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parallel portrait of my Lady Goe-gay, which is, indeed, a pleasant piece of painting.

Not know my Lady Goe-gay, the sprucest dame in city or court! her father was frugall, forgetting he was Cæsar; but shee flaunts it out, remembring she is Cæsar's daughter. Methinkes I now see her, as I saw her last; how trimly deckt in her purple and fine linnen! Shee weares upon her backe, to what shee never laid her hands. Earth, and wormes, and beasts, and nations, there are, that live, and labour, for what she soyles, and teares, and spends: their excrement and sweat, take care to provide her, what shee scarce takes paines to put on. The good huswife and applauded, seeketh wool and flax; she layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands touch the distaffe; and so cloaths both her and her houshold. Out upon these home-spunne threads! these signe like habit, like condition: farre fetcht, and deare bought are for our ladies. One country and nation must breed, another kemb, another spinne, another weave, another dresse, another shape out, and another trim up their wearings. Alas! weak creatures! they see not their beggary in these sundry borrowings: nor mind how fraile a carcase and vile, is shrouded under so gorgeous happings. Women's supplimentall art does but the rather bewray nature's defects; perfuming, painting, starching, decking, these make some annoyance and uncomelinesse, though lesse apparant, yet more suspected. Wee gaze with greedinesse and delight upon a curious and glorious sepulchre; and yet, notwithstanding, we conceive and abhorre what is within. Methought she bare herselfe so nicely and demurely, as though her body had been starcht and gumm'd, according to her cloaths: perhaps (shee carries them so answerably) shee tooke aime by her glasse, at once, to set both her vesture and gesture in the right fashion. Ah! their silly folly! that metamorphize nature into art, and carry themselves more like pictures, than like creatures. Oh! blot not out the lovely image of God in faining and framing so vaine a shaping to yourselves! how she glittered (forehead, eares, bosome, wrists, and fingers) in her gems, jewels, bracelets, and rings! she likened her lustre to the moone and stars; and thought her lesse clay, when so bedaubed with a polished rubbish. Who might then prize her worth, that bare many good men's estates upon her little finger? shee little considered how many fingers were worne, and wearied, to make that one finger shine. This is not only one of our vanities, but one of our superstitions; that we can (against our reason and knowledge) believe that the whole substance of a great patrimony may be valuably transubstantiated into the quantity of a little stone. Gemmes, what are they, but gums or the accretions or congelations of brighter water and earth? they come but from a more subtile compacted sulphur and mercury; and yet we thinke the very heavens concurred with the earth to their commixtion; and so the sunne left part of his shining in them. Mere notionall is their value, which is in the opinion, not in the thing; they are worth nothing, only if you can but thinke them so. The merchant's adventure hath transported them, the lapidarie's craft hath polished them, the vaine man's credulity hath esteemed them, and

the rich man's superfluitie hath enhaunced them. These be but rich men's gawdy trifles; as the painted gew-gawes bee for their children."

There is yet another species of pride, the description of which we must extract, and which is excellently well written.

"But of all your lofty crew; have you heard of him, that is proud of this; that he is not proud? one that glories, vainly, even in the contempt of vaine glory. You have many of his sect and sort: he seemes lowly, but he grudges to be despised; he cares not to be poore, but he is loth to want: he goes barely, fares hardly, lies coldly; an holy man I wis and mortified! but that he boasts as much of this, as you could of the contrary. A fained humility puffes up more, than a noted pride, and is so much the more evill and odious, as it seemes to bee otherwise. Tush man! (be he as thou wouldst thinke, another to thyself) I can as well see his proud heart through his torne coat, as thine, through thy slasht doublet. Thou proudly abhorrest his sordid ragges; he also spurnes and tramples thy gay garments, and with another kinde of pride. Thy ambition urges thee to give, and he refuses thy gift, for he also hath his ambition: boast thou before him, thou art Alexander, the king; and hee'le bragge with thee-hee's Diogenes the dogge. Pride is not alwayes from endowments within, nor yet from outward accruments: a proud heart oft goes together with a beggar's purse and coat.

