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In freehold, not as an inmate,
WHICH IS SIE.
Ο Ζευς κατείδε χρόνιος εις τας διφθέρας. 'Tis a record in heaven. You that were Her children and grandchildren, read it here; Transmit it to your nephews, friends, allies, Tenants, and servants: have they hearts and
cyes To view the truth and own it? Do but look With pause upon it: make this page your
book! Your book? Your volume! Nay, the state
and story! Code, Digests, Pandects of all female glory!
For this did Katherine Lady Ogle die
EPITAPH ON THE LADY JANE. 54 I could begin with that grand form Here lies (And bid thee, reader, bring thy weeping eyes To see who 'tis —-) a noble countess, great In blood, in birth, by match and by her state, Religious, wise, chaste, loving, gracious, good, And number attributes unto a flood ; But every table in this church can say A list of epithets and praise this way ; No stone in any wall here but can tell Such things of everybody, and as well — Nay, they will render one's descent to hit And Christian name too with a herald's wit. But I would have thee to know something new, Not usual in a lady, and yet true, At least so great a lady she was wife But of one husband, and since he left life, But Sorrow she desired no other friend, And her she made her inmate to the end. To call on sickness still to be her guest, Whom she with sorrow first did lodge, then feast, Then entertain, and as death's harbinger, So woo'd at last that he was won to her Importune wish, and by her loved lord's side To lay her here, inclosed, his second bride; Where, spite of death, next life, for her love's sake This second marriage will eternal make.
54 Eldest daughter of Lord Ogle, and sister of the lady just mentioned.
AN EPIGRAM TO MY JOVIAL GOOD FRIEND, MR.
ROBERT DOVER, ON HIS GREAT INSTAURATION OF HIS HUNTING AND DANCING AT COTS
I cannot bring my muse to drop vies 56
ANSWER TO WITHER'S LINES,
“SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR.”
55 From the Annalia Dubrensia, a collection of encomiastic verses composed and published in honor of Mr. Robert Dover, the founder of an annual meeting for rustic sports upon the Cotswold Hills, in the reign of James ). The volume is dated 1636.
66 To vie was to hazard, to put down a certain sum upou a hand of cards.
Shall my foolish heart be burst
Shall a woman's vices make
'Cause her fortunes seem too low,
Great, or proud, or kind, or fair,
If she slight me when I woo,
TO MY DETRACTOR.57 My verses were commended thou dars't say, And they were very good ; yet thou think'st nay; For thou objectest (as thou hast been toll) The envied returns of forty pound in gold. Fool! do not rate my rhymes. I've found thy vice Is to make cheap the lord, the lines, the price. But howl thou on, I pity thee, poor cur,
Ι Till thou hast lost thy noise, thy foam, thy stir, To be known what thou art, a blatant beast, By barking against me. Thou look'st at least I now would writeon thee! No, wretch ; thy name Shall not work out unto it such a fame. Thou art not worth it. Who will care to know If such a tyke as thou e'er wert or no? A mongrel cur, thou shouldst stink forth and die Nameless and noisome as thy infamy ! No man will tarry by thee, as he goes, To ask thy name if he have half his nose, But fly thee like the Pest. Walk not the street Out in the dog-days, lest the killer meet Thy noddle with his club, and lashing forth Thy dirty brains, men smell thy want of worth.
5 This poem should be read in connection with the Epigram, page 284, where see note.