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By this who does not plainly see,
How into our throats at once is nurl'd-
Whilst merrily we drinking be-

The quintessence of all the world?
Whilst all drink then in land, air, sea,
Let us too drink as well as they.

Had any king done this for me,
What wondering at it there would be!
And wondering at it now there's none
When by a God himself 'tis done.
Strange blindness! men should more esteem
A benefit bestow'd on him

By earthly kings, than what is given
Unto him by the King of Heaven!

ON TRAVEL.1

It is not travel makes the man, 'tis true,
Unless a man could travel, sir, like you,
By putting off the worst and putting on
The best of every country where they come;
Their language, manners, fashions, and their use,
Purg'd from the dross, and stript from the abuse,
Until at last in manners they become

New men and creatures at their coming home;
Whilst your pied traveller, who nothing knows
Of other countries' fashions but their clothes,
And speaks their language but as parrots do,
Only at best a broken word or two,
Goes and returns the same he went again,
By carrying England still along with him;
Or else returns far worse by bringing home
The worst of every land where he does come.

TO DRYDEN.

Dryden, the Muse's darling and delight,
Than whom none ever flew so high a flight;
Nor ever any's muse so high did soar
Above th' poets' empyrium before.
Some go but to Parnassus' foot, and there
Creep on the ground, as if they reptiles were:
Others but water poets, who have gone
No further than the fount of Helicon;

And they're but airy ones, whose muse soars up
No higher than to Mount Parnassus' top.
Whilst thou with thine dost seem t' have mounted
higher

Than he who fetcht from heaven celestial fire!

ON THE DEATH OF OUR LORD. Oh blessed Lord! and wouldst thou die For such a wretched worm as I! This of thy love's so great a proof, Angels can ne'er admire enough; And all the love by far transcends Of parents and of dearest friends. To have such benefit bestow'd Would undo any but a God; And love itself make bankrupt too, By leaving nothing more to do.

This and the two pieces following are from A Collection of the Choicest Epigrams and Characters, 1673.

EXTRACT FROM "LOVE'S KINGDOM."

Palemon. Now here, Love, at thy sacred shrine I offer up these vows of mine.— Father of dear and tender thoughts, Thou who the hardest bosom softs; Soften Bellinda's heart, and make Her but thy dear impression take; So shall I burn Arabian gums, And offer up whole hecatombs Upon thy altar, whilst thy fires Shall shine as bright as my desires.

First Priest. Whilst he the deity does invoke The flame ascends in troubled smoke.

Philander. What sort of offering mine shall be,
Divinest Love, 's best known to thee;
Nor spices nor Arabian gums,
Nor yet of beasts whole hecatombs:
These are too low and earthly, mine
Are far more heavenly and divine;
An adamantine faith, and such
As jealousy can never touch;

A constant heart and loyal breast,
These are the offerings thou lovest best.
Second Priest. Love's fires ne'er brighter yet
appeared,

Whoe'er thou art thy vows are heard.

ONE WHO TURNS DAY INTO NIGHT.'

He is the antipodes of the country where he lives, and with the Italian begins his day with the first hour of night; he is worse than those that call light darkness and darkness light, for he makes it so, and contradicts that old saying that the day was made for man to labour in and the night to rest. He thinks that sentence of Solomon nothing concerning him, that all is vanity underneath the sun, for all his is underneath the moon; for the sun's rising only serves him to go to bed by; and as formerly they measured time by water, he measures it only by fire and candle light; he alters his pater noster, and as others pray for their daily he prays for his nightly bread.

2 This and the following extract are from Choicest Epigrams and Characters.

ment; for death is said to come like a thief in the night, and then he sits up and watches; and judgment by day, and then he is abed and sleeps. And if they charge him for ill expense of time, he only changes it—change is no robbery; so as, in fine, if he have no other sins than that, there is none would have less to answer for than he.

Meantime he fears neither death nor judg- | never wholly true, he so alters it with his reporting it. He goes a-fishing for secrets, and tells you those of others only to hook yours out of you, baiting men as they do fishes, one with another. He is like your villanous flies, which always leave sound places to light on sore, and are such venomous ones as even to make sound places sore with their fly-blowing them. In fine, they would set dissension between man and wife the first day of their marriage, and father and son the last day of their lives. Nor will innocence be ever safe, or conversation innocent, till such as they be banished human society; and if I would afford them being anywhere, it should be with Ariosto's Discord, among mine enemies. Meantime my prayer is, God bless my friends from them!

A SOWER OF DISSENSION.

He is the devil's day labourer, and sows his tares for him, or seeds of dissension, by telling you this and that such an one said of you, when you may be sure it is wholly false, or

ROGER BOYLE, EARL OF ORRERY.

