrative excited several replies; the most curious of which was the one, in Latin and English, (at page 24,) written, perhaps, by sir Thomas Lake, afterwards secretary of state, who performed the part of Trico in the Cambridge play of Ignoramus, and who had a ring bequeathed him by the author, Ruggles[8].

Corbet appears, says Headley[9], to have[xvi] been of that poetical party who, by inviting Ben Jonson to come to Oxford, rescued him from the arms of a sister University, who has long treated the Muses with indignity, and turned a hostile and disheartening eye on those who have added most celebrity to her name[10].

We do not find that Ben expressed any[xvii] regret at the change of his situation: companions whose minds and pursuits were similar to his own, are not always to be found in the gross atmosphere of the muddy Cam, though easily met with on the more genial banks of the Isis:

In 1616 he was recommended by the Convocation as a proper person to be elected to the college which Dr. Matthew Surtclyve, dean of Exeter, had lately erected at Chelsea, for maintaining polemical Divines to be employed in opposing the doctrines of Papists and Sectaries. Whether he obtained his election I have not learned: nor is it of much moment; for the establishment, as might be naturally foreseen from the circumstances of the times, soon declined from its original purpose[11].

[xviii]

Being now in a situation to indulge his inclinations, he in 1618 made a trip to France, from whence he wrote an “epistle to sir Thomas Aylesbury,” in which he gently laughs at his friend’s astronomical fondness; and composed a metrical description of his journey, from which we may conclude that he returned less disgusted with his native country, and less enamoured of the manners and habits of his new acquaintance, than is usual with the modern visitors of our transmarine neighbours.

He was now in holy orders; and, in the language of Antony Wood, “became a quaint preacher, and therefore much followed by ingenious men.” None of Corbet’s sermons are, I believe, in existence: the modesty that withheld his poems from the press, during his life, prevented his adding to the[xix] multitude of devotional discourses with which the country was at this period infested[12]. Those who are at all acquainted with the ecclesiastical oratory of James’s reign, will be at no loss to comprehend “honest Antony’s” description; but to those who are not, it may be sufficient to observe, that, of its peculiar excellencies and demerits, the sermons of bishop King, his contemporary, (which have been republished) are a complete “picture in little.”

[xx]

About this time he appears, from the following characteristic letter[13], to have solicited promotion at the hands of Villiers duke of Buckingham:

“Heer are newes, my noble lord, about us, that, in the point of alledgeance now in hand, all the Papists are exceeding orthodox; the only recusants are the Puritans.”

Of the nature of the object thus supplicated, my inquiries have not informed me: he was now dean of Christ-Church, vicar of Cassington near Woodstock in Oxfordshire, and prebendary of Bedminster secunda in the church of Sarum: it was, perhaps, the appointment of chaplain to the King, which he received about this time; and if to this period may be assigned the gratulatory poem at page 83, it should seem that Buckingham was not solicited in vain.

[xxii]

In 1619 he sustained a great loss in the decease of his amiable father, at a very advanced age; whose praise he has celebrated in the most honourable terms, and whose death he has lamented in the language of rational and tender regret.

When James paid a second visit to Oxford in 1621, Corbet, in his office of chaplain, preached before the monarch[14], who had presented him (as it seems) with a token of his favour, such as flattered in no small degree the vanity of the dean. The progress of the court and its followers is thus ludicrously described in an anonymous poem transcribed from Antony Wood’s papers[15] in Ashmole’s Museum:

[xxiii]

With poetical badinage of this complexion the wits of the University of Oxford, with Corbet at their head, “who loved this boy’s play to the last,” abounded. While many of the pasquinades are lost, many, however, are still preserved among Ashmole’s papers: on most occasions Corbet was at least a match for his opponents, but this misfortune of the ring became a standing jest against him: it[xxv] is alluded to at page 233; and it is demanded in another poem[16], if

Upon the evening of the same Sunday, the students of Christ-Church, willing to show their respect for the royal visitor, obtained leave to present a play before the King; and they chose, with no great display of taste, Barten Holyday’s ΤΕΧΝΟΓΑΜΙΑ, or “The Marriage of the Arts,” which had been acted in Christ-Church hall the 13th of February, 1617. The play was so little relished, that the king was with difficulty persuaded to sit till its conclusion: the “enactors” became subjects of ridicule to the University; and, though Corbet and King rhymed in their favour, the laugh went against them.

[xxvi]

Indeed the Oxonians were not more unfortunate in their theatrical representations on this than on former occasions. Upon the visit of James, in 1605, two out of three dramatic exhibitions, prepared at great expense and performed by the students, were, according to the testimony of an eye-witness, received with tædium, and rewarded with unconcealed disgust[17].

[xxvii]

The writers of the poet’s life are silent as to the period of his marriage; and if I am unable to communicate any information on this point, it will not, I trust, be attributed to any parsimony of research, or indifference as to fact when conjecture can be substituted. Those who have made literary biography their study, know that it is frequently much easier to write many pages than to ascertain a date, and hence but too frequently ingenuity supplies the place of labour and inquiry: in the present instance, every record that suggested a probability of containing any memorial relative to the family of the subject of this biography has been inspected personally;[xxviii] but before the passing of the Marriage Act, nothing is more uncertain than the probable place of the celebration of that ceremony[18].

In this dearth of fact as to dates, I shall presume to suppose he married about 1625 Alice the only daughter of his fellow-collegian Dr. Leonard Hutton, a man of some eminence in his day as a divine and an antiquary, and whose character is thus drawn by Antony Wood with a felicity that rarely accompanies his pencil: “His younger years were beautified with all kind of polite learning, his middle with ingenuity and judgment, and his reverend years with great wisdom in government, having been often subdean of his college.”

[xxix]

This union of wit and beauty was not looked upon with indifference, nor was their epithalamium unsung, or the string touched by the hand of an unskilful master:

The offspring of this marriage were a daughter named Alice, and a son born the 10th of November, 1627, towards whom the beautiful poem at page 150 is an undecaying monument of paternal affection.

Of these descendants of the bishop I lament[xxx] that I have discovered so little: if this volume should be fortunate enough to excite attention to its author, the loss may at some future period be supplied: they were both living when their grandmother, Anne Hutton, made her will in 1642, and the son administered to the testament in 1648.

In 1628 Corbet suffered a severe privation in the loss of his patron Villiers duke of Buckingham, assassinated by Felton on the 23d of August, who, whatever were his political crimes, was, like his amiable and indulgent master, a liberal promoter of literature and science, and to his death an encourager of Corbet’s studies. If, however, this event checked his hopes of promotion for a season, it did not leave him without a patron; for, upon the translation of Hewson to the see of Durham, (to make way for Dr. Duppa to be[xxxi] dean of that church,) he was elected bishop of Oxford the 30th of July, was consecrated at Lambeth the 19th of October, and installed the 3d of November, 1629; “though,” in the opinion of Wood, “in some respects unworthy of such an office[20].”

Warned by the many petulant remarks on the poetical character scattered throughout the account of Oxford writers, one is little surprised at this churlish remark on the part of honest Antony, who seems to have considered all poetry as

and its indulgence inconsistent with the clerical profession. Corbet was certainly no “precisian,” and perhaps his only fault was possessing a species of talent to which Antony had no pretension.

[xxxii]

The bishopric of Oxford he held but a short time, being translated to a more active see, that of Norwich, in the month of April 1632; when a dispute arose as to his right of claim to the glebe sown previous to his vacating the vicarage: the opinion of the attorney-general, (Noy,) which is preserved in the Harleian collection of manuscripts[21], was in his favour, in as much as the translation was not his own act merely.

On the 9th of March, 1633, he preached before the king at Newmarket[22].

