-affords a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and II.n ur. It is found at the end of " "Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragicomedie," written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to, 1623*. Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.

This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.

SYREN.

COME, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.

Here may we sit and view their toyle,
That travaile in the deepe,

Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.

ULYSSES.

5

When pleasure leaves a touch at last To shew that it was ill.

Faire nymph, if fame or honour were

Than ever nature did.

To be attain'd with ease,

Then would I come and rest with thee,

And leave such toiles as these : But here it dwels, and here must I

With danger seek it forth;

Our sports are without blood; The world we see by warlike wights Receives more hurt than good.

55

ULYSSES.

But yet the state of things require These motions of unrest,

were written by himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear friends " anonymoi." Among them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times.

In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies, this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq.; but erroneously, being probably written before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published 11608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. II. 23.

XI.

THIS little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton in 1639, Et. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, entitled, " Reliquiæ Wottoniana," 1651, 12mo.; compared with one or two other copies.

How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill:

Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepar'd for death; Not ty'd unto the world with care

Of princes ear, or vulgar breath:

10

Who hath his life fron. rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat :
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruine make oppressors great:
Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice: Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise; 15
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day

With a well-chosen book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath ali.

20

XII.

-was a famous robber, who lived about the mdle of the last century, if we may credit the histories and story-books of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these. stories have probably no other authority, than the records of Grub-street: At least the " Gilderoy," who is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo, is a copy of this ballad, which, though corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Queen of Scots: ex. gr.

"The Queen of Scots possessed nought,
That my love let me want:
Forcow and ew to me he brought,

And ein whan they were scant."

These lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.

GILDEROY was a bonnie boy,

Had roses tull his shoone,

His stockings were of silken soy, Wi' garters hanging doune :

To see sae trim a boy;

It was, I weene, a comelie sight,

5

Nane eir durst meet him man to man,

He was my jo and hearts delight, My handsome Gilderoy.

He was sae brave a boy;

At length wi' numbers he was tane,

My winsome Gilderoy.

90

And siker in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.

95

Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away,
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay;

What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.

Still shall each returning season

Sufficient for our wishes give ;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.

Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.
And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go a wooing in my boys.

-was published in a small collection of poems, entitled, "Euthemia, or the Power of Harmony; &c." 1756, written, in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who never allowed them to be published, and withheld his name till it could no longer be concealed. The following copy was furnished by the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose, and for which the Author's indulgence was intreated. In this edition it was intended to reprint the Author's own original copy; but, as that may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Collection, vol, i. 1783, p. 161, it was thought the reader of taste would wish to have the variations preserved; they are therefore still retained here, which it is hoped the worthy author will excuse with his wonted Liberality.

Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Through a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the

torches. It goes winding a great way under

ground, is crost by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock: many of these are evident petrifactions: which, on account of their singular forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem.

Is aunciente days tradition showes
A base and wicked elfe arose,
The Witch of Wokey hight:
Oft have I heard the fearfull tale
From Sue, and Roger of the vale,
On some long winter's night.
Deep in the dreary dismall cell,
Which seem'd and was yeleped hell,
This blear-eyed hag did hide :
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,
She chose to form her guardian trayne,
And kennel near her side.

Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night-howling thro' the rock:
No wholesome herb could here be found;
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd every flock.

5

10

is founded on a real act, at nappened in the island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the present reign. The editor owes the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger, who was an eminent physician in that island when this tragical incident happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman the public are indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude, printed in the 4th vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany, p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sublimest images in nature. The reader will pardon the insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the author:

O Solitude, romantic maid,

Whether by nodding towers you tread, Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom, Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, Or climb the Andes' clifted side, Or by the Nile's coy source abide, Or starting from your half-year's sleep From Hecla view the thawing deep, Or at the purple dawn of day Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c. alluding to the account of Palmyra published by

Author of a poem on the "Culture of the Sugar-Cane," c. published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins.

e late ingenious travellers, and the manner in which they were struck at the first sight of those magnificer ruins by break of day*.

THE north-eas. wina aia priskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd;

Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall;
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.

A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,

10

Nor once in thought or deed would stray, Tho' ladies sought his hand.