For though this clime was blest of yore, Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, Now birds record new harmony, SONNET. Actæon lost, in middle of his sport, I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, GEORGE TURBERVILLE. Or this author-George Turberville-once famous in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has selected a short specimen. IN PRAISE OF THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF WARWICK. When Nature first in hand did take The clay to frame this Countess' corse, And was compell'd of very force, The gods that then in council sate, Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd First Jove began: What, daughter dear, Kind:' nature.-'Imps:' children.-3 Wonne:' dwell. 'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, So reckless to depart the ground That is allotted to thy share?' And therewithal his godhead frown'd. 'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, Declare the cause I fled the land. 'I undertook of late a piece Of clay a featured face to frame, 'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd Below in earth, and gave me laws On mortal wights, and will'd that kind Should make and mar, as she saw cause: Of right, I think, I may appeal, And crave your help in this to deal.' When Jove saw how the case did stand, First Jove each limb did well dispose, Her gallant gifts as best she may; When Venus had done what she could In making of her carcase brave, Of Bacchus she no member had, That gods had thought it gold to be: Diana held her peace a space, Until those other gods had done; 'At last,' quoth she, in Dian's chase With bow in hand this nymph shall run; And chief of all my noble train I will this virgin entertain.' Then joyful Juno came and said, 'Since you to her so friendly are, I do appoint this noble maid To match with Mars his peer for war; She shall the Countess Warwick be, And yield Diana's bow to me.' When to so good effect it came, And every member had his grace, Feat:' neat. 'For since your godheads forged have With one assent this noble dame, Report was summon'd then in haste, That might be heard through Brutus' land. O seely1 Nature, born to pain, O woful, wretched kind (I say), To make this Countess out of clay: In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and where The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our poets. 'Seely:' simple. |