"I'll now tell thee of one thou knowest not; heed him well; thou yet knowest not him whom thou seest: I tell thee (chuse thee whether thou thinke me so, my ayme is, that thou be so thyselfe) I am not proud, and good reason why, I have nothing, I know nothing, to be proud of. Riches, what are they, but a spreading, a moving, a glittering earth?-hardly and evilly gotten, doubtfull to keep, and dangerdus, soone and sorrowfully lost? Honour, what is it, but an imposed, rather a supposed hight and deeme? a mere nothing in itselfe; but only is more or lesse, as others reckon it. Men are like counters, all of the same mould and stampe, only when we cast up their account, we number them from a farthing to a pound. What is beauty, but a superficies of colour and proportion, or a shadowed shape and hue? a red clay, mingled with snow; a flower, which, ere, it yet flourishes, is, prone to fade; crop it untimely, and it lowres while you looke upon it; let it stand awhile, and it withers upon the stalke: the frost of a fever makes it droope downwards, and an aged winter makes it quite wither away. What is strength and stoutnesse, but a stiffer compact, or more solide couchednesse of the joynts and bloud? which (say art, nor might can yet subdue) sicknesse, age, or death, will once enfeeble. I have seene a feather and a wall, more beauteous than a woman; and know an oxe or an oake to be stronger than a man. A lion will outstand man, a tiger out-run him, a stagge out-leap him, a dolphin out-swimme him."

C

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The next portait is of anger; It is not so good as the preceding, but is remarkable for the volubility with which the au

thor pours out his wordy description of the different symptoms, by which it is distinguished.

"See-see! hee's all on a froth and fume: looke on him well, and like him worse. His head startles, haires bristle, browes wrinkle, eyes sparkle, teeth chatter, tongue stammers, lips quaver, joynts tremble, hands clap, fingers twitter, feet wander; his bloud rises, stomacke fills, veines swell; his heart burnes, breast boyles, breath shortens, colour goes and comes-now red as firé-now pale as clout,-now rashly hot and flaming-now fearefully wanne and chill. What uncouth alterations of mind? Did you ever see suche franticke anticke gestures of body? in this glasse (I warne you all) behold, and abhorre, yourselves. Did he here also see himselfe, he would scarce know himselfe; yet scarce that, ere loath himselfe. The man quite marres a good face of his owne. How uncomely and loathsome is his mind now (could you marke it) that works these distempers, and distractions in his body? he seemes, me thinkes, as ugly as outragious; and his features not more unseemely than his feats. Marke him now; now he stands, now starts, now stampes, now stares, now shrugges, now scratches, now snuffes, now grinnes, now gapes, now wrings: such apish tricks, such bedlam prancks, as you would judge him, in his fitt, either a foole or madman; and who will thinke you other, in his case? Anger is a short madnesse. Ah, peevish passion, that thus distempers and distracts us! of all our hard and adverse affections, the most harsh and churlish: the rest have some easement; this only will no mitigation feare hath some boldnesse, sorrow some joy, despayre some hope; this fury only hath no mercy: they move us, but this inrages; they disturbe, but this confounds our quiet.

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Yet more tricks with this angry ape; come aloft, Jack. Sirrah, how doe your fellow brutes startle and bestirre them in a moved mood? See the sport; he now rampes like a lion, bristles like a boare, foames like a beare, kicks like a horse, stampes like a bull, pushes like a ram, grinnes like a dogge, scratches like a cat, swells like a toad, hisses like a snake, bills like a cocke, tugges like a goose, buzzes like a beetle, stings like a waspe, and now mumpes and mowes like himselfe : nay about, Jacke; he now bends his browes, gnashes his teeth, scratches his head, teares his haire, beats his breast, wrings his hands, smites the post with his fist, and spurns the dust before him with his feet. The angry ape, said I; I should have said, the ape of anger. There is no savagenesse of beasts, which he here imitates not, if not exceeds: nay, hee'le follow the very fiends, in his fury."

To each of the three parts is appended a sort of epitaph. That on anger is the best, and is really a curiosity.

“Good reader know,

That commest nigh,

Here lies he low,

That look't so high.