[xxxiii]

Scarcely was he seated in the episcopal chair of Norwich when Abbott died, and Laud, who had long exercised the authority of metropolitan, was two days afterwards (August 6th, 1633) preferred to the see of Canterbury. Having now “no rival near his throne,” in the warmth of his zeal he immediately applied himself to reform abuses and exact a conformity to the established church, the discipline of which had exceedingly relaxed during the ascendancy of his calvinistic predecessor. For this purpose Laud issued certain orders and instructions to the several bishops, insisting upon a strict examination into the state of religion and its ceremonies in their several dioceses; the result of which was transmitted to that prelate, and by him laid before the King. These representations, many of which are curious, are[xxxiv] printed in the nineteenth volume of Rymer’s Fœdera. On his part, Corbet certified that he had suppressed the lectures of some factious men, and particularly that he had suspended one Bridges, curate of St. George’s parish, Norwich; but, upon submission, he had taken off his suspension. Among others, he had heard complaint of Mr. Ward[23], of Ipswich, for words in some sermons of his, for which he was called before the High Commission.

From the following conciliating epistle I conclude that Ward submitted, and was restored to his cure:

[xxxv]

[xxxvi]

The zeal of Laud did not rest here: he set sedulously about suppressing the Dutch and Walloon congregations, of which there were several in London, Norwich, and other places.

It will be perhaps necessary to observe, that the Dutch, the Walloons, and the French, who had continued to refuge in England from the reign of Edward the Sixth, had obtained many privileges from former kings, and among others, the liberty of celebrating divine service after their own, that is, the presbyterian, manner. Their congregations were scattered over the kingdom; and at this period there was at Norwich one of the Dutch, and one of the Walloons, the latter of which carried on an extensive manufacture of woollen cloths, for the vending of which, they in 1564 obtained a lease of the chapel of St. Mary the Less, which they fitted up as a hall or[xxxvii] market-place for that purpose. Where they performed divine service before the year 1619 I know not, but in that year Samuel Harsnet licensed the Walloon congregation to use during his pleasure the Bishop’s chapel, or chapel of the Virgin Mary[25]. This indulgence was continued during the government of his successor, Francis White. But the intolerance of Laud would be content with nothing short of conformity; Corbet consequently prepared to dislodge them by the following characteristic letter:

The congregation remonstrated to Laud, in[xxxix] the February following, against the commands of their poetical pastor; but the archbishop insisted that his instructions should stand, and obedience be yielded to his injunctions[26].

While, under the direction of the Archbishop, he was thus severe with the heterodox, he was equally zealous in supporting the establishment of which he was a dignitary: exertions were now making by the King, the Clergy, and indeed all orders of people, for the restoring Saint Paul’s cathedral, which had remained in ruins since its second destruction by fire, early in Elizabeth’s reign. In 1631[xl] a special commission was issued by the King, for the purpose of collecting money, to be applied to this purpose. The subscription went on tardily till Laud contributed a hundred pounds, to be renewed annually, and “Corbet bishop of Norwich (then almoner to the king) giving four hundred pounds, multitudes of others, says Stowe, for eleven years together brought in their monies very plentifully[27].” Nor did his liberality stop here: Wood says[28] that in addition to this contribution, which at the time we speak of[xli] was an enormous bounty, he gave money to many needy ministers, thereby to excite the donations of their wealthier brethren; and he pronounced the following admonitory, persuasive and satirical address[29] to the clergy of his diocese:

“Saint Paul’s church! One word in the behalf of Saint Paul; he hath spoken many in ours: he hath raised our inward temples. Let us help to requite him in his outward. We admire commonly those things which are oldest and greatest: old monuments, and high buildings, do affect us above measure: and what is the reason? Because what is oldest cometh nearest God for antiquity: and what is greatest, comes nearest his works for spaciousness and magnitude: so that in honouring[xlii] these we honour God, whom old and great do seem to imitate. Should I commend Paul’s to you for the age, it were worth your thought and admiration. A thousand years, though it should fall now, were a pretty climacterical. See the bigness, and your eye never yet beheld such a goodly object. It’s worth the reparation, though it were but for a land mark; but, beloved, it is a church, and consecrated to God. From Charles to Ethelbert she hath been the joy of princes. It was once dedicated to Diana (at least some part of it); but the idolatry lasted not long. And see a mystery in the change: Saint Paul confuting twice the idol, there in person, where the cry was, ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians!’ and here: by proxy. Paul installed, where Diana is thrust out. It did magnify the creation, it was taken out of the[xliii] darkness: light is not the clearer for it, but stronger and more wonderful: and it doth beautify this church, because it was taken from pollution. The stones are not the more durable, but the happier for it. It is worthy the standing for the age, the time since it was built, and for the structure, so stately an edifice is it: it is worthy to stand for a memorial of it from which it is redeemed, but chiefly for his house that dwells therein. We are bound to do it, for the service sake that is done in it. Are we not beholden to it, every man, either to the body, or the choir: for a walk or a warbling note: for a prayer or a thorough-path? Some way or other, there is a topick may make room for your benevolence.

“It hath twice suffered Martyrdom: and both by fire, in the time of Henry the Sixth and the third of Elizabeth.

[xliv]

“Saint Paul complained of Stoning twice; his church of firing: stoning she wants, indeed, and a good stoning would repair her.

“Saint Faith holds her up, I confess. Oh that works were sainted to keep her upright! The first way of building churches was by ways of benevolence; but then there needed no petition: men came on so fast that they were commanded to be kept back, but repairing now, needs petition. Benevolence was a fire once had need to be quenched: it is a spark, now and needs blowing on it: blow it hard, and put it out. Some petitions there are, for pulling down of such an isle, or changing lead for thack: so far from reparation, that our suit is to demolish. If to deny this be persecution, if to repair churches be innovation, I’ll be of that religion too.

“I remember a tale in Henry Steevens, in[xlv] his Apology for Herodotus, or in some of the Colloquies of Erasmus, which would have us believe that times were so depraved in popery, that all œconomical discipline was lost by observing the œcumenical; that if an ingenious person would ask his father’s blessing, he must get a dispensation and have a licence from the bishop.

“Believe me when I match this tale with another. Since Christmas I was sued to (and I have it under the hands of the minister and the whole parish) that I would give way to the adorning of the church within and without, to build a stone wall about the church-yard which till now had but a hedge. I took it for a flout at first, but it proved a suit indeed; they durst not mend a fault of forty years, without a licence. Churchwardens, though they say it not, yet I doubt me most[xlvi] of them think it, that foul spirits in the Gospel said, ‘O thou Bishop or Chancellor, what! art thou come to torment us before the time, that all is come down to the ground?’ The truth went out once in this phrase: ‘Zelus domûs tuæ exedit ossa mea,’ but now vice versa, it is, ‘Zelus meus exedit domum tuam.’ I hope I gall none here.

“Should Christ say that to us now which he said once to the Jews, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will build it up again:’ we would quickly know his meaning not to be the material temple. Three years can scarce promoove three foot.

“I am verily persuaded, were it not for the pulpit and the pews, (I do not now mean the altar and the font for the two sacraments, but for the pulpit and the stools as you call them;) many churches had been down that stand.[xlvii] Stately pews are now become tabernacles, with rings and curtains to them. There wants nothing but beds to hear the word of God on; we have casements, locks and keys, and cushions; I had almost said, bolsters and pillows: and for those we love the church. I will not guess what is done within them, who sits, stands, or lies asleep, at prayers, communion, &c., but this I dare say, they are either to hide some vice or to proclaim one; to hide disorder, or proclaim pride.

“In all other contributions justice precedes charity. For the King, or for poor, as you are rated you must give and pay. It is not so in benevolence. Here Charity rates herself; her gift is arbitrary, and her law is the conscience. He that stays till I persuade him, gives not all his own money: I give half that have procured it. He that comes persuaded gives his own; but takes off more than he[xlviii] brought, God paying use for nothing. But now comes your turn to speak, or God in you by your hands: for so he useth to speak many times by the hands of Moses and Aaron, and by the hands of Esay and Ezekiel, and by the hands of you his minor prophets. Now prosper, O Lord! the works of these hands! O prosper Thou our handy work! Amen.”

