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If for a good event the Heav'ns doe please
Men's tongues should become rougher than the seas,
And that th' expence of paper shall be such,
First written, then translated out of Dutch:
Corantoes, diets, packets, newes, more newes,
Which soe much innocent whitenesse doth abuse;
If first the Belgicke pismire must be seene,
Before the Spanish ladie be our queene;
With such successe, and such an end at last,
All's wellcome, pleasant, gratefull, that is past.
And such an end we pray that you should see,
A type of that which mother Zebedee
Wisht for her sonnes in Heav'n; the prince and you
At either hand of James, (you need not sue)
He on the right, you on the left, the king
Safe in the mids't, you both invironing.
Then shall I tell my lord, his word and band
Are forfeit, till I kisse the princes hand;
Then shall I tell the duke, your royall friend
Gave all the other honours, this you earn'd;
This you have wrought for; this you hammer'd out
Like a strong smith, good workman and a stout.
In this I have a part, in this I see
Some new addition smiling upon me:
Who, in an humble distance, claime a share
In all your greatnesse, what soe ere you are.
THE EARL OF DORSET'S DEATH.
(RICHARD, THE third earl of dorset.)
LET no prophane, ignoble foot tread here,
This hallowed piece of earth, Dorset lyes there:
A small poore relique of a noble spirit,
Free as the air, and ample as his merit :
A soul refin'd, no proud forgetting lord,
But mindful of mean names, and of his word:
Who lov'd men for his honour, not his ends,
And had the noblest way of getting friends
By loving first, and yet who knew the court,
But understood it better by report
Than practice: he nothing took from thence
But the king's favour for his recompence.
Who, for religion or his countrey's good,
Neither his honour valued, nor his blood.
Rich in the world's opinion, and men's praise,
And full in all we could desire, but days.
He that is warn'd of this, and shall forbear
To vent a sigh for him, or shed a tear,
May he live long scorn'd, and unpitied fall,
And want a mourner at his funeral1!
2 This refers to a popular tract published in 1622, under that title, in favour of the Low Countries, and for the purpose of prejudicing the people of England against the marriage which Villers was negotiating when this poem was addressed to him. The negotiation was not only disgraceful,
αισχρον γαρ εμιν και προς αισχυνή κακον. G.
1 Mr. Gilchrist observes that Corbet's claim to this poem is somewhat doubtful as it occurs in bishop King's poems. C.
THE NEW-BORNE PRINCE,
AFTERWARDS CHARLES II.
UPON THE APPARITION OF A STARR, AND THE FOLLOWING ECCLYPSE.
WAS Heav'ne afray'd to be out-done on Earth,
When thou wert borne, great prince, that it brought
Another light to helpe the aged Sunn, [forth
Lest by thy luster he might be out-shone?
Or were th' obsequious starres so joy'd to view
Thee, that they thought their countlesse eyes too few
For such an object; and would needes create
A better influence to attend thy state?
Or would the Fates thereby shew to the Earth
A Cæsar's birth, as once a Cæsar's death?
And was 't that newes that made pale Cynthia run
In so great hast to intercept the Sunn;
And, enviously, so she might gaine thy sight, Would darken him from whom she had her light? Mysterious prodigies yet sure they be, Prognosticks of a rare prosperity:
For, can thy I fe promise lesse good to men, Whose birth was th' envy, and the care of Heav'ne!
BIRTH OF YOUNG PRINCE CHARLES. WH HEN private meu gett sonnes they get a spoone!! Without ecclypse, or any starr åt noone: When kings gett sonnes, they get withall supplyes And succours, farr beyond all subsedyes. Wellcome, God's loane! thou tribute to the state, Thou mony newly coyn'd, thou fleete of plate! Thrice happy childe! whome God thy father sent To make him rich without a parliament !
HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET,
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1650, BEING THEY THREE YEARS OLD.
WHAT I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well;
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health:
Nor too much wealth, nor wit, come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct, and know;
Not such as gentlemen require,
To prate at table, or at fire.
I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes, and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but support;
Alluding to the practice of the sponses 8: christenings giving spoons to the child as a bag tismal present. G.
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy wayes,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As inuocent as now thou art.
