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land to be the crown of all his works'; and, for his poetical account of the Civil Wars, he has acquired the title of the English Lucan. He was a great improver of our language; and, while Milton, for example, has antidated his poems, by using antique modes of expression, Daniel seems to have anticipated one or two centuries, by em ploying language, which perhaps time can never render obsolete, or even unfamiliar.




“Our from the horrour of infernal deeps,
My poor afflicted ghost comes here to plain it,
Attended with my shame that never sleeps,
The spot wherewith my kind and youth did stain it;
My body found a grave where to contain it:
A sheet could hide my face, but not my sin,
For fame finds never tomb t enclose it in.

“ And which is worse, my soul is now denied
Her transport to the sweet Elysian rest,
The joyful bliss for ghosts repurified,
The ever-springing gardens of the bless'd:
Charon denies me waftage with the rest,
And says, my soul can never pass the river,
Till lovers sighs on Earth shall it deliver.

“ So shall I never pass; for how should I Procure this sacrifice amongst the living ?

Time hath long since worn out the memory
Both of my life, and lives unjust depriving,
Sorrow for me is dead for aye reviving.
Rosamond hath little left her but her name,
And that disgrac'd, for time hath wrongʻd the same,

“No Muse suggests the pity of my case,
Each pen doth overpass my just complaint,
Whilst others are preferr'd, though far more base ;
Shore's wife is grac'd, and passes for a saint;
Her legend justifies her foul attaint:
Her well-told tale did such compassion find,
That she is pass’d, and I am left behind.

“ Which seen with grief, my miserable ghost, (Whilome invested in so fair a veil, Which, whilst it liv’d, was honour'd of the most; And being dead, gives matter to bewail) Comes to solicit thee (whilst others fail) To take this task, and in thy woful song To form my case, and register my wrong.

“ Although I know thy just lamenting Muse,
Toil'd in the affection of thine own distress,
In others' cares hath little time to use,
And therefore may'st esteem of mine the less;
Yet as thy hopes attend happy redress :
The joys depending on a woman's grace,
So move thy mind, a woful woman's case.

“ Delia may hap to deign to read our story, And offer up her sighs amongst the rest, Whose merit would suffice for both our glory,

Whereby thou might'st be grac'd and I be bless'd,
That indulgence would profit me the best:
Such pow'r she hath by whom thy youth is led,
To joy the living, and to bless the dead.

“So I (through beauty) made the woful'st wight,
By beauty might have comfort after death;
That dying fairest, by the fairest might
Find life above on Earth, and rest beneath :
She that can bless us with one happy breath,
Give comfort to thy Muse to do her best,
That thereby thou may'st joy, and I may rest."


Thus said, forth with mov'd with a tender care
And pity (which myself could never find)
What she desir'd my Muse deign'd to declare,
And therefore will’d her boldly tell her mind :
And I (more willing) took this charge assign'd,
Because her griefs were worthy to be known,
And telling hers, might apt forget mine own.

“ Then write,” quoth she, “the ruin of my youth,
Report the downfall of my slipp’ry state ;
Of all my life reveal the simple truth,
To teach to others what I learnt too late;
Exemplify my frailty, tell how fate
Keeps in eternal dark our fortunes bidden,
And e'er they come to know them 't is forbidden.

“For whilst the sunshine of my fortune lasted,
I joy'd the happiest warmth, the sweetest heat,
That ever yet imperious beauty tasted ;
I had what glory ever flesh could get;
But this fair morning had a shameful set ;



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