He was not fated, however, to witness the elevation of the temple in favour of which he was thus active and benevolent; indeed he was then consuming with lingering disorders. “Corbet, bishop of Norwich,” says the garrulous correspondent of lord Strafford, “is dying; the best poet of all the bishops in England. He hath incurable diseases upon him, and hath been said to be dead[30].” This was written on the 30th of July, 1635, and[xlix] he had rested from his labours two days preceding. He was buried in the cathedral church of his diocese, where a large stone was laid over his remains, to which a brass plate was affixed, bearing his arms and the following inscription:

By his will “he commits and commends the nurture and maintenance of his son and daughter to the faythful and loving care of his mother-in-law Anne Hutton;” from which, and the total silence as to his wife, I conclude he outlived her—and with a legacy of one thousand pounds to his daughter Alice, to be paid at her attaining the age of seventeen,[l] or upon her marriage, he enjoins her not to marry without the consent of her grandmother. By the further provisions of his testament, his son was to be joined with Anne Hutton in the administration upon his attaining the age of seventeen; and in case of the decease of both, the whole was to devolve upon his daughter Alice.

Such was the end of this learned and ingenious prelate and poet, of whose works I have undertaken the revision, and in collecting the scattered memorials for whose biography,

I have, I hope not unprofitably to myself or others, employed some leisure hours.

His person, if we may rely upon a fine portrait of him in the hall of Christ-Church, Oxford, was dignified, and his frame above the[li] common size: one of his companions[31] says he had

and Aubrey says, he had heard that “he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect.”

In no record of his life is there the slightest trace of malevolence or tyranny: “he was,” says Fullers[32], “of a courteous carriage, and no destructive nature to any who offended him, counting himself plentifully repaired with a jest upon him.” Benevolent, generous and spirited in his public character; sincere, amiable, and affectionate in private life; correct, eloquent, and ingenious as a poet; he appears to have deserved and enjoyed through life the patronage and friendship of the great, and the applause and estimation of the good.

[lii]

Apology is not necessary for his writings, or it might be urged that they were not intended for publication by their author. “His merits are disclosed,” and, at the distance of near a century and a half, are now again submitted to the censure of the public.

His panegyric is liberal without grossness, and complimentary without servility: his satires on the Puritans, a pestilent race which Corbet fortunately did not live to see ascendant, and which soon after his decease sunk literature and the arts in “the Serbonian bog” of ignorance and fanaticism, evince his skill in severe and ludicrous reproof; and the addresses to his son and his parents, while they are proofs of his filial and parental regard, bear testimony to his command over the finer feelings. But the predominant faculty of his mind was wit, which he employed[liii] with most success when directed ironically: of this the address “to the Ghost of Wisdome,” and “the Distracted Puritane,” are memorable examples. Indeed he was unable to overcome his talent for humour, even when circumstance and character concurred to repress its indulgence. Of this propensity the following anecdotes, copied verbatim from Aubrey’s MSS. in Mus. Ashmole[33], are curious proofs, and may not improperly close this account of a character which they tend forcibly to illustrate.

“After he was doctor of divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at Abingdon; on a market-day he and some of his comrades were at the taverne by the Crosse, (which, by the way, was then the finest of England; I remember it when I was a freshman; it was[liv] admirable curious Gothicque architecture, and fine figures in the nitches; ’twas one of those built by king ... for his queen.) The ballad-singer complayned he had no custome—he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor puts off his gowne, and puts on the ballad-singer’s leathern jacket, and being a handsome man, and a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many, and had a great audience.

“After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made deane of Christ-Church. He had a good interest with great men, as you may finde in his poems; and that with the then great favourite the duke of Bucks, his excellent wit ever ’twas of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story; but at the same time Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty trick on him to let him[lv] take a journey to London for it, when he had alreadie the graunt of it.

“His conversation was extreme pleasant. Dr. Stubbins was one of his cronies; he was a jolly fat doctor, and a very good housekeeper. As Dr. Corbet and he were riding in Lob-lane in wet weather, (’tis an extraordinary deepe dirty lane,) the coach fell, and Corbet said, that Dr. S. was up to the elbows in mud, and he was up to the elbows in Stubbins.

“A. D. 1628, he was made bishop of Oxford; and I have heard that he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect.

“One time as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see the ceremonie, said he, ‘Beare off there! or I’ll confirm ye with my staffe.’—Another time, being to lay his hand on the head of a man very bald, he[lvi] turns to his chaplaine, and said, ‘Some dust, Lushington,’ to keepe his hand from slipping.—There was a man with a great venerable beard; said the bishop, ‘You, behind the beard!’

“His chaplaine, Dr. Lushington, was a very learned and ingenious man, and they loved one another. The Bishop would sometimes take the key of the wine-cellar, and he and his chaplaine would go and lock themselves in and be merry; then first he layes down his episcopal hood, ‘There layes the doctor;’ then he putts off his gowne, ‘There layes the bishop;’ then ’twas, ‘Here’s to thee, Corbet;’—‘Here’s to thee, Lushington.’”

One word on the subject of the former editions; which bear dates 1647, 1648, and[lvii] 1672. The first and last impressions correspond in their contents, and the publisher of the latter has also copied, for the most part, the errors of his predecessor, which are so numerous as to render the poems not unfrequently unintelligible. I must observe, however, from the information of Mr. Park, that many copies of the first edition conclude at page 53. The additions extend the volume to 85 pages. The only impression with any pretension to accuracy is that of 1648, which, from its internal evidence, I suspect was published under the eye of the Bishop’s family; I have therefore retained the Preface. It contains only twenty-four poems.

An edition bearing the date of 1663 is cited in Willis’s Cathedrals; but, it is believed, through mistake.

[lviii]

[Additions to the former Impressions of Corbet’s Poems are distinguished by an Asterisk, thus: *]

READER,

I heere offer to view a collection of certaine peices of poetry, which have flowne from hand to hand, these many yeares, in private papers, but were never fixed for the publique eie of the worlde to looke upon, till now[34]. If that witt which runnes in every veyne of them seeme somewhat out of fashion, because tis neither amorous nor obscene, thou must remember that the author, although scarse a Divine when many of them were written, had not only so masculine but even so modest a witt also, that he would lett nothing[lxiv] fall from his pen but what he himselfe might owne, and never blush, when he was a bishop; little imagining the age would ever come, when his calling should prove more out of fashion than his witt could. As concerning any thing else to be added in commendation of the author, I shall never thinke of it; for as for those men who did knowe him, or ever heard of him, they need none of my good opinion: and as for those who knew him not, and never so much as heard of him, I am sure he needs none of theirs.

Farewell.

[lxv]

[lxvii]

TO
THE DEANE,
(From Flower in Northamptonshire, 1625,)
NOW THE WORTHY BISHOP OF NORWICH.

By ROBERT GOMERSALL[35].

[lxxi]

ON
Dr. CORBET’S MARRIAGE.

(From “Wit Restored,” 8vo. 1658.)

[lxxvii]

VERSES IN HONOUR OF
BISHOP CORBET,
Found in a blank leaf of his Poems in MS.

[lxxviii]

UPON MY GOOD LORD
THE BISHOP OF NORWICHE,
RICHARD CORBET,
WHO DYED JULY 28, 1635,
AND LYES BURIED IN HIS CATHEDRAL CHURCHE.

[By Mr. JOHN TAYLOR of Norwich:
From the Cabinet, published there in 1795.]

[2]

In the following tribute to the memory of a fellow-collegian, and predecessor in the deanery of Christ Church, it will not be too much to conjecture that Corbet was urged by gratitude for kindness experienced while the latter was young. The “Elegie” was evidently written immediately upon the interment of its subject, as towards its conclusion he complains that no tomb was raised over his remains; a complaint which was soon after obviated, when a fair monument was erected, bearing the following inscription, which contains all that is necessary to be told here of the circumstances of his life and character:

[4]

[5]

AN ELEGIE
WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF
DR. RAVIS,
BISHOP OF LONDON.