DR. DONNE, DEAN OF PAULS,
BORN IN 1573; DIED MARCH 31, 1631.
He that would write an epitaph for thee,
And do it well, must first begin to be
Such as thou wert; for none can truly know
Thy worth, thy life, but he that hath liv'd so.
He must have wit to spare, and to hurl down
Enough to keep the gallants of the town;
He must have learning plenty, both the laws
Civil and common, to judge any cause;
Divinity great store, above the rest,
Not of the last edition, but the best.
He must have language, travel, all the arts,
Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts:
He must have friends the highest, able to do,
Such as Mecænas and Augustus too.
He must have such a sickness, such a death,
Or else his vain descriptions come beneath.
Who then shall write an epitaph for thee,
He must be dead first; let 't alone for me.
CONCERNING ONE BENET CORBETT AFTER HER DECEASE.
SHE DIED OCTOber the 2d, anNO 1634. (FROM MSS. HARL. NO. 464.)
HERE, or not many feet from hence, The virtue lies call'd Patience. Sickness and Death did do her honour By loosing paine and feare upon her. "T is true they forst her to a grave, That's all the triumph that they haveA silly one-Retreat o'er night Proves conquest in the morning-fight: She will rise up against them bothAll sleep, believe it, is not sloth.
And, thou that read'st her elegie, Take something of her historie: She had one husband and one sonne; Ask who they were, and then have doone.
FOURE clerkes of Oxford, docters two, and two
That would be docters, having lesse to do
With Augustine than with Galen in vacation,
Chang'd studyes, and turn'd bookes to recreation:
And on the tenth of August, northward bent
A journey, not so soon conceiv'd as spent.
The first halfe day they rode, they light upon
A noble cleargy host, Kitt Middleton';
Who, numb'ring out good dishes with good tales,
The major part o' th' cheere weigh'd downe the scales:
And though the countenance makes the feast, (say
Wee nere found better welcome with worse lookes. Here wee pay'd thankes and parted; and at night Had entertainement, all in one man's right2, At Flore, a village; where our tenant shee, Sharp as a winter's morning, feirce yet free, With a leane visage, like a carved face On a court cupboard, offer'd up the place. Shee pleas'd us well; but, yet, her husband better; A harty fellow, and a good bone-setter3. Now, whether it were providence or lucke, Whether the keeper's or the stealer's bucke, There wee had ven'son; such as Virgill slew When he would feast Æneas and bis crew. Here wee consum'd a day; and the third morre To Daintry with a land-wind were wee borne. It was the market and the lecture-day, For lecturers sell sermons, as the lay Doe sheep and oxen; have their seasons just For both their marketts: there wee dranke downe dust.
In th' interim comes a most officious drudge1,
His face and gowne drawne out with the same budge;
His pendent pouch, which was both large and wide,
Lookt like a letters-patent by his side:
He was as awfull, as he had bin sent
From Moses with th' elev'nth commandement;
And one of us he sought; a sonne of Flore
He must bid stand, and challendge for an hower.
The doctors both were quitted of that feare,
The one was hoarce, the other was not there;
Wherefore him of the two he seazed, best
Able to answere him of all the rest:
Because bee neede but ruminate that ore
Which he had chew'd the Sabbath-day before.
And though he were resolv'd to doe him right,
For Mr. Bayley's sake, and Mr. Wright,
Yet he dissembled that the mace did erre ;
That he nor deacon was, nor minister.
No! quoth the serjeant; sure then, by relation,
You have a licence, sir, or toleration:
And if you have no orders 'tis the better,
So you have Dod's Præcepts, or Cleaver's Letter.
Thus looking on his mace, and urging still
Twas Mr. Wright's and Mr. Bayley's will
That hee should mount; at last he condiscended
To stopp the gapp; and so the treaty ended.
The sermon pleas'd, and, when we were to dine,
Wee all had preacher's wages, thankes and wine.
Our next day's stage was Lutterworth, a towne
Not willing to be noted or sett downe
1 At Aston on the Wall, in Northamptonshire, where Christopher Middleton, as rector, accounted for the first-fruits Oct. 12th, 1612; and was buried Feb. 5th, 1627. G.
By the right of Dr. Leonard Hutton, a man of some note in his day, the fellow-collegian and subsequent father-in-law of bishop Corbet. G.
