Those men a man could almost swear Of wisdom bare the bell. And yet these princely painted walls And so the light of reason's rule These children hap to be, To suffer pain for Virtue's sake, Have no reward? reward who seeks, By which we do assay to climb To Lady Learning's tower." [To be concluded in the next Number.] ART. IV. The whole book of Psalms with their wonted tunes; compiled by ten sondry authors, who have so laboured herein, that the unskilful with small practice may attaine to sing that part, which is fittest for their voyce. Imprinted at London by Thomas Est, the assigne of William Byrd, dwelling dwelling in Aldersgate streete at the signe of the black horse, and are there to be sold. 1594. 12mo. This is an ancient edition of the version of the Psalms by Sternhold, accompanied with the proper tunes then in use; probably not the first edition, but sufficiently ancient to shew what alterations have been since made in that version, and always for the worse. This has apparently been done at different times in order to substitute more modern words for such as were become obsolete, and not commonly understood: it may have rendered many sentences more intelligible, but has done injury to the credit of the author. The name of Sternhold is generally coupled with that of Blackmore, as being examples of poetic dulness; but if the effect of the unambitious simplicity of language in the subjoined version of the first part of the ninetieth psalm be compared with the stiff, formal, turgid language and pedantic conceits of the poets in the reign of Elizabeth, it will perhaps shine as a bright star in a cloudy night: it is at least a proof how little the ordinary language of that age differed from what prevails at present; so that the inverted construction of sentences and studious kind of obscurity, which is found both in the prose and poetry of those times, appear to have been the effect of misplaced labour and design, in order to rise above the form of common composition. "Thou Lord hast been our sure defence, Our rock and place of rest, In all times past, in all times since Thy name is ever blest; Ere Ere there was mountain made or hill, From age to age, and ever still, For ever thou art God: Thou bringest man through grief and pain And then thou sayest, return again, Again, ye sons of men. The lasting of a thousand year What is it in thy sight? As yesterday it doth appear, Or as a watch by night: Whene'er thy judgements come on men, All as a sleep, or like the grass, Which in the morning shines most bright, But fadeth bye and bye, And is cut down e're it be night, All withered dead and dry. So through thy wrath our days soon waste Till nought thereof remain, Our years consume as words or blaste And ne'er return again, Our age is three score years and ten That we the sun behold, Four score if any see, yet then We count them wondrous old; Untill our breath be gone. Instruct us then, O Lord, to know How long our days remain, That we may now our thoughts apply, True wisdom to attain." &c. YOL. IX, I have I have removed two or three vulgar expressions for such as are less exceptionable, lest they should depreciate the rest, but they might not have had that vulgarity in the age of Elizabeth; and the common editions have in like manner changed some obsolete words; yet none of these affect the meritorious part of the version, which otherwise exhibits the true state of the English language in that reign, as it subsisted in the ordinary mode of composition; and on this account, at least, may deserve a place among the other remains of that age; while at the same time the use of a few obscure or insipid words may be rather the fault of the age than the author; excepting the removal of which, not the least other alteration is made, in order that, he may speak for himself whether he ought to be altogether excluded from among the relics of what is called poetry in that reign. The new version of this psalm can bear no comparison with that of Sternhold. S. ART. V. The golden boke of Marcus Aurelius Emperour and eloquente oratour. Londini An, M.D.XLVI. Oct. 278 leaves. John Bourchier, Lord Berners, the translator, died at Calais 1532, aged sixty-three. His life, with several additional notices, may be found in the last edition of the Noble Authors, Vol. I. p. 239. Of the present work Herbert has placed a copy without date in 1534, 8vo. as printed by Berthelet. Another edition in 4to. 1536, printed by him, is mentioned by Warton. Three copies copies are in my possession, dated respectively 1546, 1553, (both without a printer's name) and 1559, having for colophon "Imprinted at London in Fletestrete, in the late house of Thomas Berthelet. Cum, &c." These are small octavo, and the titles in the ornamented compartment with the date 1534 used for the works of Sir Thomas Eliott. The original was found in the collection at Florence made by Cosmo de Medicis, and progressively translated from Greek into Latin, Castilian, French, and English. The prologue was by the first translator, and concludes with the following account of finding the original. "Whan I departed from the college of my study, and went to preache in the palays, where I sawe so many newe nouelties in the courtes, I delyuered my selfe with greatte desyre to knowe thynges, and gaue my selfe to searche and knowe thynges auncient. And the case fortuned on a daie, readyng an historie, I founde therein matter to be noted in a pistell, and it seemed to me so good, that I put all mine humaine forces to serche farther. And after in reuoluyng dyuers bokes, serchyng in diuers libraries, and also speakyng with diuers sages of diuers realmes, finally I found this tretise in Florence, among the bokes lefte there by Cosme de Medicis, a man of good memory. I haue vsed in this writyng, the which is humayne, that that diuerse tymes hath bene vsed in diuinitee, that is to reduce, not word for word but sentence for sentence. We other interprétours are not bounde to gyue for the meane the wordes, it sufficeth to gyue for the weyght the sentence. As the historiographers, of whom there were dyuers, and the history that they made was all but one thyng, I wyll not deny but I |