BORN 1621 - DIED 1679.

an army of 8000 foot and 4000 horse, together with money and materials. With the sad events that followed we are not here concerned, except to say that Lord Broghill passed through them with courage and address, so much so indeed that Cromwell made him one of his privy-council, and confided in him more than in almost any other man. Cromwell also in 1656 sent him into Scotland to attempt to remedy the rough rule of Monk, and on his return to London the Protector was so influenced by him that he was enabled to save more than one noble house from impending ruin.

[Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery, was the fifth | Cromwell himself landed in Wexford with son of Richard, "the great Earl of Cork." He was born in April, 1621, and was created Baron Broghill when only seven years of age. At the age of fifteen he became a student of Trinity College, Dublin, from which in a few years he was taken by his father and sent with his eldest brother to make the tour of France and Italy. On his return he made his appearance at the court in England, where he was received with respect and delight, and during his stay there he married Margaret Howard, sister to the Earl of Suffolk. Accompanied by his wife he proceeded to Ireland, just at the beginning of the troubles of 1641. Here for a time he served gallantly as a soldier After the death of Cromwell, Broghill did on the side of the Parliamentarians, but on the his best to be of service to the new lord-prodeath of the king he threw up his post in tector, Richard; but finding that weak but disgust, and returning to England lived pri- amiable descendant of the man of iron detervately at Marston, in Somersetshire, till 1649. mined to be undone he retired to his command About this time he formed an intention of in Munster. There he soon began to busy applying to Charles II. for a commission to himself to bring about the Restoration, and raise forces in Ireland; but this intention gained over to the royal side Wilson, governor reached the ears of Cromwell, who visited of Limerick, and Sir Charles Coote, who held him, and dealt with him so generously that he a command in the north. After the king's accepted a post in the army of the Protector. accession Broghill came to England, where he In a few days he was on his way to Ireland was received rather coldly by Charles. After with a few soldiers; on his arrival there he a time, however, he managed to show that he increased his small army materially, and so had been prime mover in the successful affairs managed affairs as to present a formidable in Ireland, and on this he was received into appearance until, on the 15th August, 1649, | favour, and soon after, on the 5th September,

ROGER BOYLE, EARL OF ORRERY.

1660, he was made Earl of Orrery, sworn into the privy-council, appointed one of the lordsjustices as well as president of Munster. In 1662, when the Duke of Ormond was made lord-lieutenant, Broghill retired to his presidency, where, by virtue of his office, he heard and decided cases in a court called the Residency Court. In this capacity he acquired such a reputation that after the fall of Clarendon he was offered the seals, but declined the post in consequence of the gout which afflicted him.

After this Orrery mixed little more in politics, but left sword and council-board for the desk and pen. During the years that intervened until his death he produced several poems and plays. In his poems, which are somewhat artificial, he displays moral elevation of mind. In his plays, which were very successful, he often uses his wit, like too many of the writers of the Restoration, in the adornment of unsavoury subjects. They are not, however, wholly devoid of scenes of a higher kind, and are marked by vigour and force.

Of his works the chief are: A Poem on His Majesty's Happy Restoration; A Poem on the Death of Cowley; The History of Henry V., a tragedy, 1668; Mustapha, a tragedy, 1667-68; The Black Prince, a tragedy, 1672; Triphon, a tragedy, 1672; Parthenissa, a romance, 1665; A Dream, full of bold advice to the king; A Treatise on the Art of War; Poems on the Fasts and Festivals of the Church. After his death the following additional works were published:-Mr. Anthony, a comedy, 1692; Guzuron, a comedy, 1693; Herod the Great, a tragedy, 1694; Altemira, a tragedy, placed on the stage in 1702; State Letters, 1742.

Roger Boyle died 16th October, 1679, leaving behind him a reputation as a wit, a soldier, a statesman, and a man of letters--the last title being the one of which he was most proud.]

ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

Hail, glorious day which miracles adorn, Since 'twas on thee eternity was born! Hail, glorious day, on which mankind did view The Saviour of the old world and the new! Hail, glorious day, which deifies man's race, Birth-day of Jesus, and through him, of grace! In thy blest light the world at once did see Proofs of his Godhead and humanity. To prove him man, he did from woman come, To prove him God, 'twas from a virgin's womb.

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Man ne'er could feign, what his strange birth prov'd true,

For his blest mother was a virgin too.

While as a child He in the manger cryes, Angels proclaim his Godhead from the skyes; He to so vile a cradle did submit, That we, through faith in him, on thrones might sit. Oh prodigie of mercy, which did make The God of gods our human nature take! And through our vaile of flesh, his glory shine, That we thereby might share in the divine.