3 A note in the old copies informs us that his name was Ned Ilale. G.
A sergeant. Edit. 1648. G.
By any traveller; for, when w' had bin
Through at both ends, wee could not finde an inne :
Yet, for the church sake, turne and light we must,
Hoping to see one dramme of Wickliff's dust;
But we found none: for underneath the pole
Noe more rests of his body then his soule.
Abused martyr! how hast thou bin torne
By two wilde factions! first, the Papists burne
Thy bones for hate; the Puritans, in zeale,
They sell thy marble, and thy brasse they steale.
A parson mett us there, who had good store
Of livings, some say, but of manners more;
In whose streight chearefull age a inan might see
Well govern'd fortune, bounty wise and free.
He was our guide to Leister, save one mile,
There was his dwelling, where we stay'd a while,
And dranke stale beere, I thinke was never new,
Which the dun wench that brought it us did brew.
And now we are at Leister, where we shall
Leape ore six steeples, and one hospitall
Twice told; but those great landmarkes I referr
To Camden's eye, England's chorographer.
Let me observe that almesmans heraldrye,
Who being ask'd, what Henry that should be
That was their founder, duke of Lancaster,
Answer'd: ""Twas John of Gaunt, I' assure you,
And so confuted all the walles, which sayd
Henry of Grisemond this foundation layd.
The next thing to be noted was our cheere,
Enlarg'd, with seav'ne and sixpence bread and beere!
But, oh you wretched tapsters as you are,
Who reckon by our number, not your ware,
And sett false figures for all companyes,
Abusing innocent meales with oathes and lyes;
Forbeare your coos'nage to divines that come,
Least they be thought to drinke up all your summe.
Spare not the laity in your reckoning thus,
But sure your theft is scandalous to us.
Away, my Muse, from this base subject, know
Thy Pegasus nere strooke his foote soe low.
Is not th' usurping Richard buryed here,
That king of hate, and therefore slave of feare;
Dragg'd from the fatall feild Bosworth, where he
Lost life, and, what he liv'd for,-cruelty?
Search; find his name: but there is none. Oh kings!"
Remember whence your power and vastnesse springs;
If not as Richard now, so shall you be;
Who hath no tombe, but scorne and memorye.
And though that Woolsey from his store might save
A pallace, or a colledge for his grave,
Yet there he lyes interred, as if all
Of him to be remembred were his fall.
Nothing but earth to earth, no pompeous waight
Upon him, but a pibble or a quaite.
If thou art thus neglected, what shall we'
Hope after death, who are but shreads of thee?
Hold! William calls to horse; William is he,
Who, though he never saw threescore and three,
Ore-reckons us in age, as he before
la drink, and will baite nothing of foure score:
And he commands, as if the warrant came
From the great earle himselfe of Nottingham.
There we crost Trent, and on the other side
Prayd to St. Andrew; and up hill we ride.
Where we observ'd the cunning men, like molés,
Dwell not in howses, but were earth't in holes ;
So did they not builde upwards, but digg thorough,
As bermitts caves, or conyes do their borough:
Great underminers sure as any where;
Tis thought the powder-traitors practis'd there.
Would you not thinke the men stood on their heads,
When gardens cover howses there, like leades;
And on the chymneyes topp the mayd may know
Whether her pottage boyle or not, below;
There cast in hearbes, and salt, or bread; their meate
Contented rather with the smoake then heate?
This was the Rocky-Parish; higher stood
Churches and houses, buildings stone and wood;
Crosses not yet demolish't; and our Ladye
With her armes on, embracing her whole baby.
Where let us note, though those are northerne parts,
The crosse finds in them more than southerne hearts
The castle's next; but what shall I report
Of that which is a ruine, was a fort?
The gates two statues keepe, which gyants' are,
To whome it seemes committed was the care
Of the whole downfall. If it be your fault;
If you are guilty; may king David's vault',
Or Mortimer's darke hole, contain you both!
A just reward for so prophane a sloth.
And if hereafter tidings shall be brought
sir;"Of any place or office to be bought,
And the left lead, or unwedg'd timber yet
Shall pass by your consent to purchase it;
May your deformed bulkes endure the edge
Of axes, feele the beetle and the wedge!
