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in his waye, and not to take the worde of . 
trewethe utterly oute of youre mouthe— 
lyve ftill to dye, that by deathe you maye 
purchafe ~eternall life; and remembre 
howe the ende of Mathufael, whoe, as 
ave reade in the Scriptures, was the longette 
liver that was of a manne, died at the 
lafte ; for, as the precher fayethe, there is 
a tyme to be borne, and a tyme to dye, 
and the daye of deathe is better than the 
daye of oure birthe. > 
‘¢ Youres, as the Lord knowethe, as a 
66 Frende, ; 
‘¢ JaNE DUDDELEY.” 
Fol. 78.—‘* The Lorde comforte youre 
Grace; and that, in the worde whearein 
all creatures only are to be comforted, 
and thoughe it hathe pleafed God to take 
awaye ij of youre children, yet thinke not, 
I moft humblye befeche youre Grace, that 
you have lofte them, but trufte that we, 
by leafinge this mortall life, have wunne 
an immortal life ; and I, for my parte, as 
I have honoured youre Grace in thys life; 
wyll praye for you in an other life. 
«¢ Youre Gracy’s humble daughter, 
‘© JanE DUDDELEY.” 
JOSHUA SYLVESTER, 
SHE tranflater of Du 
"ty born 1563 (where ?) and died 1618, 
at Middleburg, in the Low Countries. 
-Not only Milton, Withers alfo is, indebted 
to him. His Ode to Altrza, in great part, 
merits tran{cription : 
*Tis not for thy beauteous eyes, 
Tho’ the brighteft lamp in fkies, 
Ta his higheft fummer-thine, 
Seems a {park compar’d with thine ; 
*Tis not, beauty’s emperefs, 
The amber ringlets of thy trefs 
Curling tothe wanton wind, 
That fo faft my freedom bind 5 
>Tis not all the dews ambrofial 
Of thoie pretty lips fo rofial 
Make me humble at thy feet, 
Tho’ the pureft honey {weet, _ 
That the Mufes’ birds do bring 
To Mount Hybla every fpring, 
Nothing near fo pleafant is 
As thy lively iovely kifs; 
?Tis not, O my Paradife, 
Thy forehead evener than the ice 5 
Tho’ the filver moon be fain, 
Still by night to mount her wain, 
Fearing to tuftain difgrace, 
If by day fhe meet thy face; 
*Tis not, maid, thine ivory neck, 
Makes me worthip at thy beck 
Nor that pretty double hill 
Of thy bofom panting {ill ; 
Tho’ no fairett, Leda’s {wan, 
Nerno fleekeft marble, can 
From the Port-folio of a Man of Letters. 
Bartas, was - 
es] 
Be fo fmooth or white in fhow 
As thy lilies and thy fnow 5 
°Tis not all the reft befide, 
Which thy modeft veil doth hide; 
Tho’ Diana being bare 
Nor Leucothe pailing rare, 
In the cryftal flowing fprings, 
Never bath’d fo beauteous things 5 
?Tis a f6mething more divine— 
Tis that peerlefs foul of thine 5 
>Tis thine all-admired wit, 
Thy fweet grace, and gefture fit, 
Thy mild pleafing courtefie, 
Makes the triumph over me. 
And for thy fair foul’s refpeét 
I love the twin-flames that reflect 
From thy bright tranflucent eyes, 
And thy golden hair likewife, 
And thofe orient-pearly rocks, 
Which thy lightning fmile unlocks, — 
And the neétar-paffing bliffes 
Of thy honey-fweeter kiffes, 
And thy frefh and rofy cheeks, 
Whence Aurora blufhes feeks, 
And the fnow-exceeding fkin 
Of thy neck, and dimpled chin, 
And thy pure and lily hand, 
Soft and fmooth and flender, and 
Thofe five nimble brethren {mall 
Armd with pearl-fhell helmets all, 
And thofe ivory marble mounts 
Either, neither, both at once, 
For I dare not touch to know, 
If they be of flefh or no. 
Sylvefter’s beft fonnet is the following: 
They fay that fhadows of deceafed ghofts 
Will haunt the houfes and the ,graves 
about 
Of fuch whofe life’s lamp went untimely 
out, 
Delighting fillin their forfaken hofts. 
So in the place where cruel love doth fhoot - 
The fatal fhaft that flew my heart’s de- 
light 
I ftalk and walk and wander day and night, 
Like a pale ghoft, with unperceived foot. 
But thofe light ghofts are happier far than I 5 
For, at their pleafure, they can come and go 
Unto the place that hides their treafure fo, 
And fee the fame with their fantaftic eye. 
While J, alas ! may not approach the cruel 
Proud monument that doth inclofe my 
jewel. . 
In the fecond volume of Percy’s Re- 
liques occurs (p. 309.) a poem there 
afcribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, which is 
comprehended in the firft pofthumous edi- 
tion of Sylvefter’s Works, beginning, « 
Goe, foule, the bodies gueft, &c. 
The ftanza : 
Tell zeal it lacks devotion 5 
Tell love it is but luft ; 
Tell priefts they hunt promotion ; 
Tell flefh it is but dust, 
: has 
