There were women! there men! but to me a third sex
I saw them all dots-yet I loved them as specks:
And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes

I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise

Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten
By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten.
Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother
Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother
Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep

Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep
In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks
That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with looks;
But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never

I return'd to a spot I had startled for ever,

Though I oft loug'd to know, but could ask it of none,
Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?
For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by flight,
The men in their horror, the women in fright;
None ever remain'd save a child once that sported
Among the wild bluebells and playfully courted
The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay
Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away
From the flow'r at his finger; he rose and drew near
Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear,

But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright
To grow to large manhood of merciful might.
He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel
The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel,

And question'd my face with wide eyes; but when under
My lids he saw tears-for I wept at his wonder,

He stroked me and utter'd such kindliness then

That the once love of women, the friendship of men
In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss

On my heart in its desolate day such as this!

And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent,
And lifted him up in my arms with intent

To kiss him-but he cruel-kindly, alas!

Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass!
Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled
The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head,
That dissever'd my ear-but I felt not, whose fate
Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate!
Thus I wander'd companion'd of grief and forlorn
Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born,
But what was that land with its love where my home
Was self-shut against me; for why should I come
Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father
With a blight to the last of his sight?-let him rather
Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn
Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn
To his son even such as he left him. Oh how
Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now
Like Gods to my humbled estate?-or how bear
The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care
Of my hands? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd and came
Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same
As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream
In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream
That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild eyes
Against heav'n and so vanish'd. The gentle and wise
Lose their thoughts in deep studies-and others their ill
In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.

ODE

TO A SPARROW ALIGHTING BEFORE THE JUDGE'S CHAMBERS,
IN SERJEANTS' INN, FLEET-STREET.

(Written in half an hour, while attending a Summons.)

ART thou Solicitor for all thy tribe?

That thus I now behold thee one that comes
Down amid Bail-above, and Under-scribe,
To sue for crumbs?—

Away! 'tis vain to ogle round the square,—
I fear thou hast no head-

To think to get thy bread,
Where Lawyers are!

Say-hast thou pull'd some sparrow o'er the coals,
And flitted here a summons to indite?

I only hope no cursed judicial kite

Has struck thee off the Rolls!

I scarce should deem thee of the Law-and yet,
Thine eye is keen and quick enough-and still,
Thou bear'st thyself with perk and tiny fret :-
But then how desperately short thy Bill!

How quickly might'st thou be of that bereft!
A sixth tax'd off-how little would be left!
Art thou on summons come, or order bent?—
Tell me-for I am sick at heart to know!
Say, in the sky is there distress for rent

That thou hast flitted to the Courts below?
If thou wouldst haul some sparrow o'er the coals,
And wouldst his spirit hamper and perplex-
Go to John Boddy-he's available-
Sign-swear-and get a bill of Middlesex
Returnable (mind,-bailable!)

On Wednesday after the morrow of All Souls.
Or dost thou come a sufferer? I see-

I see thee "cast thy bail-ful eyes around;"
Oh, call James White, and he will set thee free,
He, and John Baines, will speedily be bound,—
In double the sum,

That thou wilt come

ADDITIONS TO LORD ORFORD'S ROYAL AND NOBLE AUTHORS.

No. IV.

JOHN TIPTOFT, EARL OF WORCESTER.

In the Harleian Manuscripts, No. this nobleman's capture and execu◄ 2194, p. 11, is a curious account of tion. It is as follows:

John De Vere, Earl of Oxford, was commissionated by Kinge Henry the Sixt lord high steward att the arraignement of John Lord Tiptoft, who flyinge from the battaile of Wakefeild, was found on the topp of a high tree in the forrest of Way-bridge, not farr from Huntington, and brought up to London, where vpon the 15th day of October, in the yeare of our Lord 1469, hee was arraigned att Westminster, and indicted of Treason, and many other crymes, wch were hardly vrged against him, the rather because hee was a favourett of Edward the fowrth; and receaved the sentence of death, wch the munday following was executed on Tower Hill, by cuttinge off his head.

This Lord was commonly called The Butcher of England, for his cruelty, and when the sheriffes of London had taken him from the barr in Westminster to leade him to the block on Tower Hill, the people preased soe impor tunately to see and behold him, that they were fayne to turne into the Fleete and there to borrowe Gaole for him for that night.