May all the ballads be call'd in and dye,
Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and sir Guy!
Oh you that doe Guild-hall and Holmeby keepe
Soe carefully, when both the founders sleepe,
You are good giants, and partake no shame
With those two worthlesse trunkes of Nottinghame:
Looke to your severall charges; wee must goe,
Though greiv'd at heart to leave a castle so.
The Bull-head is the word, and we must eate;
Noe sorrow can descend soe deepe as meate:
So to the inne we come; where our best cheere
Was, that his grace of Yorke had lodged there:
He was objected to us when we call,
Or dislike ought: "My lord's grace" answers all:
He was contented with this bed, this dyett."
That keepes our discontented stomackes quiett.
The inne-keeper was old, fourescore allmost,
Indeede an embleme rather then an host;
In whome we read how God and Time decree
To honour thrifty ostlers, such as he.
For in the stable first he did begin;
Now see he is sole lord of the whole inne:
Mark the encrease of straw and hay, and how,
By thrift, a bottle may become a mow.
Marke him, all you that have the golden itch,
All whome God hath condemned to be rich 1o.
5 Students of Christ-Church College, Oxford, which, as well as Whitehall, the "palace" before mentioned, was founded by Wolsey. G.
The figure in these lines is taken from the fice church of St. Mary's, Nottingham, in which the long chancel and nave with the tower in the midst resemble the object of the bishop's metaphor. The castle mentioned in the succeeding lines has " rished 'mid the wreck of things that were." G. 7 Guy and Colebrand. G.
Where David king of the Scots was kept pr
9 Which is within the castle. G.
10" He that maketh haste to be rich shall not b innocent." Proverbs xxviii, ver. 20. G.
Farwell, glad father of thy daughter Maris,
Thou ostler-phoenix, thy example rare is.
We are for Newarke after this sad talke;
And whither tis noe journey, but a walke.
Nature is wanton there, and the high-way
Seem'd to be private, though it open lay;
As if some swelling lawyer, for his health,
Or frantick usurer, to tame his wealth,
Had chosen out ten miles by Trent, to trye
Two great effects of art and industry.
The ground we trodd was meddow, fertile land,
New trimm'd and levell'd by the mower's hand;
Above it grew a roke, rude, steepe, and high,
Which claimes a kind of reverence from the eye:
Betwixt them both there glides a lively streame,
Not loud, but swifte: Mæander was a theme
Crooked and rough; but had the poetts seene
Straight, even Trent, it had immortall bin.
This side the open plaine admitts the sunne
To halfe the river; there did silver runne:
The other halfe ran clowdes; where the curl'd wood
With his exalted head threaten'd the floude.
Here could I wish us ever passing by
And never past; now Newarke is too nigh:
And as a Christmas seemes a day but short,
Deluding time with revells and good sport;
So did these beauteous mixtures us beguile,
And the whole twelve, being travail'd, seem'd a mile.
Now as the way was sweet, soe was the end;
Our passage easy, and our prize a friend 11,
Whome there we did enjoy; and for whose sake,
As for a purer kinde of coyne, men make
Us liberall welcome; with such harmony
As the whole towne had bin his family.
Mine host of the next inne did not repine
That we preferr'd the Heart, and past his signe :
And where we lay, the host and th' hostesse faine
Would shew our love was aym'd at, not their gaine:
The very beggars were s' ingenious,
They rather prayd for him, than begg'd of us.
And, soe the doctor's friends will please to stay,
The Puritans will let the organs play.
Would they pull downe the gallery, builded new,
With the church-wardens' seat and Burleigh-pew,
Newarke, for light and beauty, might compare
With any church, but what cathedralls are.
To this belongs a vicar 12, who succeeded
The friend I mention'd; such a one there needed;
A man whose tongue and life is eloquent,
Able to charme those mutinous heads of Trent,
And urge the canon home, when they conspire
Against the crosse and bells with swords and fire.
There stood a castle, too; they shew us here
The roome where the king slep't, the window where
He talk't with such a lord, how long he staid
In his discourse, and all, but what he said.
From hence, without a perspective, we see
Bever and Lincolne, where we faine would bee;
But that our purse and horses both are bound
Within the circuite of a narrower ground.