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Both poore and nak't,
That was gay cloath'd;
Of all forsak❜t,
Who others loath'd.
He once thought all
Envi'd his worth;
Nor great, nor small,
Now grudge his turfe.
The heavenly cope
Was his ambition :
Three cubits' scope
Is his fruition.
He was above all;
God above him :
He did not love all;
Nor God love him.

He, that him taught,
First to aspire,

Now hath him caught,
And payes his hire."

To complete the series of portraits, we should extract the one which he gives of the covetous man.

"Wearish wretch; so like a flea-biter hee lookes: Say as you see, is he not mostly wry-neckt, crompe-shouldred, pale-fac't, thincheekt, hollow-eyed, hooke-nos'd, beetle-brow'd, purse-lipt, gauntbelly'd, rake-backt, buckle-hamm'd, stump-legg'd, splay-footed, dryfisted, and crooke-fingered; with a learing looke, slow breath, stealing pace, squeaking voice: his tall hat, and tattered cloak, thread-bare buskins, and cobbled shooes, a swagging pouch, and a spadle-staffe; and if you reckon him onely by his coat and carcasse, one would scarce bestow the hanging of him, to have them both. They say, commonly, ill humours, ill manners; but here, certainly, ill manners, ill members; for (could you see into him) he is not more ill-favoured, than ill-conditioned."

*

"Loe, the covetous carle! what a needy niggard it is: oh, 'tis a scraping churle! out on him, greedy gripe! a very gut-head, he hath asses' eares direct; a forehead, an it were to set his leekes on; he sees well, an his eyes were uncast: I wonder he is not ring'd for rooting; you may see your face in his so transparant cheeks; a head he hath like a moule, an his nailes were growne; and a foot to shovell the street before him. Hateful miscreant! how hath he worne and. wrested himselfe from God's good making? His steeple hat hath harboured many a thousand, and his woollen cap serves to keepe warme his wits; his weather-beaten cloake he had by inheritance; and hee meanes to make it in his will: he hath forgot the making of his dou

blet; but it puts him (ever and anon) in mind of repairing: his breeches are in the fashion, not so much for pride, as to save cloth: but how bare soever be his backe, and belly thinne, his bagge is well lined, and he keeps it warme: there's not a hole in his hose, and yet not a place where there hath not beene a hole: his shooes have cost him more the maintaining, than would provide him shooes: he keepes a free house-you may as soone breake your necke as your fast; and a cleane withall-you may as readily wet your shoos as your lips. The man is oft-times so melancholy at home, that he is glad when he may cheare up himselfe at his neighbour's board: and, upon many occasions, growes so desperate, that hee cares not what becomes of him; only he is loth to be at the charges of making himselfe away."

ART. IV. Thealma and Clearchus. A Pastoral History in smooth and easie Verse. Written long since by John Chalkhill, Esq. an Acquaintant and Friend of Edmund Spenser. London, 1683.

This poem was published by the venerable patriarch of anglers, Izaak Walton, as the production of a deceased friend. The only information he has communicated respecting the author, is contained in the intimation on the title-page, that he was "an acquaintant and friend of Edmund Spenser," and in the following brief preface.

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"The reader will find in this book, what the title declares, a pastoral history, in smooth and easie verse; and will in it find many hopes and fears finely painted, and feelingly expressed. And he will find the first so often disappointed, when fullest of desire and expectation; and the latter, so often, so strangely, and so unexpectedly relieved, by an unforeseen Providence, as may beget in him wonder and

amazement.

And the reader will here also meet with passions heightened by easie and fit descriptions of joy and sorrow; and find also such various events and rewards of innocent truth and undissembled honesty, as is like to leave in him (if he be a good natured reader) more sympathizing and virtuous impressions, than ten times so much time spent in impertinent, critical, and needless disputes about religion: and I heartily wish it may do so.

And, I have also this truth to say of the author, that he was in his time a man generally known, and as well beloved; for he was humble, and obliging in his behaviour; a gentleman, a scholar, very innocent and prudent; and indeed his whole life was useful, quiet, and virtuous. God send the story may meet with, or make, all readers like him.

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