The following panegyric on the hero of Odcombe, Thomas Coryate, a pedantic coxcomb, with just brains enough to be ridiculous, to whom the world is much more indebted for becoming “the whetstone of the wits” than for any doings of his own, and the particulars of whose life and peregrinations may be found in every collection of biography, is printed in the Odcombian Banquet, 1611, 4to. sign. I. 3.

The Latin lines have been omitted in the former impressions of Bishop Corbet’s poems.

[10]

SPECTATISSIMO, PUNCTISQUE OMNIBUS DIGNISSIMO,
THOMÆ CORIATO DE ODCOMBE,
PEREGRINANTI,
PEDESTRIS ORDINIS, EQUESTRISQUE FAMÆ.

IN LIBRUM SUUM.

As it was presented in Latine 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 the Editor’s possession.)

(From an Autograph in the Editor’s possession.)

The circumstances of the life of this accomplished and persecuted lady,

are familiar to every reader of biographical history. In Lodge’s Illustrations of British History are some letters which convey an exalted idea of her mental abilities; and the editor has proved, in opposition to the assertion of the authors of the Biographia Britannica, that she was far from deficient in personal beauty.

She was the only child of Charles Stuart, fifth earl of Lennox, (uncle to James the First, and great-grandson to Henry VII.) by Elizabeth, daughter of sir William Cavendish, of Hardwick; was born about the year 1578, and brought up in privacy under the care of her grandmother, the old countess of Lennox, who had for many[44] years resided in England. Her double relation to royalty was equally obnoxious to the jealousy of Elizabeth and the timidity of James, and they secretly dreaded the supposed danger of her leaving a legitimate offspring. The former, therefore, prevented her from marrying Esme Stuart, her kinsman, and heir to the titles and estates of her family, and afterwards imprisoned her for listening to some overtures from the son of the earl of Northumberland: the latter, by obliging her to reject many splendid offers of marriage, unwarily encouraged the hopes of inferior pretenders. Thus circumscribed, she renewed a childish connection with William Seymour, grandson to the earl of Hertford, which was discovered in 1609; when both parties were summoned to appear before the privy council, and received a severe reprimand. This mode of proceeding produced the very consequence which James meant to avoid; for the lady, sensible that her reputation had[45] been wounded by this inquiry, was in a manner forced into a marriage; which becoming publicly known in the course of the next spring, she was committed to close custody in the house of sir Thomas Parry, at Lambeth, and Mr. Seymour to the Tower. In this state of separation, however, they concerted means for an escape, which both effected on the same day, June 3, 1611; and Mr. Seymour got safely to Flanders: but the poor lady was re-taken in Calais road, and imprisoned in the Tower; where the sense of these undeserved oppressions operating too severely on her high spirit, she became a lunatic, and languished in that wretched state, augmented by the horrors of a prison, till her death on the 27th Sept. 1615.[55]

[46]

ON
THE LADY ARABELLA.

Upon the death of the promising Henry (Nov. 6, 1612), a prince, according to Arthur Wilson[58], as eminent in nobleness as in blood, and who fell not without suspicion of foul play, the poets his cotemporaries, whom he liberally patronised, poured forth by reams their tributary verses.

Corbet, as it has been before observed, pronounced his funeral oration at Oxford.

Nor was this all: while his bones were perishing and his flesh was rottenness, Dr. Daniel Price, his chaplain during his life, continued to commemorate his dissolution by preaching an anniversary sermon. Neither the practice nor its execution was agreeable to Corbet, who, after a triennial repetition, thus attacked the anniversarist.

[52]

IN QUENDAM
ANNIVERSARIORUM SCRIPTOREM.

(The following lines, which have hitherto been omitted in the bishop’s poems, are found in the collected dramas of the

Beaumont was born 1585, and was buried the ninth of March 1615, in the entrance of St. Bennet’s chapel, Westminster abbey.)

the subject of the succeeding poem, was the eldest son of Charles Howard, earl of Nottingham, (lord high admiral of England, and defeater of the Spanish Armada in the reign of Elizabeth, a nobleman of high estimation during greater part of the reign of her successor,) by Catharine, daughter of Henry Carey, lord Hunsdon; celebrated for concealing the ring by which the life of the earl of Essex might have been saved, and upon whose death-bed discovery of the concealment Elizabeth told her, “God may forgive you, but I never can.”

Lord Howard makes no conspicuous figure in the page of history: he was summoned by writ to several parliaments during his father’s life, whom he accompanied on his embassy to the court[60] of Spaine (1604), but died before him 10th Dec. 1615, and was buried at Chelsea.

He married in 1597 Anne, daughter and sole heiress to John lord St. John of Bletsoe, by whom he left one daughter, who became the wife of John lord Mordaunt, afterwards earl of Peterborough.

[61]

AN ELEGIE[61]
ON THE
LATE LORD WILLIAM HOWARD,
BARON OF EFFINGHAM.

The lord Mordaunt to whom this poem is addressed was John fifth baron Mordaunt of Turvey, in the county of Bedford, who was afterwards (in 1628) created earl of Peterborough by king Charles the First. He married Elizabeth, daughter and heir of William baron Howard of Effingham, (son and heir apparent of Charles earl of Nottingham,) by Anne his wife, daughter and heir of John baron St. John of Bletsoe. He was brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, but converted to that of the established church by a disputation at which he was present between a Jesuit and the celebrated Dr. Usher, (afterwards) bishop of Armagh. In 1642 he was general of the ordnance, and colonel of a regiment of foot in the army, raised for the service of[67] the Parliament, commanded by the earl of Essex, and died the same year.

In order to understand the following poem, it will be necessary to remember, that James, in the year 1617, paid a visit to his native country, whither the lord Mordaunt accompanied him; and the ceremony of installing the knights of the garter was consequently deferred from St. George’s day to that of Holyrood.

[68]

TO THE
LORD MORDANT,
UPON HIS RETURNE FROM THE NORTH.

Born at Dumferling, November the 19th, 1600; crowned 27th March 1625; beheaded 30th January 1648-9.

(From a Manuscript in Ashmole’s Museum.)

(Born 28th August 1592; assassinated by Felton, 23d August 1628.)

A Londoner born, was second son of William Aylesbury by Anne his wife, daughter of John Poole, esq., and from Westminster School removed to Christ-Church, Oxford, in 1598, where he became a fellow-student with Corbet, and where, on the 9th of June 1605, they took the degree of master of arts together.

Aylesbury, after he had left Oxford, became secretary to Charles Howard, earl of Nottingham, lord high admiral of England, and in 1618, when the latter resigned his office, was continued in the same employment under Howard’s successor, George Villiers, then marquis, and afterwards duke of Buckingham. Under the patronage of Villiers he was appointed one of the masters of the requests, and on the 19th of April 1627 created[86] a baronet, and soon afterwards obtained the office of master of the mint. He retained his places until the breaking out of the civil wars in 1642, and faithfully adhering to the cause of Charles the First, retired with his family, in 1649, after the execution of that unfortunate monarch, to Antwerp in Brabant, and continued there until 1652, when he removed to Breda, where he died in 1657, aged 81, and was buried in the great church.

He was “a learned man, and as great a lover and encourager of learning and learned men, especially of mathematicians, (he being one himself) as any man in his time.”

He had a son, William, who was a man of learning, and tutor to the two sons of his father’s patron, Villiers, but died issueless in Jamaica in the service of Cromwell in the same year with his father: and a daughter, Frances, (sole heir of her father and brother) who, in 1634, became the[87] wife of Edward Hyde, afterwards earl of Clarendon, and was grandmother to queen Mary the Second, and to queen Anne.

