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amusing in parts, and cannot fail exciting the risible faculties of the reader. Witness the following passage from the description of the knight:

Upon their head march'd the Good

man,

Like Scanderbeg or Tamerlane.

Dame Nature strain'd her utmost care
To mould him for a Man of War:
A terrible and a dreadful Foe,
As doth appear from top to toe.
The shape and fashion of his head,
Was like a Cone, or Pyramid:
Or for to speak in terms more groff,
It was just like a Suggar Loaf:
Or like the head of Rob the Criple,
Or like the spear of Magdalen Steeple:
Or like the bottom of a Tap,
Or like a fur'd Muscovia Cap.
They who the South east Countrys
haunts,

Affirm such heads have Turkish Saints:
Which as some learned Writers notes,
Are here with us call'd Idiots.
Because long hair the Wit doth dull,
Nought was between Heaven and his
skull:

His ears were long, and stood upright,
Which did so well become the Knight;
That at some distance he seem'd horn'd,
His one eye was with pearl adorn'd:
His other eye lookt so asquint,
That it was hard to ward his dint:
From thence down to his mouth arose

A mountain rather than a nose;

Upon which savage beasts did feed,

As Worms, and Selkhorns, which with speed

Would eat it up, but he begins

In time to pick them out with Pins.
His lips were thick, his mouth was wide,
His teeth each other did bestride:
His tongue was big, though well he meant,
He was not very eloquent.
His beard was long, and red, and thin,
Making a ball green on his Chin:
As trees do sometimes in a Wood,
Where Horse and Oxen gather food:
His arms were stiff like Barrow trams,
His Hands were hued like reisted Hams:
At Finger-ends he never fails
To have the King of Babel's Nails,
Which sooner than a Knife, by half,
Will cut the Throat of Sheep or Calf,
When he not loving to be idle
Turns Cook to any Penny-Bridle.
They scrap up Works about his Leagure,
A great deal stronger, and far bigger
Than those made by Don Pedro Saa,
When Spinola besiedg'd Breda.
He had a Lump upon his Back,
Which some took for a Pedlers Pack:
But others some did it suppose

A Bagg which kept his Meal for Brose.
But neither conjecture was good,
It was a lump of Flesh and Blood.

The following account of the knight's mental knowledge is too entertaining not to be quoted:

All things created he doth know
In heav'n above, and Earth below:
He solves the Questions everyone
That Sheba's Queen ask'd Solomon :
Or any other knotty doubt,

That can occur the World throughout.

Neither doth he prate and bable,
Like Pliny painting out a Fable.
At first he makes a clear Narration
And then backs all by Demonstration.
He knows whether the great Magul,
Doth drink out of his Fathers Skull.

If it be prov'd by any man
That he is come of Tamerlan ;
Or if he keep Tobacco cut
In Tortois shell, or Coco Nut.
If Ichneumon and Crocodile
Do fight in Niger, as in Nile;
Or if we ought to believe them
Who say Melchisedec was not Sem,
Which raised once a fisty strife
Between a Preacher and his Wife
If any man yet ever born
Did see Phenix or Unicorn?
If there be a Philosopher Stone?
If men who have not Leg but one
With broad Soles, which by Toures
Defends their heads from Sun and
Showers:

If the Emperour Prestor John
Be the offspring of Solomon?
If those who lately conquered China
Be the Brothers-Sons of Diana?
Who to those North East parts were
turned

When Assur's King Samaria burned?
If Romes founders Wolfs did suck?
If Job in Edom was a Duke?

If Captain Hynd was a good fellow?
If Wallace Beard was black or yellow?
Which raised once a great discord
Between a western Laird and Lord.
If rosted Eggs be best, or sodden?
If James the fourth was kill'd at Flodden?
Which made two Schoolmen borrow
swords

That they might fight after big words.
If Sword, or Surfeit more men kill?
Who had the better at Edge-hill?
Where meet the Brethren of Cross
Rosie?

What sums the Spaniard in Potosie

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That frozen great Magnetick Rock
Under the Pole? - where what a clock
There cannot be made any trial,
The one year's half, by Phabus Dial.
By the Sea's motion he doth find
A North-East passage to the Inde:
Another he finds by the North-west,
Where Davies freezed to his rest:
When Icy Mountains did occur
And stopt his course to Mar del Zurr:
But he hath found a brave device,
That he may free those Seas from Ice;
He empties all the water, syne
He fills the place with brandy wine,
Which hardly will congeal with Frost,
If Whales turn drunk, and fishing lost;
Yet lose we not by that device,
For Whale Oyl we get Indian spice.
All other ways are but a cheat,
To fetch some Money from the State.
Its wonder they have sharkt so much,
Both from the English and the Dutch.

There is a curious list of all the various heresies professed by Sectarists in the time of the Rebellion on p. 100, but it is too long to be quoted. The

author of this burlesque is said to have been a son of Elizabeth Melvil, styled by courtesy Lady Culros, who indulged in sacred poetry, and published a rare poem called "Ane godlie Dreame," Edinb. 1603, 4to, long a favourite in Scotland, but this relationship appears very doubtful. Colvil, or at least a person of the same name, published a theological work under the title of "The Grand Impostor Discovered: or, an Historical Disputer of the Papacy and Popish Religion. Part I." Edinb. 1673, 4to. The Whiggs Supplication is noticed in an article on the Imitations of Hudibras in the Retrosp. Rev., vol. iii. p. 317. See also Irving's Lives of the Scottish Poets, vol. ii. p. 299; and the Bibl. Ang. Poet., No. 169. Colvil's poem enjoyed great popularity, and was frequently reprinted. The present edition is very incorrectly printed, and on coarse paper. Collation: Sig. A to H 8 in eights. pp. 128.

