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With resolution armed against the power of fate,
All self-praise set apart, determineth to sing
That lusty Robin Hood, (1) who long time like a king
Within her compass lived, and when he list to range
For some rich booty set, or else his air to change,
To Sherwood still retired, his only standing court,
Whose praise the Forest thus doth pleasantly report:
'The merry pranks he played, would ask an age to tell,
And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befel,
When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been laid,
How he hath cozened them, that him would have betrayed;
How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised,
And cunningly escaped, being set to be surprised.
In this our spacious isle, I think there is not one,
But he hath heard some talk of him and Little John;
And to the end of time, the tales shall ne'er be done,
Of Scarlock, George-a-Green, and Much the miller's son,
Of Tuck the merry friar, which many a sermon made
In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade.
An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood,
Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good,
All clad in Lincoln Green, with caps of red and blue,
His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew,
When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill:
Their baldricks set with studs, athwart their shoulders cast,
To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast,
A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span,
Who struck below the knee, not counted then a man:
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong
They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long.

Of archery they had the very perfect craft,

With broad-arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft,

At marks full forty score, they used to prick, and rove,
Yet higher than the breast, for compass never strove;

Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win:

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At long-butts, short, and hoyles, each one could cleave the pin
Their arrows finely paired, for timber, and for feather,
With birch and brazil pieced, to fly in any weather:
And shot they with the round, the square, or forked pile,
The loose gave such a twang, as might be heard a mile.
And of these archers brave, there was not any one
But he could kill a deer his swiftest speed upon,
Which they did boil and roast, in many a mighty wood,
Sharp hunger the fine sance to their more kingly food."
Then taking them to rest, his mery men and he
Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree.
From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store,
What oftentimes he took, he shared amongst the poor:
No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way,

To him before he went, but for his pass must pay:

The widow in distress he graciously relieved,
And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved:
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,
But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian,

1 Robin Hood is first mentioned in English literature in Piers Plowman, about 1362. Wyntoun, the Scottish chronicler, refers to him about 1420. Nothing authentic is known of the popular hero. He was dear,' says Mr. Furnivall, one of the editors of the Percy folio MS. to the English imagination as the representative of the forest life-the joyons tenant of the greenwood, the spirit not to be cribbed and cabined in towns and cities.'

Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she came,
Was sovereign of the woods, chief lady of the game:
Her clothes fucked to the knee, and dainty braided hair,
With bow and quiver armed, she wandered here and there
Amongst the forests wild; Diana never knew

Such pleasures, nor such harts as Mariana slew.'

Coleridge points out an instance of sublimity in Drayton-a strongly figurative passage respecting the cutting down of the English forests:

Our trees so hacked above the ground,

That where their lofty tops the neighbouring countries crowned,
Their trunks, like aged folks, now bare and naked stand,

As for revenge to Heaven each held a withered hand.

The Queen of the Fairies visiting Pigwiggen.-From Drayton's' Nym

Her chariot ready straight is made;
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stayed,
For nought must be her letting;
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamer,
Fiy Cranion, her charioteer,

Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excel;
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning;
The seat the soft wood of the bee,
The cover (gallantly to see)
The wing of a pied butterflee;

I trow 'twas simple trimming.

phidia.'

The wheels composed of crickets' bones,
And daintily made for the nonce;
For fear of rattling on the stones
With thistle-down they shod it;
For all her maidens much did fear
If Oberon had chanced to hear

That Mab his queen should have been
there,

He would not have abode it.

She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice
Until her maids, that were so nice,

To wait on her were fitted;
But ran herself away alone;

Which when they heard, there was not

One

But hasted after to be gone,

As she had been diswitted.

Hop and Mop, and Drab so clear,
Pip and Trip, and Skip, that were
To Mab their sovereign so dear,

Her special maids of honour;
Fib and Tib, and Pink and Pin,
Tick and Quick, and Jill and Jin,
Tit and Nit, and Wap and Win,

The train that wait upon her.

Upon a grasshopper they got,
And, what with amble and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them:
A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind if it should blow;
Themselves they wisely could bestow
Lest any should espy them.

The above is evidently copied from Mercutio's description in Romeo and Juliet.'

EDWARD FAIRFAX.

The celebrated translation of Tasso's 'Jerusalem,' by EDWARD FAIRFAX was made in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and dedicated to that princess, who was proud of patronizing learning, but not very lavish in its support. The first edition of Fairfax's 'Tasso is dated 1600; the second, 1624. The poetical beauty and freedom of Fairfax's version have been the theme of almost universal praise. Dryden ranked him with Spenser as a master of our language, and Waller

said he derived from him the harmony of his numbers. The date of Fairfax's birth is unknown. He was the natural son of Sir Thomas Fairfax of Denton in Yorkshire, and spent his life at Fuystone, in the forest of Knaresborough, in the enjoyment of many blessings which rarely befall the poetical race-competence, ease, rural scenes, and an ample command of the means of study. He wrote a work on 'Demonology' (not printed until 1859), and in the preface to it he states, that in religion he was neither a fantastic Puritan nor a superstitious Papist.' He also wrote a series of Eclogues, one of which was published in 1741, in Cooper's Muses' Library,' but it is puerile and absurd. Fairfax was living in 1631; the time of his death has not been recorded.