Hail, glorious virgin, whose tryumphant womb Blesses all ages past and all to come! Thou more than heal'st the sin by Adam's wife, She brought in death, but thou brought'st endless

life.

No greater wonder in the world could be,
Than thou to live in it and heaven in thee.
All generations still shall call thee blest.
Heav'n does thine own great prophecy attest,
Since by thy Son we sons of God are made!
To thee that title is most justly paid,

DEATH OF SOHEMUS.1

Herod's apartment: Herod with Asdrubal and some of the guards comes from within; at the same time Sohemus enters by another door.

Sohemus. The princess, sir, bad me here wait

on you.

Herod. Now, guards, perform that which I bad you do.

[The guards seize on Sohemus and disarm him. Herod. Thy guilt, without my telling, lets

thee know

For what crime 'tis that I have used thee so. Sohemus. Though I must judge your usage, sir,

severe,

Yet I with joy would this oppression bear
Were I the only guiltless you pursue.

Herod. That name of all belongs the least to you.

To thee whose lust has to my queen confest
The secret I intrusted to thy breast:
Which she of all the world should not have known;
Traytor, in vain thou wilt thy guilt disown,
My sister who reveal'd will prove thy sin.
Heavens! how I fear'd that it had been the queen!
[Sohemus lifts up his hands and eyes.
Herod. His lifting up to heaven his hands and
eyes

Does evidence his crime, by his surprise.
This storm which thou hast rais'd dost thou not

dread?

Look on me-look-have I not stared thee dead?

1 From the tragedy of Herod the Great.

Sohemus. Looks cannot make one of my courage Hell's sad inhabitants for anger cry'd, fall.

And, by these signs, knew the Messiah dy'd;

Herod. What my looks cannot do, my dagger Th' insatiate grave, which the last day does dread, shall!

[Herod stabs Sohemus thrice, who falls. Sohemus. By my compliance I thy throne have built,

My death's the justice due to that base guilt,
Which by my hand I had atoned on thee,
Had not thy bloody hand prevented me.
Thunder, the sword of heaven, does sure design
That death for thee which it deny'd to mine.
Tyrant, receive this truth from my last breath,
If man has an existence after death,

My ghost shall haunt thee out in every place,
My gaping wounds shall stare thee in the face;
Till thou thy life a burden shall esteem,
Great as thy subjects found it was to them!

[Sohemus dies.

Herod. Would every foe of mine all hope had lost But that of frighting me with his sad ghost. Guards, to his grave bear that perfidious man, There let him tell my secrets-if he can.

ON THE DAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION.

Wonderful day; that title's due to thee, Above all days, which have been, or shall be. The day, when order out of chaos broke; The day, when God our human nature took; The day, when Christ ascended from the tomb; The day, when all the world must hear their doom: Though these four days, we justly great ones call, Yet when, alas, compar'd to thee, are small!

For 'twas not strange, that both the heav'ns and earth

From God's all-powerful word receiv'd their birth:
Nor, when nought else heaven's justice could atone,
The God of nature put our nature on:
Nor that he should, in whose hand only lies
Th' issues of life and death, from death arise:
Nor that one general assize should be,
To hear from God's own mouth his just decree.
These but the actings of a God display,
But that God suffer'd, on this signal day;
Which miracle amazement did infuse
In heaven, earth, hell, and all but in the Jews,
In whose obdurate souls such rancour dwelt,
As all the world, but they, compunction felt.
The sun from his bright globe his lustre strips,
And with his Maker suffers an eclipse.

Thinking it now was come, releas'd her dead!
Prodigious day; on which ev'n God did pray
To God, to take the bitter cup away!
A day in which philosophy descry'd
That nature or the God of nature dy'd.
A day in which mortality may cry,
Death, thou art swallowed up in victory!

Oh may this day be in all hearts engrav'd; This day in which God dy'd and man was sav'd!

FROM THE POEM ON THE DEATH OF COWLEY.

Oh how severely man is used by Fate! The covetous toil long for an estate; And having got more than their life can spend, They may bequeath it to a son or friend: But learning, in which none can have a share, Unless they climb to it by time and care, Learning, the truest wealth which men can have, Does, with his body, perish in his grave. To tenements of clay it is confin'd, Though 'tis the noblest purchase of the Mind: Oh! why can we thus leave our friends possest Of all our acquisitions but the best?

Still when we study Cowley, we lament,
That to the world he was no longer lent;
Who, like a lightning, to our eyes was shown,
So bright he shin'd, and was so quickly gone.
Sure he rejoic'd to see his flame expire,
Since he himself could not have raised it higher;
For when wise poets can no higher fly,
They would, like saints, in their perfection die.