Hee tooke his death full patiently, and his corpes, withe the head, was borne to the Blackfryers and there honourablie buried in the chapell standinge in the body of the church wch hee before tyme had founded.

called him; whilst it would be but fair to suppose, that the disgraceful events that succeeded the execution, were committed by inferior agents without the knowledge or connivance of the Earl.

The Earl of Worcester's great work was his Translation of Cicero De Amicitiâ, which was printed by Caxton, in 1481. His printer indulges in high commendation of the noble translator, and speaks of him as eminently learned, and the subject of universal applause:

Stow insinuates, that the Earl of Worcester's cruelty, (for which he received the opprobrious title of butcher) was the circumstance of his having sat in judgment on Clapham and his associates, who were taken, off Southampton, and upon whose bodies, after death, indignities were committed, worthy only of the most savage and brutal ages: it seems hard, however, to tax Lord Worcester with cruelty for presiding at a trial which his sovereign, Edward the Fourth, commanded, and to which his office. of Lord High Constable peculiarly Remembre hym that translated it in to our maternal and Englyssh tongue, (says Caxton,) I mene the right vertuous and noble erle therle of Wurcestre, whiche late pytously lost his lyf, whos soule I recommende vnto youre special prayers; and also in his tyme made many other vertuous werkys, whiche I haue herd of. O good blessyd lord god, (he continues) what grete losse was it of that noble vertuous and wel disposed lord! whan I remembre and aduertyse his lyf, his science, and his vertue, me thynketh god not displesyd, ouer grete a losse of suche a man, consyderyng his estate and conning. And also thexcercise of the same: with the grete laboures in gooyng on pylgremage vnto Jherusalem visytyng there the holy places that oure blessyd lord Jhesu Criste halowed thith his blessyd presence, and shedyng there his precious blood for oure redempcion. And from thens ascended vnto his fader in heuen. And what worship had he at Rome in the presence of oure holy fader the pope. And so in alle other places vnto his deth, at whiche deth euery man that was there myght lerne to dye and take his deth paciently, wherin I hope and doubte not but that god receyued his soule in to his euirlastyng blysse, ffor as I am enformed he ryght aduysedly ordeyned alle his thynges as well for his last will of wordly goodes as for his sowle helthes VOL. VI.

M

and pacyently and holyly without grudchyng in charyte to fore that he departed out of this world, whiche is gladsom and joyous to here. Thenne I. here recommende his sowle vnto youre prayers and also that we at our departyng maye departe in suche wyse, that it maye please our lord god to receyue vs in to his euirlastyng blysse. Amen. Explicit per Caxton.

The foregoing extract gives the reader a fair specimen of the prologue and epilogue usual with the father of English typography, and for that reason we have reprinted it. The second edition of Lord Worcester's tract had not been discovered by Lord Orford, nor has Mr. Dibdin recorded it in his list of Pynson's publications; although from the type and other similarities, there can be no doubt of its having issued from that press. It is a thin folio of eighteen leaves, wanting Caxton's introduction and colophon; ¶Tullius de amicicia, in Englysh. Here after ensueth a goodly treatyse of amyte or frendshyp, compylyd in latyn by the most eloquente Romayne Marcus Tullius Cicero, and lately translated in to Englyshe. Of this, the only copy known belonged to King Henry the seventh, and is now in the British Museum.

Caxton recounts the worship that

was paid to Lord Worcester at Rome; he has not told us, what may be learnt from another quarter, that his Lordship's learning retrieved the English character for literature, in Italy; and that when he addressed a Latin speech to the Pope, his Holiness was so affected at the elegance and spirit of the oration, that he actually burst into tears, and declared that he alone, of all the nobles of his age, could be compared with the most illustrious princes of Greece and Rome. "Te solùm enim omnium principum, (says John Phreas) verbis autem utar quibus usus est ad te Pius secundus, pontifex maximus, lacrymans præ gaudio, cum te audiret orantem, te solùm, inquam, omnium principum hæc nostra conspexit ætas, quem virtute et eloquentiâ præstantissimis ipsis Romanorum et Græcorum imperatoribus comparare possimus."

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.

The following account of the death of this well-known character is referred to by the ingenious Editor of Lord Orford; but it is too good an illustration to be omitted in these detached notices of our English no

bility. The writer (and we print it from the original document) was Mr. William Thomas, who held an official situation in Lord Oxford's family.