In the original Calf binding.

COLVIL, (SAMUEL.) -The Whiggs Supplication, or, The Scotch Hudibras. A Mock-Poem. In Two Parts. By Sam. Colvil. London: Printed for James Woodward, in St. Christophers Church-Yard, in Threadneadle-street, and John Baker, at the Black Boy in Pater-Noster-Row. 1710. 12mo, pp. 190.

Another edition of the Scotch Hudibras, in which some of the errors (but not all) of the former one are corrected, and a few notes explanatory of the text are added. In other respects the contents are the same as in the former impression. Bibl. Ang. Poet., No. 170, 188.

Collation: Sig. A to Q 5 inclusive, in sixes.

Haslewood's copy. In Calf neat.

CONINGESBYE, (HARRY.) - The Consolation of Philosophy. London Printed by James Flesher for the Author, 1664. Sm. 8vo, pp. 200.

The ancient and honourable family of Coningsby were seated at North Mimms in Hertfordshire, from the time of King Henry VIII., John Coningsby, the third son of Sir Humphrey Coningsby, having married Elizabeth daughter and coheiress of Henry Frowick of North Mimms, and

VOL. II. PART II.

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thus, in right of his wife, become possessed of that Manor. The present little work, composed by one of this family, whose pedigree, as given by Clutterbuck in his History of Hertfordshire, vol. i. p. 444, commences from the 22nd of K. John, is preceded by a long and interesting preface, giving an account of Thomas Coningsby of North Mimms, of this ancient family, and of as plentiful fortune, who having been High Sheriff of Hertfordshire in 1638, was for his loyalty, by a commission sent from Reading, again made High Sheriff in the year 1642, at the commencement of the Civil Wars, and received along with his commission a letter from Charles I. in his own handwriting.

Charles R.

Trusty and well beloved, We greet you well, and do hereby give you our assurance, that although we have at this present made choice of you to be our HighSheriff of our County of Hertford, We have done it out of no other respect then as a mark and testimony of our Favour, and Confidence of the utmost of your Service, in these Times, wherein we intend to imploy Persons of greatest Integrity and known Affections to us, and the good of our Kingdom; of which you have formerly given sufficient testimony. And although it may bring upon you great Expence and Trouble; yet we are confident you will not value it, in regard of our Service, and the good of that our Country; which shall not be forgotten by us on all occasions. So we bid you heartily farewell.

From our Court at Redding

this 11th of November, 1642.

Soon after this he received a Writ and Proclamation from Oxford, which declared the Earl of Essex and his adherents traitors, and authorized him to array the County for the King's Service. Mr. Coningsby in executing this Writ at St. Albans, was there taken prisoner by Cromwell, carried to London, and committed to London-house, where he continued prisoner till 1643, and his estate was sequestered, and plundered, and himself robbed of above 20007.

After this he was removed to the Tower, where he remained prisoner for seven years more under circumstances of great cruelty and privation, and his estate wasted and destroyed, until at last, worn out with sickness and disease, he was finally released by death, after twelve years suffering, in the year 1654.

He was the second son of Sir Ralph Coningsby of North Mimms, Knt., who was Sheriff of Herts in 1596, descended from Sir Humphrey Coningsby, Knt., a learned Judge of the King's Bench in the reign of King Henry VII., and lineally descended from a long and noble race of ancestors, Barons of

this kingdom from a very early period. "He was a person of admirable parts, and his great character was, that he lived and died honest, preferring his conscience and loyalty to his life, liberty, and estate; choosing rather to leave his family, which was numerous, poor and distressed, than rendered infamous and stained by any unworthy act of his.”

After the death of Thomas Coningsby, his widow, in conjunction with her son Harry, the author of this work, sold the estate of North Mimms in 1658, 10 Car. II., to Sir Nicholas Hide, Bart., who was succeeded by Sir Thomas Hide his son and heir, who had an only daughter Bridget, who married Peregrine Osborne, second Duke of Leeds, by whom it was conveyed to that noble family.

It appears that Thomas Coningsby, during his calamities, in order to alleviate his troubled mind, translated into English The Discourse on Constancy, by Justus Lipsius, but which does not seem ever to have been printed. He died October 1, 1654, aged 63. His son Harry, the translator of this treatise of Boethius into an English dress, "leaves it as a relique of his honest mind, reposing his trust in Almighty God, who when he pleases, can raise up those that are cast down lowest at least by this, posterity will know how and in what unhappy times, and for what cause it was the storm came upon him and ruined him, and learn to decline the fondness of this mutable world, and seek the never-fading Treasure."

At the end of the preface are some Latin lines, "Parentalia in memoriam nobilissimi T. C. arm. Hartford facta," and "On the same," in English, signed M. S. D. D. G." The work is in verse, and commences with an invocation from the writer thus:

I that was wont to sing full merrily,
Am forc'd sad tones to howl in misery ;
The tatter'd Muses bid me for to write

A mournful Song, while they with tears indite.
No terrour could affright these Sisters free
But of my griefs Companions they would be,
The glory of my happy youth does give
Some comfort to the cares in which I live,
Unwelcome age (that never-failing thief)
Intrudes himself, and mixes with my grief.
My hairs untimely from my head do fall,
My skin is loose, and joints do tremble all.
That death is happy that blithe Youth does spare,
But comes when call'd by one opprest with Care.

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