I have been the more particular in noticing what relates to sir Thomas Aylesbury, since bishop Corbet’s advancement at court followed, though it trode close upon the heels of, that of Aylesbury, which leads me to presume that the latter was in some degree Corbet’s patron as well as friend and companion.

[88]

A LETTER
SENT FROM
Dr. CORBET TO Sir THOMAS AILESBURY,
December the 9th, 1618.
ON THE OCCASION OF A BLAZING STAR.

John Hammon, M.A., to whom the following “Exhortation” is addressed, was instituted to the rectory of Bibbesford and chapel of Bewdley in Worcestershire the 2d of March 1614, on the presentation of sir William Cook. The new zeal with which he was inspired arose most probably from the intrusion of the “Book of Sports,” by James, in 1618[71], in which the king’s pleasure is declared, “that, after the end of divine service,[104] our good people be not disturbed, letted or discouraged from any lawfull recreation; such as dauncing, either men or women; archerie for men, leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmlesse recreation; nor from having of May games, Witson ales, and Morris dances, and the setting up of Maypoles and other sports therein used; and that women shall have leave to carry rushes to the church for the decoring of it, according to their old custome.”

[105]

AN EXHORTATION
TO
MR. JOHN HAMMON,
MINISTER IN THE PARISH OF BEWDLY,

For the battering downe of the Vanityes of the Gentiles, which are comprehended in a Maypole.

Written by a Zealous Brother from the Black-fryers.

On the 18th of November 1618, a comet (as alluded to in a foregoing poem) was seen in Libra, which continued visible till the 16th of December; and the vulgar, who think

considered it indicative of great misfortunes; and the death of the queen which closely followed, the first object of its portentous mission.

“The queen was in her great condition,” says Wilson, “a good woman, not tempted from that height she stood on to embroyl her spirit much with things below her, only giving herself content[113] in her own house with such recreations as might not make time tedious unto her; and though great persons’ actions are often pried into, and made envy’s mark, yet nothing could be fixed upon her that left any great impression, but that she may have engraven upon her monument a character of virtue.”

[114]

AN ELEGY
UPON
THE DEATH OF QUEENE ANNE.

Who, from causes which I have not conclusively ascertained, assumed the name of Poynter, was one of those by whose experience and information sir Hugh Platt, at a period when the horticultural arts in this country were in their infancy, was enabled to publish his “Garden Of Eden.” The beautiful “Epitaph” of Ben Jonson, and the following “Elegy,” are high testimonials of his amiable and virtuous disposition.

His father’s name I have not learned; but his mother, whose name was Rose, was buried at Twickenham, September the 13th, 1611, and the register of the same parish proves that her son pursued her path the 29th April, 1619.

Among other legacies, he bequeathed to the poor of Twickenham forty shillings, to be paid[119] immediately after his decease; and four loads of charcoal, to be distributed at the discretion of the churchwardens. These bequests are overlooked by Ironside and Lysons, and I am happy in recording the father of bishop Corbet as a benefactor to my native village.

[120]

AN ELEGIE
UPON
THE DEATH OF HIS OWNE FATHER.

Was first wife of John Ramsey, viscount Haddington in Scotland, and daughter of Robert Radcliffe, earl of Sussex. Her marriage was celebrated by Ben Jonson, in a masque presented at court on the Shrove-Tuesday at night (1608)[72]; and here is her monody by Corbet.

She had two sons, Charles and James, and a daughter, Elizabeth, who all died young. Her father died without surviving issue, September 22d, 1629.

Her husband, who was a great favourite with king James, survived her, and was created baron of Kingston upon Thames, and earl of Holderness, 22 Jan. 1620-1. He had a second wife, daughter of sir William Cockayne, alderman of London[73]:

But his first lady, the subject of the present article, was evidently dead before his elevation to the English peerage.

[124]

AN ELEGIE
UPON THE DEATH OF
THE LADY HADDINGTON,
WHO DYED OF THE SMALL POX.

The failure of success in the representation of this play has been detailed in the Life of the Bishop: indeed it seems to have subjected the Oxonians to much ridicule, which the elegant bishop King[74] joined with Corbet in retorting. One of the numerous banters on this occasion is recorded by Wood, and deserves to be preserved:

[132]

ON
CHRIST-CHURCH PLAY
AT WOODSTOCK.

Of the romantic expedition to Spain of “Baby Charles and Stennie” an account is given by Clarendon, and a more minute narrative by Arthur Wilson in his Life of James. The voyage was conducted with great secrecy, and very few attendants: but it is worthy remark, that Archee “the princes fool-man” was one of the party. Howell, who was at Madrid at the time, says, “Our cousin Archy hath more privilege than any, for he often goes with his fool’s-coat where the Infanta is with her Meninas and ladies of honour, and keeps a blowing and blustering amongst them, and flurts out what he list.” One of his “flurts” at the Spaniards is related in the same page[75].

[135]

The poem, as far as it describes the various rumours during the absence of the parties, a period of great consternation, is curious: the report of Buckingham’s “difference with the Cond’ Olivares” rests upon better authority than the then opinion of the poet.

They left the court Feb. 17th, and returned to England the 5th Oct. 1623.

[136]

A LETTER
TO
THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
BEING WITH THE PRINCE IN SPAINE.

Is described by his wife, the celebrated lady Anne Clifford, daughter of George earl of Cumberland, in the manuscript memoirs of her life, as a man “in his own nature of a just mind, of a sweet disposition, and very valiant in his own person. He had a great advantage in his breeding, by the wisdom and devotion of his grandfather, Thomas Sackville, earl of Dorset, and lord high treasurer of England, who was then held one of the wisest of that time; by which means he was so good a scholar in all manner of learning, that, in his youth, when he was at the university, there was none of the young nobility then students there that excelled him. He was also a good patriot to his country, and generally well beloved in it;[143] much esteemed in all the parliaments that sat in his time, and so great a lover of scholars and soldiers, as that, with an excessive bounty towards them, or indeed any of worth that were in distress, he did much diminish his estate; and also with excessive prodigality in house-keeping, and other noble ways at court, as tilting, masking, and the like; prince Henry being then alive, who was much addicted to those noble exercises, and of whom he was much beloved.” He died at the age of 35, March 28th, 1624.

I should be very unwilling to deprive Corbet of the praise due to a poem of so much intrinsic merit; but as the following epitaph is printed among the poems of his contemporary, King, bishop of Chichester, and again attributed to the latter in MS. Ashmole, A 35, Corbet’s claim to the composition of it is rendered very disputable.

[144]

ON
THE EARL OF DORSETS DEATH.

(Born May 29th[77], 1630; died 6th of February, 1684-5.)

UPON THE APPARITION OF A STARR, AND THE FOLLOWING ECCLYPSE.

The only son of the poet, was born (if the authority of a manuscript in the Harleian collection may be relied upon, in which this pathetic address appears,) on the 10th of November, 1627. From the following injunction in the bishop’s will[79], it seems he was educated at one of the universities: “I commit and commend the nurture and maintenance of my sonne and daughter unto the faythfull and loving care of my mother-in-law, declaring my intent, &c., that my sonne be placed at Oxford or Cambridge, where I require him, upon my blessing, to apply himself to his booke studiously and industriously.”

In 1648 he administered to the will[80] of his grandmother Anne Hutton; and of the further circumstances of his life I am ignorant.

[150]

TO HIS SON,
VINCENT CORBET,

On his Birth-Day, November 10, 1630, being then Three Years old.

Born in 1573; died March 31, 1631.

She died October the 2d, Anno 1634.

(From MS. Harl. No. 464.)

Seems a sort of imitation of Horace’s Brundusian journey. Davenant has “a journey into Worcestershire” (page 215. fol. edit.) in a similar vein, says Headley. If the popularity of this poem may be estimated by the frequency of manuscript copies in the public libraries, we may conclude it was valued very highly, as the transcripts of it are very numerous.

