King Charlemagne, Tom Stukeley, and the rest,
Adieu!-To arms, to arms, to glorious arms,
With noble Norris and victorious Drake,
Under the sanguine cross, brave England's badge,
To propagate religious piety;

And hew a passage with your conquering swords
By land and sea; where ever Phoebus' eye,
Th' eternal lamp of heaven lends us light:
By golden Tagus or the western Inde,
Or through the spacious bay of Portugal,
The wealthy ocean main, the Tyrrhene sea,
From great Alcides' pillar branching forth
Even to the gulf that leads to lofty Rome;
There to deface the pride of Antichrist,
And pull his paper walls and popery down.
A famous enterprise for England's strength,
To steel your swords on Avarice' triple crown,
And cleanse Augeus' stalls in Italy.

To arms, my fellow-soldiers! sea and land
Lie open to the voyage you intend :

And sea or land, bold Britons, far or near,
Whatever course your matchless virtue shapes,
Whether to Europe's bounds or Asian plains,
To Afric's shore or rich America,

Down to the shades of deep Avernus' crags,
Sail on:-pursue your honours to your graves.
Heaven is a sacred covering for your heads,
And every climate Virtue's tabernacle.

To arms, to arms, to honourable arms!
Hoist sails; weigh anchors up; plow up the seas,
With flying keels; plow up the land with swords.
In God's name venture on: and let me say
To you, my mates, as Cæsar said to his,

Striving with Neptune's hills" You bear (quoth he)

Cæsar and Cæsar's fortune in your ships."
You follow them, whose swords successful are:
You follow Drake by sea, the scourge of Spain,
The dreadful Dragon, terror to your foes:
Victorious in his return from Inde:

In all his high attempts unvanquished.
You follow noble Norris, whose renown
Won in the fertile fields of Belgia,

Spreads by the gates of Europe, to the courts
Of Christian kings and heathen potentates.

You fight for Christ, and England's peerless Queen,
Elizabeth, the wonder of the world!

Over whose throne the enemies of God

Have thunder'd erst their vain successless braves.

O ten times treble happy men, that fight
Under the cross of Christ and England's queen ;
And follow such as Drake and Norris are.
All honours do this cause accompany;
All glory on these endless honours waits.
These honours and this glory shall he send,
Whose honour and whose glory you defend.”

T. P.

ART. LXVIII. A Skeltonical Salutation

Or condigne gratulation,

And just vexation

Of the Spanish nation;

That in a bravado,

Spent many a Crusado,

In setting forthe an Armado

England to invado.

Imprinted at London for Toby Cooke. 1589. 4to.

Such is the title to this national pasquinade, in commemoration of the failure of Spain by her invincible naval armament. The iteration of metre is all that approaches in it to the style of Skelton; as the commencement may serve to shew.

8

"O King of Spaine!

Is it not a paine

To thy heart and braine,

And every vaine,

To see thy traine

For to sustaine,
Withouten gaine,

The world's disdaine;

Which despise

As toies and lies,

With shoutes and cries,

Thy enterprise ;

As fitter for pies
And butter-flies
Then men so wise?

O waspish King!
Where's now thy sting,
Thy dart, or sling,
Or strong bow-string,
That should us wring,
And under bring;

Who every way
Thee vexe and pay,
And beare the sway

By night and day,

To thy dismay,

In battle array,

And every fray?

O pufte with pride!
What foolish guide

Made thee provide
To over-ride

This land so wide,

From side to side;

And then untride
Away to slide,

And not to abide;

But all in a ring

"Away to fling?" &c.

T. P.

ART. LXIX. Fragment of the tragedy of Gismonde of Salerne, written 1568. MS.

ROBERT WILMOT in 1592 published the tragedy of Tancred and Gismunda, the joint production of himself, and four other students, members of the Society of the Inner Temple. In the dedication, addressed to the students, he says, "I am now bold to present Gismund to your sights, and unto your's only, for therefore have I conjured her by the love that hath been these twenty-four years betwixt us, that she wax not so proud of her fresh painting, to straggle in her plumes abroad, but to contain herself within the walls of your house; so am I sure she shall be safe from the tragedian tyrants of our time, who are not ashamed to affirm that there can no amorous poem favour of any sharpness of wit, unless it be seasoned with scurrilous words." It was therefore written as early as 1568, and probably, about that period, presented by the gentlemen before Q. Eliza

'beth. Wilmot printed it as "newly revived and polished according to the decorum of these days." Otherwise from the following fragment, undoubtedly a portion of the original play, it appears to have been written in alternate rhime. The Epilogue was new modelled, and the first sonnet seems hitherto unknown. [See Dodsley-Collection of Old Plays, by Reed, Vol. II. p. 154.

"But in thie brest if eny sparke remaine
Of thie dere love. If euer yet I coulde
So moche of the deserve, or at the least,
If with my last desire I may obtaine

This at thie handes, give me this one request,
And lett me not spend my last breath in vaine.
My lief desire I not, which neither is

In the to geave, nor in myself to save,
Allthowghe I wolde. Nor yet I aske not this
As mercie for myne Erle in ought to crave;
Whom I so well do knowe howe thow hast slaine.
No, no, father! thie hard and crwell wronge
With pacience, as I may, I will sustaine

In woefull lief, which nowe shall not be longe;
But this one suite father if vnto me

Thow graunte, thowghe I cannot the same requite
Th' immortall godde shall render vnto the
This due rewarde, and largely guardon it,
That, since it pleasde the not thus secretly,
I might enioye my love, his cores and myne
Maye natheles together graved be,
And in one tombe our bodies both to shrine
With which this small request eke do I praie,
That on the same, graven in brass, thow place