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WAY mice, full blythe and amicable, Batten beside Erle Robert's table. Lies there ne trap their necks to catch, Ne old black cat their steps to watch, Their fill they eat of fowl and fish ; Feast lyche as heart of mouse mote wish. As guests sat jovial at the board, Forth leap'd our mice: eftsoons the lord Of Boling, whilome John the Saint, Who maketh oft propos full queint, Laugh'd jocund, and aloud he cried, To Matthew seated on t' oth' side; To thee, lean bard, it doth partain To understand these creatures tweine. Come frame us now some clean device, Or playsant rhime on yonder mice:

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They seem, God shield me, Mat. and Charles.*
Bad as Sir Topaz, or squire Quarles,†
(Matthew did for the nonce reply)
At emblem, or device am I:

But could I chaunt, or rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as thee,
Ne verse from me (so God me shrive)
On mouse, or other beast alive.
Certes, I have these many days
Sent myne poetic herd to graze.
Ne armed knight ydrad in war
With lyon fierce will I
compare:
Ne judge unjust, with furred fox,
Harming in secret guise the flocks:
Ne priest unworth of goddess coat,
To swine ydrunk, or filthy stoat.
Elk similè farewell for aye,
From elephant, I trow, to flea.

weene,

Reply'd the friendlike peer, I
Matthew is angred on the spleen.
Ne so, quoth Mat. ne shall be e'er,
With wit that falleth all so fair:
Eftsoons, well weet ye, mine intent
Boweth to your commaundement.
If by these creatures ye have seen,
Pourtrayed Charles and Matthew been,
Behoveth neet to wreck my brain,
The rest in order to explain.

That cup-board, where the mice disport,
I liken to St. Stephen's Court: +
Therein is space enough, I trow,

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+ Francis Quarles.

For elke comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may both be fed
With shiver of the wheaten bread.
And when, as these mine eyne survey,

They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different cells,
Auditing one, whilst t'other tells.

Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whose mind,
In bounteous deed no mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,

I deem this matter well made out.
Laugh I, whilst thus I serious pray?
Let that be wrought which Mat. doth say:
Yea, quoth the Erle, but not to-day.

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60

IN THE SAME STYLE.

ULL oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine, Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine; But Topaz his own werke rehearseth; And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verseth. Now sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner, Full hardly earneth Mat. his dinner.

IN THE SAME STYLE.

AIR Susan did her wif-hede well menteine: Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine: Now, and I read aright that auncient song, Olde were the paramours, the dame full yong.

Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde; Had they been yong (pardie) and she been olde; That, by St. Kit, had wrought much sorer tryal; Full merveillous, I wote, were swilk denyal.

A

FLOWER PAINTED BY SIMON VARELST.*

HEN fam'd Varelst this little wonder

drew,

Flora vouchsaf'd the growing work to
view :

Finding the painter's science at a stand,
The goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand;
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine, that ne'er shall fade.

Simon Varelst, a Flemish painter, born at Antwerp. He settled in England, and became very celebrated for painting fruits and flowers, and received greater sums for his performances than had ever been paid before for the like kind in London. Mr. Pilkington says, 66 as to his flower and fruit subjects, he handled them in a charming manner, and gave them force and relief by a judicious management of the chiaro scuro. He painted his objects with great truth and resemblance of nature, and his colouring was fresh, but as to his portraits, they were not much to his honour, though he finished them as highly as he did his flowers, which he always took care to introduce in every portrait." He died 1710, aged 46. See Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters, p. 667.

TO THE LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY,

SINCE MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN, ON

A COLUMN OF HER DRAWING.

HEN future ages shall with wonder view These glorious lines, which Harley's daughter drew,

They shall confess, that Britain could not raise

A fairer column to the father's praise.

M

PROTOGENES AND APELLES.

HEN poets wrote, and painters drew,
As nature pointed out the view;
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece,
To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Those knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight;
Protogenes, historians note,

Liv'd there, a burgess, scot and lot;
And, as old Pliny's writings show,

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* See C. Plinii Nat. Hist. lib. xxxv. cap. x vol. iii. p. 181 ed. 1669.

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