Misled by one of these, I considered this poem, the longest and most celebrated of bishop Corbet’s productions, to have been written in 1625: subsequent examination has induced me to place the date of its composition considerably earlier: the reasons on which this opinion is grounded, will be detailed in the following analysis of the Tour.

[157]

Our author commences his journey from Oxford in a company consisting of four persons, two of whom then were, and two of whom wished to be, doctors: but there is nothing in the course of the tour to show us which of the classes he belonged to, unless we are to suppose, from the shortness of cash which discovers itself before the termination of his adventures, that he was rather one of those who had wealth in expectancy than in possession.

They set off on the 10th of August, and, long as the days are about that period, had a good chance of sharpening their appetites by their first half-day’s ride, thirty miles before dinner, when they sat down to dine with Dr. Christopher Middleton, at his rectory of Ashton on the Wall in Northamptonshire, about eight miles north of Banbury; where we learn that their entertainment was better than the looks of their host, whom they left in the[158] evening, and rode to Flore, about twelve miles north-east, and took up their lodgings for the night.

At Flore they were entertained by a country surgeon, or (in the vulgar phrase) bone-setter, the tenant of Dr. Leonard Hutton, the rector of Flore and dean of Christ-Church, who fed them upon venison.

The third morning they set off for Daventry, about five miles. Here it happened to be the market- and lecture-day: and after having washed down the dust which their throats had acquired in the ride, one of them was summoned by the serjeant at mace to deliver the lecture; for which they were all rewarded with thanks and wine.

The fourth morning they rode to Lutterworth in Leicestershire, about sixteen miles. This was once the benefice of Wickliffe, the father of English reformers; and here the tourist very properly remarks on the double injustice done to that venerable[159] character, first by the Papists in burning his body, and afterwards by the Puritans in destroying the sacred memorial of the interment of his ashes. At Lutterworth they were met by a parson, who though well-beneficed was better-mannered, and was their guide to his dwelling within a mile of Leicester. A note on the older editions of Corbet calls this gentleman the Parson of Heathcot: but there is no place of the name of Heathcot in that neighbourhood; and as, by comparison with other parts of the tour in which miles are mentioned, one mile will be invariably found to signify one and a half at the least; and as less than two reputed miles is accounted only one mile in the distance of places, I presume it was Ayleston, and not Heathcot, where the party rested, and were regaled with stale beer. At length they arrived at Leicester, thirteen miles north of Lutterworth, where, passing over six steeples and two hospitals, (“one hospital twice told,”)[160] which he refers to the eye of Camden, he censures the ignorance of the alms-man, who, notwithstanding it was written on the walls that Henry of Grisemont laid the foundation, told them it was John of Gaunt. Henry Plantagenet, earl of Lancaster, was the first founder of the hospital in the Newark at Leicester in the year 1330, which was considerably enlarged and improved, and converted into a college by his son Henry, the good duke of Lancaster, in 1355; but there is a more general sense in which the word Founder is used, namely, that in which it is extended to all those who inherit, either by descent or by purchase, the patronage under the original founder. And in this sense it may be applied to John of Gaunt, the second duke of Lancaster, who married his near kinswoman the heiress of the former duke, and perfected both in buildings and endowments what the others had commenced. The other hospital alluded to, is that founded by[161] William Wigston, merchant of the Staple, about 1520.

The tourist next observes on the extortion of the innkeeper, who, reckoning by the number of his guests rather than the goodness of his provision, charged them seven shillings and sixpence for bread and beer; but, after a kindly caution to the publican to forbear such cozenage upon Divines in future, lest they should be suspected of drinking as freely as he charges them, turns from a subject so unworthy of his Pegasus in disgust, and inquires if this be not the burial-place of Richard the Third; and, finding that there is no memorial for him, moralizes upon the neglected state in which he lies, as the eventual fate of all greatness: then from Richard proceeds to Wolsey, who was also buried at Leicester, and produces similar reflections; and from Wolsey, to William the ostler of the inn, who outdoes the company in years as well as drink, and calls them to horse[162] as imperiously as if he had a warrant from the earl of Nottingham.

The earl of Nottingham here glanced at was Charles lord Howard of Effingham, lord high admiral of England under queen Elizabeth and king James the First. He died in 1624.

From Leicester to Nottingham (twenty-five miles) the travellers pass without noticing any thing on their way, until approaching the latter place they cross the Trent, pray to St. Andrew as they ride up hill, into the town, and observe that the people burrow, like conies, in caverns, from whence the smoke ascends at the feet of the woman who stands on the surface watching, down the chimney, the cooking of her dinner. The part of the town at which they enter is described as the Rocky Parish, higher than the rest; and the church of St. Mary, as embracing her Baby in her arms. From hence they proceed to the Castle, which is described as a ruin, with two statues of giants at the[163] gates, whom the tourist severely censures for their negligence in permitting their charge to come to ruin, and reproaches them with the fidelity of the giants at Guildhall and Holmeby, who had carefully kept the buildings committed to their charge when the founders were dead. The poet might still compliment the giants at Guildhall; but of Holmeby (Holdenby House, Northamptonshire, built by queen Elizabeth’s lord chancellor, sir Christopher Hatton,) not one stone remains upon another: nay, the very memory of the giants might have perished but for the Iter Boreale.

The travellers then go to dinner at the Bull’s Head, where the archbishop of York had been before them, and where their discontent with bed and diet was answered by a reference to the satisfaction which he had received; and where the aged landlord, formerly an ostler, is noticed as a rare example to those who have an itch for gold.

Their next stage was to Newark, (about twenty[164] miles, or, according to the reckoning of the poet, twelve), which is spoken of as no journey, but only a walk; and the banks of the Trent as so fertile and beautiful, that the English river takes away the palm from the celebrated Meander. The pleasure of this part of their journey was not diminished by their reception at Newark, where they met with a friend, out of respect to whom the town united as a family to give the travellers a hearty welcome; and even the landlord of one inn did not repine that they had passed his house to go to another, and the landlord of the inn where they rested was more solicitous of their approbation than his own profit. The very beggars rather prayed for their friend than begged of his guests, and the Puritans were willing to “let the organs play,” if the visitors would tarry.

From Newark they saw Bever (Belvoir) and Lincoln, and would fain have gone there but for the limitation on their purse and horses. At three[165] o’clock they set off, with twenty (thirty) miles to ride, (probably to Melton Mowbray); and having neither guide, nor horse of speed, after losing their way, two hours after sun-set blundered upon a village, from whence they obtained a guide to Loughborough. From thence they set off next morning for Bosworth, (eighteen miles,) but in their way thither are lost in Charley Forest, and ask their way from the travellers they meet about the coal-mines at Coalorton, without receiving an answer; when William, their attendant, seeing a man approach, imagines himself to be in Fairyland. But the party are agreeably surprised by finding him one of the keepers of the forest, who conducts them within view of Bosworth.

At Bosworth they meet with far better treatment than the appearance of the place had promised; and, when their host there, who was their guide the next morning, brought them near to the field on which the battle of Bosworth was[166] fought, are greatly amused by his romantic description of the battle. The guide seems to leave them at Nuneaton in Warwickshire, six miles (about nine) from Bosworth; from whence they proceed to Coventry, nine miles; and from thence, having scarcely had time to dine, depart for Kenilworth, five miles, where they are offended by the indecency of an aged parson, who attended the servant of the lord Leicester, it is presumed, to show them the Castle. The Castle of Kenilworth was once the splendid residence of Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester, one of the favourites of queen Elizabeth, and on his death, in 1588, passed to his son, Robert Dudley, who used the title of earl of Leicester,—but by a decree of the Star-Chamber was declared to be illegitimate, and from disgust at that sentence retired into Italy, under a license for three years; and being summoned by the privy-council, at the instigation of his enemies, to return into England,[167] and refusing to obey the summons, the Castle of Kenilworth was, for his contumacy, seized by the Crown under the statute of Fugitives; and Henry prince of Wales, in the year 1611, purchased a release of the inheritance of it from sir Robert Dudley, who was to have the constableship of the Castle, under prince Henry, for life. It does not appear, however, that sir Robert Dudley resided at Kenilworth afterwards: he probably had little regard for a place of which he had been compelled to relinquish the inheritance. This may account for the neglected state in which it was found by our poet and his companions.