Our purpose is all homeward, and twas time
At parting to have witt, as well as rime ;
Full three a clock, and twenty miles to ride,
Will aske a speedy horse, and a sure guide;
We wanted both: and Loughborow may glory,
Errour hath made it famous in our story.
Twas night, and the swifte horses of the Sunne
Two houres before our jades their race had runn;
Noe pilott Moone, nor any such kinde starre
As governd those wise men that came from farre
To holy Bethlem; such lights bad there bin,
They would have soone convay'd us to an inne;
But all were wandring-stars; and we, as they,
Were taught noe course, but to ride on and stray.
When (oh the fate of darknesse, who hath tride it)
Here our whole fleete is scatter'd and divided;
And now we labour more to meete, than erst
We did to lodge; the last cry drownes the first:
Our voyces are all spent, and they that follow
Can now no longer track us by the hollow;
They curse the formost, we the hindmost, both
Accusing with like passion, hast, and sloth.
At last, upon a little towne we fall,
Where some call drinke, and some a candle call:
Unhappy we, such stragglers as we are
Admire a candle oftner then a starre:
We care not for those glorious lampes a loofe,
Give us a tallow-light and a dry roofe.
And now we have a guide we cease to chafe,
And now w' have time to pray the rest be safe.
Our guide before cryes come, and we the while
Ride blindfold, and take bridges for a stile :
Till at the last we overcame the darke,
11 Dr. Jucks. G.
12 Mr. Edward Mason.-MS. 1625. G.
And spight of night and errour hitt the marke.
Some halfe howre after enters the whole tayle,
As if they were committed to the jayle:
The constable, that tooke them thus divided,
Made them seeme apprehended, and not guided:
Where, when we had our fortunes both detested,
Compassion made us friends, and so we rested.
Twas quickly morning, though by our short stay
We could not find that we had lesse to pay.
All travellers, this heavy judgement heare:
"A handsome hostesse makes the reckoning deare;"
Her smiles, her wordes, your purses must requite
And every wellcome from her, adds an item.
Glad to be gon from thence at any rate,
For Bosworth we are horst: behold the state
Of mortall men! Foule Errour is a mother,
And, pregnant once, doth soone bring forth an other:
We, who last night did learne to loose our way,
Are perfect since, and farther out next day.
And in a forrest13 having travell'd sore,
Like wandring Bevis ere he found the bore;
Or as some love-sick lady oft hath donne,
Ere shee was rescued by the knight of th' Sunne:
Soe are we lost, and meete no comfort then
But carts and horses, wiser then the men.
Which is the way? They neyther speake nor point;
Their tongues and fingers both were out of joynt:
Such monsters by Coal-Orton bankes there sitt,
After their resurrection from the pitt.
Whilst in this mill wee labour and turne round
As in a conjurer's circle, William found
A menes for our deliverance: "Turne your cloakes,"
Quoth he, "for Puck is busy in these oakes:
If ever ye at Bosworth will be found,
Then turne your cloakes, for this is Fayry-ground.”
But, ere this witchcraft was perform'd, we mett
A very man, who had no cloven feete;
Though William, still of little faith, doth doubt
Tis Robin, or some sprite that walkes about:
"Strike him," quoth he, "and it will turne to ayre; Crosse your selves thrice and strike it. "Strike that dare,"
Thought I," for sure this massy forrester
In stroakes will prove the better conjurer."
But 't was a gentle keeper, one that knew
Humanity, and manners where they grew;
And rode along soe farr till he could say,
"See yonder Bosworth stands, and this your way."
And now when we had swett 'twixt sunn and sunn,
And eight miles long to thirty broad had spun ;
We learne the just proportion from hence
Of the diameter and circumference.
That night yet made amends; our meat and sheetes
Were farr above the promise of those streetes;
Those howses, that were tilde with straw and mosse,
Profest but weake repaire for that day's losse
Of patience: yet this outside lets us know,
The worthyest things make not the bravest show:
The shott was easy; and what concernes us more,
The way was so; mine host doth ride before.
Mine host was full of ale and history;
And on the morrow when he brought us nigh
Where the two Roses 14 joyn'd, you would suppose
Chaucer nere made the Romant of the Rose.