Though beauty some affection in him bred,
Yet only sacred learning he would wed;
By which th' illustrious offspring of his brain
Shall over wit's great empire ever reign:
His works shall live, when pyramids of pride
Shrink to such ashes as they long did hide.

THE DEATH OF ZANGER.1

[Solyman has caused Mustapha, his son and heir, to be slain for a crime of which he believes him guilty, and while gazing on the dead body, Zanger, another son, enters and declares

The moon did hide her face, though filled with his dead brother's innocence.]

light,

Seeing the sun at noon create a night.
The sacred temple at the dread event
Of this great day her vaile for sorrow rent.
The earth, which does insensible appear,
Yet at this prodigie did shake with fear;

Solyman. Oh heaven! my guilt now makes it an offence,

To hear untimely of his innocence.

1 From last act of Mustapha, a tragedy.

Those who to death have made me send my son
Shall instantly in torture meet their own.
Let wisdom check your sorrow, and prepare
To be this day proclaim'd my empire's heir.

Zanger. Ah! sir, religiously to me he swore,
That, if the Turkish crown he ever wore,
He to our bloody law an end would give,
And I should safely in his bosom live.
Myself I then by sacred promise ty'd,
Not to outlive the day in which he dy'd.
And as I know he nobly did design
To keep his vow, so I remember mine.

[Turns to MUSTAPHA.
'Twas only love had strength enough t' invade
That mutual friendship which we sacred made:
But now o'er love I have the conquest got;
Though love divided us, yet death shall not!
[Stabs himself and falls at MUSTAPHA's feet.
Solyman. Hold, Zanger, hold!—
Zanger.

The happy wound is giv'n, Which sends my soul to Mustapha and heav'n. Solyman. Friendship and cruelty alike have done;

For each of them has robbed me of a son . . . Zanger. Low at your feet, dear friend, your brother lies,

And where he took delight to live-he dies.

[ZANGER dies.

Solyman. Fame in her temple will adorn thy
shrine;

No Roman glory ever equall'd thine.
Zanger, in height of youth, for friendship's sake,
Did rather die, than proffer'd empire take.
I would die too, but by revenge am stay'd,
Due for you both; you shall be doubly paid.
My viziers shall be first your sacrifice,
Nor is she safe who in my bosom lies.

[Turns to MUSTAPHA.
Oh Mustapha! the worthy may in thee
The dang'rous state even of great virtue see.
Thine was to all the height and compass grown,
That virtue e'er could reach to get renown;
And the reward of it pernicious prov'd;
For I did punish thee for being lov'd.
Thy mother was the first that e'er possess'd,
By conquest, the dominion of my breast:
And had thy mind been blotted, and as black
As virtue could paint vice, yet for her sake,
(The brightest beauty, and the softest wife)
I might, alas! at least have sav'd thy life.
But O! I mourn too long, for while I stay
To count thy wrongs, I thy revenge delay! [Exit.

WILLIAM MOLYNEUX.

BORN 1656-DIED 1698.

[William Molyneux, the first of the great | his degree, which he did in his nineteenth trio, Molyneux, Swift, and Grattan, that commenced, continued, and brought to a perfect end the battle of the Irish parliament for independence, was born in Dublin on the 17th April, 1656. His father was a gentleman of good family and fortune, a master of the ordnance, an officer of the Irish exchequer, and a man of intellect and culture. His grandfather had been Ulster king-at-arms, and had used his pen in the production of a continuation of Hanmer's Chronicle. Owing to his tender health William Molyneux was educated at home by a tutor till he reached the age of nearly fifteen, when he was placed in the University of Dublin, under the care of Dr. Palliser, afterwards Archbishop of Cashel. Here he was distinguished, as a biographer says, "by the probity of his manners as well as by the strength of his parts; and having made a remarkable progress in academical learning, and especially in the new philosophy, as it was then called, he proceeded to his Bachelor of Arts degree." After taking

year, he was sent to London, where he entered the Middle Temple in June, 1675. At the Middle Temple he remained for three years engaged in the diligent study of the law, but not forgetting his beloved studies in the mathematical and physical sciences, which had received such a mighty impulse just then owing to the many discoveries and exertions of the members of the Royal Society.

In 1678 Molyneux returned to Ireland, where he soon after married Lucy, the daughter of Sir William Domville, attorney-general. As he possessed a private fortune, and being therefore under no necessity of earning a living, he continued his philosophical studies; and astronomy gaining a strong hold on his mind, he began in 1681 a correspondence with Flamstead, which was continued for many years with benefit to both. In 1683 he managed to bring about the establishment of a philosophical society in Dublin on the model of the Royal Society, and prevailing on Sir William Petty to become its first president,

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