Casting the body's vest aside, Such was the happy garden state, What other help could yet be meet! But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: To live in paradise alone. How well the skilful gard'ner drew How could such sweet and wholesome hours HUDIBRAS' SWORD AND DAGGER. From "Hudibras.” BY SAMUEL BUTLER. [SAMUEL BUTLER was born at Strensham, in Worcestershire, in 1612, and was educated either at Cambridge or Oxford; it is uncertain which. After leaving the university, he became clerk to a justice of the peace; and then amanuensis to Selden. He next resided with Sir Samuel Luke, one of Cromwell's principal officers, a zealous Puritan. This position, by making him acquainted with the leading characters of the Puritan party, enabled him to write "Hudibras," of which Sir Luke is undoubtedly the hero. After the Restoration, he was made Steward of Ludlow Castle; but he died in poverty in London, in 1680, and was buried in the churchyard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. A monument was erected to him in Westminster Abbey, in 1721. He found a model for "Hudibras," in "Don Quixote;" but the humour it contains is entirely his own. It is probable that some annoyances which he may have received from the Puritans embittered him against them. Charles II. was greatly delighted with the poem; and its author was promised a place--which, however, he never obtained. He received, indeed, three hundred pounds; but as he was greatly involved in debt, it was of little use to him. 'Hudibras" was never finished; but this is scarcely to be regretted, as it actually palls by its wit, so as almost to become tiresome. ] HIS puissant sword unto his side In it he melted lead for bullets To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, To whom he bore so fell a grutch, He ne'er gave quarter to any such. G G The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, For want of fighting was grown rusty, Of somebody to hew and hack. The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, The rancour of its edge had felt; It had devour'd, it was so manful; As if it durst not show its face. * This sword a dagger had, his page, That was but little for his age, And therefore waited on him so As dwarfs upon knight-errants do. To bait a mouse-trap 'twould not care; Set leeks and onions, and so forth: "VULCAN, CONTRIVE ME SUCH A CUP." BY JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER. [JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER, was born at Dichley, in Oxfordshire, in 1647. At twelve years of age he was sent to the University of Oxford, and on leaving it travelled on the Continent. He returned to England, in his eighteenth year, and was soon afterwards made Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the King, and Comptroller of Woodstock Park. He went to sea with the Earl of Sandwich, in 1665, and greatly distinguished himself by his gallantry; but his subsequent life was disgraced by a dissipation that brought on a decline, of which he died in 1680. Rochester was remarkable for wit and good nature; his poems are in accordance with his morals and conduct, and cause us to regret that his great powers should have been devoted to folly.] VULCAN, contrive me such a cup As Nestor used of old; Show all thy skill to trim it up, Damask it round with gold. Make it so large, that, fill'd with sack Vast toasts on the delicious lake, Like ships at sea, may swim. Engrave not battle on his cheek; |