From Kenilworth they proceed to Warwick, three (five) miles, noticing in their way the Cave of the celebrated hero of English romance, Guy earl of Warwick, as also his Pillar: and at Warwick we have a humorous description of the landlady of the inn. From the inn they proceed to the Castle, where they are received by “the lord[168] of all this frame, the honourable Chancellor,” whose politeness and elegance of manners receive favourable notice. Sir Fulk Greville obtained a grant of Warwick Castle from king James the First, in the second year of his reign, (1604,) and was about the same time appointed chancellor of the exchequer; and resigned his office of chancellor, on being elevated to the peerage by the title of lord Brooke, 19th of January, 1620-21. It may be observed, that the author of the Iter notices him as an honourable chancellor, not as noble lord; which he certainly would have done if the Iter had not been of an earlier date than 1621.

With sir Fulk Greville they found a prelate of the church, an archdeacon, whom a note in the old editions calls archdeacon Burton. This, I presume, was Samuel Burton, A. M. of Christ-Church, Oxford, who paid first-fruits for the archdeaconry of Gloucester, in the cathedral of Gloucester, the 9th of May, 1607, and died the 14th[169] of June, 1634, and was buried at Dry-Drayton in Gloucestershire. He is described as sufficiently corpulent to deserve the displeasure of the Puritans, whom our author never loses an opportunity of lashing.

From Warwick they arrive at Flore, (about twenty-one miles,) having been able to make both ends (of their purse) meet; and, after staying there four days, arrive at Banbury on St. Bartholomew’s day, (24th of August,) desirous to see what sport the saint would produce there. At this place (where they rested at the sign of the Altar-Stone) the tourist finds the altar converted into an inn, and, judging by the sign, lodged in a chapel, but, by the wine, in a bankrupt tavern; and yet, by the coffins converted into horse-troughs, a church. But though you may judge, by what is found at the inn, that the church is full of monuments, you will be disappointed; for there was not an inscription in the church except[170] the names of the last year’s churchwardens,—with buckets and cobwebs hanging, instead of painted saints, in the windows. In short, the town seems to have been a strange collection of sectaries differing from each other.

From hence he returns to Oxford, twenty-two miles, with as little coin in his purse as sir Walter Raleigh brought from his unsuccessful expedition to Guiana in 1618; between which period and 1621 it is clear the poem was written.

[171]

ITER BOREALE.

To be sung or whiseled to the Tune of “The Meddow Brow,” by the Learned; by the Unlearned, to the Tune of “Fortune.”

(From “Wit Restored,” 8vo. 1658.)

(Ashmole’s Museum, A. 37.)

Was rector of Settrington in Yorkshire, and was presented to the archdeaconry of Ely by Elizabeth the 27th of February 1559-60. In bishop Cox’s Certificatorium (MS. Bennet Col. Lib.) he is returned to the archbishop as “a priest and B. D. usually residing upon his living of Wilberton, appropriated to the archdeaconry, was qualified for preaching, and licensed thereunto by the Queen’s majesty.”

He died, and was buried at Wilberton the 20th of September, 1568.

He is chiefly memorable for his metrical prayer intended to be sung in the church against the Pope and the Turk, of whom he seems to have had the most alarming apprehensions; and in consequence of which he has been ridiculed by sir John Denham, Corbet, Butler, and others.

[229]

TO
THE GHOST
OF
ROBERT WISDOME[119].

The name of this man, (Jones,) which Corbet, for the sake of the rhyme, has corrupted, sufficiently denotes his extraction; and I would have ascertained the time of his death, but the register was not to be found upon application for that purpose.

Antony à Wood says, in his History of the City of Oxford, “Thomas Jonce, a clergyman and inhabitant of this place, (St. Giles’s parish, Oxford,) desiring here to lay his bones, was of note sufficient to excite bishop Corbet to write an epitaph on him.”

‘Say’st thou this of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me?’

[231]

AN EPITAPH
ON
THOMAS JONCE.

(Harl. MS. No. 6396.)

(Ashmole’s Museum, A. 38. Fol. 66.)

Are much admired, says the provincial historian of Glocestershire, for their excellent painted glass. There are twenty-eight large windows, which are curiously painted with the stories of the Old and New Testament: the middle windows in the choir, and on the west side of the church, are larger than the rest; those in the choir represent the history of our Saviour’s Crucifixion; the window at the west end represents Hell and Damnation; those on the side of the church, and over the body, represent the figures in length of the prophets, apostles, fathers, martyrs and confessors, and also the persecutors of the church. The painting was designed by Albert Durer, an eminent Italian Master: the colours are very lively, especially in the drapery: some of the figures are so well finished, that sir Anthony Vandyke affirmed[236] that the pencil could not exceed them. This curious painting was preserved from zealous fury in the great rebellion, by turning the glass upside down.

John Tame, esq. founded this church in the year 1493. He was a merchant, and took a prize-ship bound for Rome, in which was this painted glass: he brought both the glass and workmen into England, built the church for the sake of the glass, and dedicated it to the Virgin Mary.

Atkyns’s Hist. of Glocestershire, p. 226. 1768. fol.

It is to be observed that the tradition of the famous Albert Durer having furnished the drawings will not, as Mr. Dallaway justly observes, bear the test of chronology; for he was not twenty years of age when these windows were put up; nor is it probable that he had then attained to such proficiency—to say nothing of the time necessary for the perfecting such works.

[237]

UPON FAIRFORD WINDOWS.

(Misc. MS. Poems, Mus. Brit. Bib. Sloan. No. 1446.)

(Mus. Ashm. No. 1153.)