Heare him." See ye yon wood? There Richard lay,
With his whole army: looke the other way,
And loe where Richmond in a bed of gorsse
Encampt himselfe ore night, and all his force :
Upon this hill they mett." Why, he could tell
The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell:
Besides what of his knowledge he could say,
He had authenticke notice from the play;
Which I might guesse, by 's mustring up the ghost,
And policyes, not incident to hosts;
But cheifly by that one perspicuous thing,
Where he mistooke a player for a king.
For when he would have sayd, "King Richard dyed,
And call'd-A horse! a horse !"-he, "Burbidge"
Howere his talke, his company pleas'd well;
His mare went truer than his chronicle;
And even for conscience sake, unspurr'd, unbeaten,
Brought us six miles, and turn'd tayle at Nuneaten.
From thence to Coventry, where we scarcely dine;
Our stomackes only warm'd with zeale and wine:
And then, as if we were predestin'd forth,
Like Lot from Sodome, fly to Killingworth.
The keeper of the castle was from home,
Soe that halfe mile we lost; yet when we come
An host receiv'd us there, wee'l nere deny him,
My lord of Leister's man; the parson by him,
Who had no other proofe to testify
He serv'd the Lord, but age and baudery 16.
Away, for shame, why should foure miles devide
Warwicke and us? They that have horses ride.
A short mile from the towne, an humble shrine
At foote of an high rock consists, in signe
Of Guy and his devotions; who there stands
Ugly and huge, more then a man on's hands:
His helmet steele, his gorgett mayl, his sheild
Brass, made the chappell fearefull as a feild.
And let this answere all the pope's complaints;
We sett up gyants though we pull downe saintes.
Beyond this, in the roadway as we went,
A pillar stands, where this Colossus leant ;
Where he would sigh and love, and, for hearts ease,
Oftimes write verses (some say) such as these:
"Here will I languish in this silly bower,
Whilst my true love triumphes in yon high tower."
No other hinderance now, but we may passe
Cleare to our inne: oh there an hostesse was,
To whome the castle and the dun cow are
Sights after dinner; she is morning ware.
Her whole behaviour borrowed was, and mixt,
Halfe foole, halfe puppet, and her pace betwixt
Measure and jigge; her court'sy was an honour;
Her gate, as if her neighbour had out-gon her.
She was barrd up in whale-bones which doe leese
None of the whale's length; for they reach'd her
Off with her head, and then she hath a middle:
As her wast stands, she lookes like the new fiddle,
The favorite Theorbo, (truth to tell ye,)
Whose neck and throat are deeper then the belly.
Have you seene monkyes chain'd about the loynes,
Or pottle-potts with rings? Just soe she joynes
Her selfe together: a dressing she doth love
In a small print below, and text above.
What though her name be King, yet 't is noe treason,
Nor breach of statute, for to aske the reason
Of her brancht ruffe, a cubit every poke;
I seeme to wound her, but she strook the stroke
At our departure; and our worshipps there
Pay'd for our titles deare as any where:
Though beadles and professors both have done,
Yet every inne claimes augmentation.
Please you walke out and see the castle"? Come,
The owner saith, it is a scholler's home;
A place of strength and health: in the same fort,
You would conceive a castle and a court.
The orchards, gardens, rivers, and the aire,
Doe with the trenches, rampires, walls, compare:
It seemes nor art nor force can intercept it,
As if a lover built, a souldier kept it.
Up to the tower, though it be steepe and high,
We doe not climbe but walke; and though the eye
Seeme to be weary, yet our feet are still
In the same posture cozen'd up the hill:
And thus the workeman's art deceaves our sence,
Making those rounds of pleasure a defence.
As we descend, the lord of all this frame,
The honourable chancellour, towards us came is.
Above the hill there blew a gentle breath,
Yet now we see a gentler gale beneath.
The phrase and wellcome of this knight did make
The seat more elegant; every word he spake
Was wine and musick, which he did expose
To us, if all our art could censure those.
With him there was a prelate 19, by his place
Arch-deacon to the byshopp, by his face
A greater man; for that did counterfeit
Lord abbot of some convent standing yet,
17 Warwick castle. Edit. 1648. G. 18 Fulke Greville, lord Brooke. G. 19 Arch-deacon Burton. Edit. 1648. G.