I should not wonder if it had been written by Decker. It has all his humor, moral sweetness, and flow. An old song made by an aged old pate Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier. With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages, That every quarter paid their old servants their wages, And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor pages, Like an old courtier, &c. With an old study fill'd full of learned old books ; With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks ; And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks ; With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows; With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows, and a cup of old sherry to comfort his copper nose ; Like an old courtier, &c. With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come, With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd, And the king's young courtier. Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare, With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood, With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood, With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets and plays, With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days, With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on, On a new journey to London straight we all must be gone, With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is complete; With new titles of honor bought with his father's old gold RANDOLPH. BORN, 1605-DIED, 1634. THOMAS RANDOLPH, who died fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, aged twenty-nine, was one of the favorite disciples of Ben Jonson. He had a vein of comedy gayer and more natural than his master's, which might have rendered him a favorite with posterity, had he outlived the influence of his training. He had as much learning for his time of life, more animal spirits, and appears to have been very amiable. His brother collected and published his writings, with an introduction full of love and respect. He lost a finger once in endeavoring to part two combatants; and, instead of bewailing the mishap, turned it into a subject for epigram, and said he hoped to "shake hands with it in heaven." Randolph's best known play, the Muses' Looking-Glass, which is to be found in late collections of the old drama, is singularly full of life, considering it is one continued allegory, and didactic withal. And his dramatic pastoral, called Amyntas, or the Impossible Dowry (from an imaginary fairy investiture), deserves to be known quite as well, for its gaiety and graceful fancy. If he had but understood "the art of arts, the art to blot," he would have been popular to this day. But who did, in his time, even the greatest? Who thoroughly understands it any time? And what heaps of inferior poets have since gone, and are going, to oblivion, who took him doubtless for some obsolete gentleman, oppressed with a quaint love of talking, while they fancied their own garrulity to be the right "soul of wit ?" In the following scene from the Muses' Looking-Glass, the poet, under the Greek names of Deilus, Aphobus, and Colax, presents us with caricatures of Fear, Rashness, and Flattery The excessive double-dealing of Flattery, in his asides to the two others, is very ludicrous; and the extravagances of Fear have a foundation in truth, not unworthy to stand side by side with the honest poltrooneries of the hero in John Paul.* FEAR, RASHNESS, AND FLATTERY. DEILUS undergoes paroxysms of terror from the near conversation of I would not for a world lie alone to-night: I shall have such strange dreams! Aphobus. What can there be That I should fear? The gods? if they be good, 'Tis sin to fear them: if not good, no gods; And then let them fear me. That must affright me! Deil. Or are they devils Devils! where, good Aphobus? I thought there was some conjuring abroad; 'Tis such a terrible wind! O here it is; Now it is here again! O still, still, still. Apho. What is the matter? The thing in black, behind; Still it follows me! soon as the sun But shines, it haunts me? Gentle spirit, leave me ! Cannot you lay him? What ugly looks it has! With eyes as big as saucers, nostrils wider Than barbers' basons! But your weak fancy that from every object Draws arguments of fear. This terrible black thing— Deil. Where is it, Aphobus? Apho. Deil. And should we not fear shadows? Apho. Is but your shadow, Deilus. No, why should we? Watch him, Aphobus. Deil. Who knows but they come leering after us, To steal away the substance? Apho. I fear nothing. Colax. (aside to АPHOвUS) I do commend your valor, That fixes your great soul fast as a centre, Not to be mov'd with dangers. Let slight cock-boats * Vide Mr Carlyle's admirable translation of Tales from the German Be shaken with a wave, while you stand firm Like an undaunted rock, whose constant hardness Dashing it into froth. Base fear doth argue A low degenerate soul. Deil. (In answer to APHOBUS) Now I fear everything. Colax. (aside to DEILUS) 'Tis your discretion. Everything has danger, And therefore everything is to be feared. I do applaud this wisdom. 'Tis a symptom Of wary providence. His too confident rashness Though they be giants all, and arm'd with thunder. Deil. Why, do you not fear thunder? Thunder? No! Squibs and crackers! No more than squibs and crackers. Deil. I hope there be none here! s'lid, squibs and crackers! The mere epitomes of the gunpowder treason! Faux in a lesser volume Apho. Let fools gaze At bearded stars. It is all one to me, As if they had been shav'd. Thus, thus would I Deil. Is there a comet, say you? Nay, I saw it; Colax. Will that serve you?—I fear It threatens general ruin to the kingdom. Deil. I'll to some other country. Colax. To cross the seas. There is danger |