Quam sit semper vobis facile, et pronum, justo servire, sobriisque lachrimis obtemperare, ipsi mihi vos dixistis modo, qui egregio oratori, et invicto argumento fideliter cessistis, mihi tantum post consumptum humorem, et historiæ, meæ fidem vestram et suspiria præstituri. Si qua autem unquam ageretur causa quæ suis viribus staret, neque patrono aliquo, aut oratore indigeret, hæc ipsa profecto hodierna est, quæ nec adversarium infestum habet, nec facilem auditorem postulat; hæc ipsa est, quæ in omni familia versata, vexata, compressa, ad forum postea, et cœlum provocat, humano generi se dat obviam, et una Britannia[250] nunc orbem replet. Tam multa, variaque unius mors est, ut ubique moriatur; tam frequens dolor ut humanitatem omnem hac ipsa cogitatione imbuat. Nescit enim domestica esse aut paucorum fama, pervia simul et ambitiosa, utrumque simul minatur polum, rumpetque mœnia aut transibit caprificus: ideoque facti repetitione aliqua opus est; ad metus vestros, et necessitates descendite, affectus vestros interrogate, quis desiderii modus aut finis. Dicite tandem utrum timere quicquid possitis, aut amare sine Henrico, sitque ille miseriæ vestræ vera causa, qui felicitati vestræ sola spes emicuit—quare aures ego hodie vestras non appello, sed oculos, neque auditores ut olim neque censores alloquar, sed homines, sed Britannos. Adeste igitur, Anglosissimi Academici, lassi, queruli, mihique per hunc mensem a primo hujus nuncio ruinæ, non tacito sed muto post lachrimas jam deliberatas aspirate, et dolorem illum, quem vel vita nostra vincere non possumus, data quasi[251] opera dolendo leniamus. Exanimat enim possessorem ægrum luctus longus, et prodigus mentem sine sensu vulnerat, et quasi jam humanitas potius aut natura, quæ morbus dici vellet, lachrimarum suarum epulis impleri gaudet, et imperiosa consuetudine satiatur. Quare redeat jam ad se oculus unusquisque vestrûm, animamque in oculos arripiat. Henricum cogitet sive principem sive nostrum et vincet, credo ratio, aut suadebit pietas, ut omnes hodie simus Heracliti sive enim ad majorum sepulchra et imagines, proavosque ejus multum remotissimos revertimur, honor est et crescit acervus, nec sine centum regibus potest prodire, si patremque matremque jam superstites, quod sæpius proferre juvat jam superstites, jam supra cyathum, et cultrum, pyram flammamque jam superstites, et si quid votis nostris precibusque jam litare possumus, sero superstaturos. Hos si repetimus Deus est in utroque parente. Si cunabula respicimus, et Lucinam ejus, quid in illa[252] infantia non debuit esse plus quam mortale, quæ a sponsoribus Belgiis et immortali Elizabetha Christo initiata, et æternitati, pueritiam autem nullam habuit, qui annum ... unum excessit ex ephebis, et tanquam tempus præcipitare mallet, quam expectare, annos non ætate sed virtute æstimat, neque hominem se longævum esse sed virum cupit. In omni actione, rebusque gestis se juvenem præbuit, solum in affectu senem, et suos annos sic explevit, ut nonagenarium esse illum vellet quis libenter agnoscere. Senectutem pariter nec habuit nec exoptavit, neque exhæreditavit eum morbus, sed industriam, vitæque suum patrimonium reliquum aut laboribus vendidit, aut studio decoxit. Diuturnioris spem vitæ ei natura dederat, dare melioris non poterat; indicium prorsus quod illum cæca fortuna non vidisset maximum; mens pariter condidisset optimum, adeone raro succumbit tenuiori, et æternum elementum gloriæ perituræ auræ infeliciter serviet? Adeone virtus[253] qua vivimus minor erit vilissimo illius aeris haustu, quo vivendum est. Atqui redeat in Chaos unde prognatum est, ingratum illud aeris elementum, si malis tantum indulgeat, invideat bonis, si inutili populo spiret, principibus lateat, principibus huic. Ecquis mihi vestrûm hanc Syntaxim imputat, illum ut dicam principibus, qui et multus erat, virtutemque in aliis fractam et remissam, totam sibi suisque imperiis mancipasset; unaque sua anima effecit præstantissima, ut si veteres philosophos interrogamus, infinitum animarum exercitum in hoc uno extitisse crederent? Sed consulite memoriæ vestræ et officio, historiam revocate, narrate Principem; quisquamne melior? quisquamne major? Deo scilicet et cœlo stirpeque sua animoque proximus: non tamen ideo humani oneris, aut terreæ vicinitatis immemor, Deumque immortalem quem metu subditissimo coluit, semper et admiratus est; precibus imperatoriis, et quasi libera servitute quotidie vincit; movet hortatu,[254] docet Salomonis æmulus familiam sensu, populum fama concitat, prælucet ipse omnibus pietate, neque autoritate bonos sed exemplo facit. Irasci aliquando, neque potuit, neque vellet, neque pœna cujusque, sed pœnitentia contentus est, credo itaque ut qui sine felle viveret, sine sanguine imperaret. Neque amabilis magis, et mansuetus quam domesticus et frugalis; servorum nomina, studia, vitæque instituta cognovit, in domo sua mensaque ipse paterfamilias, nimirum ut qui Œcumenicus esse debuit, Œconomicus quandoque esse posset. Studia sua et exercitia corporis, (quam cœli et Decembris patientissimus erat) campestria plerumque et in sole fuerunt.

et quo longius a luxuria, oppidoque decessit, eo proxime accessit famæ et probitati. Rei militaris non tam studiosus, quam peritus fuit, eoque timore simul a transmarinis optimè ... redde Deo populum suum, I, curre per Alpes, Romamque[255] diu personatam et histrionicam aut vero cultu induas, aut falso spolies. Hoc unum restat faciendum, tuisque illud artibus permissum est, et in tua solius sæcula servatum opus. Nec male præsagiebat Roma præstigiatrix illa famelica, quæ longo te jejunio et siti petiit, quæ ferro et igni liberalem dat operam, morti principum plus quam scientiæ et religioni incumbit, et quasi jam virtuti morbus adhæreret, potius quam invidiæ, nullam non pyxidem, herbamque eruit, quo suis exorcismis, et impudicæ nequitiæ superstes non fiat. Tu vero quam facile illudis ... ejus, et crudelem industriam antevertis, ni virtus ipsa pro Jesuita, et febris pro veneno est. His tu remediis hac demum medicina sanaris (H. P.) et dum medicus ... studium, gloria tua, et proprium meritum interficiunt, unus Peleo juveni non sufficit, Henrico sufficeret (ut transeam finitimos) Sabaudia et Hispania ab utraque India timeris, nec audet vexisse tuam Oceanus carinam, atque iisdem non ita pridem[256] ægrotavit Henricus magnus ille Galliæ rex, qui ferro et hostili parricidio transfixus Henricis omnibus mortem propinavit.

Verum credo nihil horum est (Academici) orationis meæ horribilius est non religionis. Egoque cæsus olim pulvere Novembris, hodie cæcubio, hodie insanio. Nos utinam vani: Totus igitur est in apparatu Henricus noster quem quærimus, jamque aut equo insidet, aut choræis hasta vel gladio dominatur, ipse Hymenæus etiam et nuptias coronat, ovant et triumphant una dulcissima mortalium, pax, Anna et Jacobus, et fervet annis[257] nitentibus fratri Carolus et totus in illos. Invitant, properant, parant Fredericus et Elizabetha, et ver illud perpetuum et poeticum hac solum in regione deprehenditur. Æstate prima Woodstochiam suam cogitat Henricus, et vicinam academiam adventu primo, scholaresque (quos vocat suos) accersit, ut habeat convivas musas, et si placuerit, convictores; juvat et meminisse potestis, qualis ibi tum in scena prodierit, in qua ipse erat pro triumpho, ipse pro spectaculo. Quotus illa nocte adest Henricus?—Quotus princeps, quam magnificus, quam innocens, cui vel esuriens Jesuita potuit ignoscere. O dementiam suavem, gratissimum errorem, et religiosum delirium, in vobis redivivum Principem, Britanni, jubilate Henricum, O beatum impostorem.

Qui istud nec audiunt, nec credunt malum, nos miseros, qui in illa hostium multitudine et via fortunæ viximus, et nescire dolorem non minus sit difficile, quam cognitum extinguere. Quod si vox populi,[258] quæ aliquando Dei esse dicitur, eadem potuisset de morte tua et fama decernere, caruisses hodie lachrimis, et longo nostrorum funeri superfuisses. In te enim non tam morientis fatum, quam pacis, quam reipublicæ situm est; non peris sed destruis, neque mors hæc dat, sed confusio; diluvium est, nec caret prodigio. Oraculum est, nec sine sacerdote aut pontifice potest intelligi. Quam non mortalis eras Henricus, mortalis; adeone nonus esse nunquam potes, et nullus esses, brevis est quia bonus, minorque quia melior.

Nobis interim quod reliquum, quam ut festinetis juvenes, animamque principis fugitivam, per silentium et solitudinem sequamini: ut longitudinem vitamque inimicis posthac exoptetis, sociisque vestris, fratribusque suadeatis, quam sit senectus post fatum principis vilis et ignominiosa. Nos interim viri, qui in longiori ludibrio constituti sumus, consulamus huic vitio, facinusque ætatis lachrimis expiemus; et experiamur modo utrum anima principis[259] excellens, quæ palatio sui corporis clarissimo valedixit, in nostris animis et hisce lachrimarum insulis habitare velit, certemus invicem pietate, et ingenioso luctu contendamus, summus ne dolor feriet non volentem satis, nec viventem minus. Dixi.

(Ex Libro cui Titulus “Bodleiomnema; seu, Carmina et Orationes in Obitum ejus.” Oxon. 1613. 4to.)

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