When Wilmot Lord Rochester lay on his death-bed, Mr. Fanshaw came to visit him with an intention to stay about a week with him. Mr. Fanshaw sitting by the bed side perceived his lordship praying to God through Jesus Christ, and acquainted Dr. Radcliff (who attended my lord R. in this illness, and was then in the house) with what he had heard, and told him, that my lord was certainly delirous, for to his knowledge (he said) he believed neither in God nor Jesus Christ. The Dr. (who had often heard him pray in the same manner) proposed to Mr. F. to go up to his lordship to be further satisfyed touching this affair. When they came to his room, the Dr. told my Lord what Mr. F. said, upon which his Lordship addressed himself to Mr. F. to this effect: "Sir, it is true, you and I have been very lewd and prophane together, and then I was of the opinion you mention; but now I am quite of another mind, and happy am I, that I am so. I am very sensible how miserable I was, whilst of another opinion. Sir, you may assure yourself that there is a Judge and a Future State;" and so entered into a very handsome discourse concerning the last judgment, future state, and concluded with a serious and pathetick exhortation to Mr. F. to enter into another course of life, adding that he (Mr. F.) knew him to be his friend, that he never was more so than at this time," and, Sir, (said he) to use a scripture expression, I am not mad, but speak the words of truth and soberness. Upon this Mr. F. trembled and went immediately afoot to Woodstock, and there hired a horse to Oxford, and thence took coach to London. At the same time, Dr. Shorter (who also attended my Lord in this illness) and Dr. Radcliff walking together in the park, and discoursing touching his

Lordship's condition, which they agreed to be past remedy, Dr. Shorter, fetching a very deep sigh, said, "Well, I can do him no good, but he has done me a great deal.” When Dr. Radcliff came to reside in London, he made enquiry about Dr. Shorter, and understood he was, before that time, a libertine in principles, but after that professed the Roman Catholick Religion.

I heard Dr. Radcliff give this account at my Lord Oxford's table (then Speaker of the House of Commons) June 16, 1702. Present (besides Mr. Speaker) Lord Weymouth, Mr. Bromley of Warwickshire, Mr. William Harvey, Mr. Pendarvis, Mr. Henry St. John, and I wrote it down immediately. WM. THOMAS.

We are not ignorant that it has been much the fashion of late years, as it was indeed in the early part of the last century, to doubt the sincerity of Lord Rochester's repentance; and it has been more than once insinuated, that Bishop Burnet made the most of the matter in the account he printed, in 1680, of this nobleman's conversion. The testimony just adduced seems, however, very decisive.

We conclude this article with two original letters of Lord Rochester, of no great interest, to be sure, but still curious, as they show the straits to which he was at times reduced, give a fair specimen of his familiar style, and have, we believe, escaped publication, notwithstanding the diligence of Biscoe, Curll, and Dodsley, who ransacked every corner for even a scrap of his Lordship's correspond

ence.

I kiss my deare wife a thousand times as farr as imagination and wish will give me leave: Thinke upon mee as long as it is pleasant and convenient to you to doe soe, and afterwards forgett mee, for though I would faine make you the author and foundation of my happiness, yet would I not bee the cause of your constraint and disturbance, for I love not myselfe soe much as I doe you, neither do I value my owne satisfaction equally as I doe your's. Farewell.-ROCHESTER.

Deare wife, I recover soe slowly, and relaps soe continually, that I am allmost weary of my self. If I had the least strength I would come to Adderbury, but in the condition I am, Kensington and back is a voyage I can hardly support. I hope you excuse my sending you noe money, for till I am well enough to fetch it my self, they will not give me a farthing; and if I had not pawn'd my plate, I believe I must have starv'd in my sickness. Well, God bless you and the children, whatever becomes of

Your humble servant, ROCHESTER.

TO ELIA.

ELIA, thy reveries and vision'd themes

To Care's lorn heart a luscious pleasure prove;
Wild as the mystery of delightful dreams,

Soft as the anguish of remember'd love :

Like records of past days their memory dances
Mid the cool feelings Manhood's reason brings,

As the unearthly visions of romances

Peopled with sweet and uncreated things ;-
And yet thy themes thy gentle worth enhances!
Then wake again thy wild harp's tenderest strings,

Sing on, sweet Bard, let fairy loves again

Smile in thy dreams, with angel ecstacies;

Bright o'er our souls will break the heavenly strain
Through the dull gloom of earth's realities.