Description of Armida and her Enchanted Girdle.

And with that word she smiled, and ne'ertheless
Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold;
Her hair-that done-she twisted up in tress,
And looser locks in silken laces rolled:

Her curls in garland-wise she did up-dress,
Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold.

The twisted flow'rets smiled, and her white breast

The lilies there that spring with roses dressed.

The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair
The eyed feathers of his pompous train;

Nor golden Iris so bends in the air

Her twenty-coloured bow, through clouds of rain
Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich, and rare,

Her girdle did in price and beauty stain;
Not that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost,
Nor Venus' cestus could match this for cost.

Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet
Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear;
Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad regret;
Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear,
That, mixed first, by weight and measure meet;
Then, at an easy fire, attempered were;

This wondrous girdle did Armida frame,

And, when she would be loved, wore the same.

Rinaldo at Mount Olivet and the Enchanted Wood.

It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day,

Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined,
For in the east appeared the morning gray,

And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined,

When to Mount Olivet he took his way,

And saw, as round about his eyes he twined.

Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine,

This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine.

Thus to himself he thought: how many bright

And 'splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high!
Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night,
Her fixed and wandring stars the azure sky:

So framed all by their Creator's might.

That still they live and shine, and ne'er will die,

Till in a moment, with the last day's brand
They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.

Thus as he mused, to the top he went,

And there kneeled down with reverence and fear;
His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent;
His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were—
The sins and errors which I now repent,
Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear,
Remember not, but let thy mercy fall
And purge my faults and iny offences all.

Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew,
In golden wed, the morning's lusty queen,
Begilding with the radiant beams she threw,
His helm, the harness, and the mountain green⚫
Upon his breast and forehead gently blew
The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen,
And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies,
A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies.

The heavenly dew was on his garments spread,
To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem,
And sprinkled so that all that paleness fled,
And thence of purest white bright rays outstream:
So cheered are the flowers, late withered,
With the sweet comfort of the morning beam;
And so returned to youth, a serpent old
Adorns herself in new and native gold.

The lovely whiteness of his changed weed
The prince perceived well and long admired;
Toward the forest marched he on with speed,
Resolved, as such adventures great required:
Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread
Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired;
But not to him fearful or loathsome made
That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade.

Forward he passed, and in the grove before,

He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was;
There rolled a crystal brook with gentle roar,

Thère sighed the winds, as through the leaves they pass;

There sang the swan, and singing died, alas!

There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard,

And all these sounds one sound right well declared.]

A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard,

The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent,
Yet heard the nymphs and syrens afterward,
Birds, winds, and waters sing with sweet consent;
Whereat amazed, he stayed and well prepared
For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went,
Nor in his way his passage ought withstood,
Except a quiet, still, transparent flood:

On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound,
Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smelled,
Which reaching out his stretched arms around,
All the large desert in his bosom held,

And through the grove one channel passage found;

This in the wood, that in the forest dwelled:

Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, And so exchanged their moisture and their shade.

SIR JOHN HARRINGTON.

The first translator of Ariosto into English was SIR JOHN HARRINGTON, a courtier of the reign of Elizabeth, and also godson of the queen. He was the son of John Harrington, the poet already noticed. Sir John wrote a collection of epigrams, and a Brief View of the Church,' in which he reprobates the marriage of bishops He is supposed to have been born about the year 1561; died 1612. The translation from Ariosto is poor and prosaic, but some of his epigrams are pointed.

Of Treason.

Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason?
For if it prosper, noue dare call it treason.

Of Fortune.

Fortune, men say, doth give too much to many,
But yet she never gave enough to any.

Against Writers that Carp at other Men's Books.
The readers and the hearers like my books,
But yet some writers cannot them digest;
But what care I? for when I make a feast,

I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks.
Of a Precise Tailor.

A tailor, thought a man of upright dealing-
True, but for lying-honest, but for stealing,
Did fall one day extremely sick by chance,
And on the sudden was in wondrous trance;
The fiends of hell mustering in fearful manner,
Of sundry coloured silks displayed a banner,
Which he had stolen, and wished, as they did tell,
That he might find it all one day in hell.
The man, affrighted with this apparition,
Upon recovery grew a great precísian;
He bought a Bible of the best translation,
And in his life he shewed great reformation;
He walked mannerly, he talked meekly,

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He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly;
He vowed to shun all company unruly,
And in his speech he used no oath but truly ;
And zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,
His meat for that day on the eve was drest:
And lest the custom which he had to steal
Might cause him sometimes to forget his zeal,
He gives his journeyman a special charge,
That if the stuff, allowance being large,
He found his fingers were to filch inclined,

Bid him to have the banner in his mind.

This done-I scant can tell the rest for laughter

A captain of a ship came three days after,

And brought three yards of velvet and three-quarters,

To make Venetians down below the garters.
He, that precisely knew what was enough,
Soon slipt aside three-quarters of the stuff.
His man, espying it, said in derision:

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