As therefore when an armed soldier feels
A testy cur in vain to gnaw his heels,

He minds not him, but spends his blows upon
Those churlish peasants that did set him on;
So I, that know those dogs do but their kind,
Will let them bark, and snarl, and spend their wind,
Till they grow weary.
But let them sit strong

That urge them to it, or I lay along

Their high top-gallant, where each groom shall see
How worthy scorn and infamy they be.

For they, who are their patrons, are such foes
As I might somewhat worthily oppose;
And I'll unmask them so that you shall spy
In them Detraction's true anatomy.

Yea, whereas they have by their malice thought
To have on me their spiteful pleasures wrought,
I'll from their censures an occasion take
To shew how other men a sport shall make
At all detractions; so those slaves undo,
Who that base practice are inclin'd unto.

Rail, they that list; for those men know not yet
What mind I have, who think the man, that writ
This Motto, can be ever brought to fear
Such poor fond things as idle carpers are ;
Nay, rather from those slanders they shall raise,
I will advantage gather for my praise;

While they, that in my shame do take delight, Shall gnaw their flesh through vengeance and

despite,

To see how I unmov'd their envy mock,
And make of them this age's laughing-stock.
For, lest to have prevailed they should seem,
And so grow wise men in their own esteem,
Or by their foolish brags dishearten such
Whose resolutions are not grown so much,
When I at leisure am for recreation,
I'll merry make myself to their vexation.
Yet shall my mirth from malice be so free,
That though I bitter to the guilty be,

It shall appear, that I in love do scourge them,
That of their foul corruptions I may purge them,
And that it may be known how virtue hath
A sting to punish, though not mov'd to wrath.
But go, and for the Pamphlet seek about;
For yet ere night, 'tis thought, it will come out;
Yet, when you find it, do not look for there
His wit alone, whose name you see it bear;
For though you nothing can collect from thence
But foul-mouth'd language, rhyme, and impu-
dence,

Yet there expect, since 'tis the common cause
Of all crow poets and poetic daws,

Which I have toucht, that all the brotherhood
Will lend their wits to make the quarrel good;
For to that purpose they are all combin'd;
Yea, to their strong confed'racy are join'd
That corporation, by whose patronage
Such poetry hath flourish'd in this age;
And some beside, that dare not yet be known,
Have favor to this goodly project shewn.

But let them join their force; for I had rather
Ten millions should themselves against me gather,
And plot and practise for my overthrow,
Than be the conqueror of one base foe;
For as mine enemies increasing be,

So resolution doth increase in me.

But whether on mean foes, or great, I light, My spirit will be greater than their spite.

An Epigram, written by the Author on his own Picture, where this Motto was inscribed.

THUS others' loves have set my shadow forth
To fill a room with names of greater worth;
And me among the rest they set to shew,
Yet what I am, I pray mistake not, though.
Imagine me nor earl, nor lord, nor knight,
Nor any new-advanced favourite;

For you would swear, if this well-pictur'd me,
That such a one I ne'er were like to be.
No child of purblind Fortune's was I born,
For all that issue holdeth me in scorn:
Yet He, that made me, hath assur'd me too,
Fortune can make none such, nor such undo;
And bids me in no favors take delight,
But what I shall acquire in her despite.

Which mind, in rags, I rather wish to bear,
Than rise through baseness bravest robes to wear.
Part of my outside hath the Picture shewn,
Part of my inside by these lines is known;
And 'tis no matter of a rush to me,

How this, or that, shall now esteemed be.

WITHER'S MOTTO.

This Poem is a continued self-eulogium of four thousand lines; yet we read it to the end without feeling any distaste, and are hardly conscious of having listened so long to a man praising himself. It has none of the cold particles of vanity in it; none of those properties which make egotism hateful. The writer's mind was continually glowing with images of virtue, and a noble scorn of vice: what it felt, it honestly believed itself to possess, and as honestly proclaimed; yet so little is the avowal mixed up with any alloy of selfishness, that the writer seems to be praising qualities in another person rather than in himself; or to speak more properly, that it was indifferent to him, where he found the virtues he commends, but that being best acquainted with himself, he unaffectedly copied his own portrait. We feel, that he would allow to goodness its praise wherever found; that he does not value himself on a principle of selfish pride, but from a respect to those virtues, which he would equally admire in another. Under this impression, which seems indeed inseperable from a perusal of the poem, it may be regarded, I think, as a piece of confessional poetry not inferior in beauty to the celebrated prose work, the "Religio Medici" of Sir T. Browne. There are several instances indeed of a strong similarity both of feeling and language in the two authors. It is not assuming too much to suppose that Sir Thomas. Browne had been reading the following lines in the first clause of Wither's Motto, p. 220.

"I no antipathy, as yet, have had,

'Twixt me and any creature God hath made, &c."

when he wrote the following passage―

"I have no antipathy, or rather idiosyncracy in diet, humour, air, or any thing. I wonder not at the French for their dishes of frogs, snails, and toadstools; nor at the Jews for locusts and grasshoppers; but being among them, make them my common viands, and I find they agree with my stomach as well as their's. I would digest a sallad gathered in a church-yard, as well as in a garden. I cannot start at the presence of a serpent, scorpion, lizard, or salamander-at the sight of a toad or viper. "I find in me no desire to take