The Gentleman's Magazine

who "loved him not") was, that he was a cold, correct gentleman, each word being designed as emphatic. And this, with the allowance to be made for the pen of an enemy, I admit to be on the whole not an unfair representation. The evident μéiwσis conveyed in Dr. C's expression" of scholarship sufficient for the purpose," might I think have been spared in speaking of a scholar of the eminent Budworth, and a Fellow of Emmanuel, already raised, in part at least, by his merits. as a scholar to the friendship of Lord Mansfield and Charles Yorke, as well as to the head of his profession.*

It is next said, that "he had contributed little to his profession, but some Sermons long since passed away.' His pulpit compositions consist of three volumes of Sermons, preached at Lincoln's Inn in the course of his duty as Preacher; and two volumes of Lectures on the Prophecies, preached at the Lecture founded there by Bishop Warburton. If by these Sermons having "passed away," be meant, superseded on booksellers' counters, by the inundation of novelties which the press is continually pouring forth, it may be admitted; but if it be intended that they are banished from the studies of persons of taste and judgment, it must be positively denied. To such they are, and always will be, known. Those who are familiar with them, will acknowledge how accurate a picture of his own compositions is afforded by the Bishop's critique on those of his great friend Lord Mansfield, "constant good sense, flowing in apt terms, and the clearest method." Nor are his Lectures on Prophecy "passed away," even in the former sense, being found in the lists of books recommended for divinity students by the late Bishop Ryder and Professor Burton. It is added, that he had contributed nothing to general literature, but some Letters on Chivalry, equally superseded by the manlier disquisition of our time." Is it not surprising, that while this short appendage to the Bishop's Moral and Political Dialogues is mentioned, neither those Dialogues

* He was, at the time of his appointment as Preceptor, Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry.

themselves, nor his Commentary and Notes on Horace's Art of Poetry and Epistle to Augustus, should be so much as hinted at? although the former must ever set his reputation as a practical moralist and politician, as well as the possessor of a refined and cultivated style, on a high eminence; and the latter, though its hypothesis is at present superseded, in the estimation of some, by that of Wieland, contains a mass of acute and tasteful criticism, supported by sound scholarship and extensive research.† With regard to the middle paragraph, beginning, "It had been his fortune," &c. it may be observed, that it is hardly ground for slighting remark, that a spirit so essentially different from Warburton's should gladly have reverted from a more public station to literary, retirement. As for the conclusion, "when Warburton died," &c. it appears, on a reference to dates, that Warburton's death did not take place till 1779, when Bishop Hurd was either sixty, or upon the verge of it; and surely the motive may deserve a better name than "literary indolence" which led a Bishop, towards the decline of life, to withdraw from other pursuits, to the more appropriate duties of his calling. What his own views on this subject were, so early as the year 1759, when he was but forty, cannot be better told than in his own elegant and feeling words addressed to his friend Mason:

"My younger years, indeed, have been spent in turning over those authors which

"When a language as ours at this time hath been much polished and enriched with perfect models of style in almost every way, it is in the order of things that the next step should be to a vicious affectation. For the simplicity of true taste under these circumstances grows insipid; something better than the best must be aimed at, and the reader's languid appetite raised by the provocatives of an ambitious refinement. And this in sentiment as well as language." Comm. Notes to Hor. A. P. vol. i. p. 251.

young men are most fond of; and among these, I will not disown that the poets of ancient and modern fame have had their full share in my affections. But you, who love me so well, would not wish me to pass more of my life in these flowery regions; which though you may yet

wander in without offence, and the rather as you wander in them with so pure a mind and to so moral a purpose, there seems no decent pretence for me to loiter in them any longer."-Dissertation on the Marks of Poetical Imitation.

On the whole, I would venture to hope, that in another edition of the

"Personal History," &c. Dr. Croly,
with the generosity proper to his
country, and in which I understand he
largely shares, will cancel, or at least
materially qualify, a passage calculated
unjust an impression of one whom
to convey so disparaging and so
the best judges of moral and literary
merit, both in his own and succeeding
times, have delighted to honor.
Yours, &c.

THE EDITOR OF BISHOP WARBUR-
TON'S LITERARY REMAINS.

RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

Dolarny's Primerose; or, the First Part of the Passionate Hermit, &c. by John Raynolds. 1606. (Roxburghe reprint, 1806.)

THE original edition of this Poem sold for 267. 10s. at Mr. Bindley's sale. It is dedicated to the Right Honourable Esme Steuart, Lord of Aubignay, and one of the Gentlemen of his Majesties Bed-chamber, and has a commendatory Sonnet by Abraham Savere, gentleman.

The poem is not unpleasingly written, with rich exuberant descriptions of nature, and pastoral scenes, and the delights of spring; but we must confine our quotations to the following singular imitation of Hamlet's soliloquy in the scene with the grave-digger; no allusion whatever being made to the original. Hamlet was printed in the year 1604, and Mr. J. Reynolds made his "gentle theft" from it in 1606.

Then sate I down upon the carpet grasse,

Where, after thankes to God for that our meate,
He did beginne the dinner time to passe,

With sad discourse, but not a bit did eate.
For in his hand he took the dead man's scull,
The which did seeme to fill his stomach full.

He held it still in his sinister hand,

And turn'd it soft, and stroak'd it with the other;
He smiled on it, and oft demurely fawn'd,

As it had been the head of his own brother:
Oft would h' have spoke, but something cried delay,
At length, half weeping, these words did he say.
"This barren scull that here you do beholde,

Why might it not have been an Emperor's head?
Whose storehouse rich was heap'd with massy gold?
If it were so, alle that to him is dead.

His empire, crowne, his dignities and all,

When death took him, all them from him did fall.

Why might not this an Empresse head have beene,
Although now bare with earth and crooked age?
Perhaps it was the head of some great queene,

Virtuous in youth, though now spoil'd with earth's rage?
Well, if it were so rich a treasure once,

Now 'tis no more but rattling ghastly bones.

Say that it were the head of some great man,

That wisely searcht and pri'd out every cause;

And that invented every day to skanne

The deep distinctions of all sorts of laws,

And sometimes to cut off his neighbour's head:
Why, if it were, himselfe is now but dead,

And might it not a lady sometimes joye

T' have deckt and trimm'd this now rain-beaten face,
With many a trick and new-found pleasure toye?
Which if that now she did behold her case,
Although on earth she were for to remaine,
She would not paint nor trimme it up againe.
Why might not this have been some lawyer's pate,
The which sometimes brib'd, baul'd, and tooke a fee,
And law exacted to the highest rate?

Why might not this be such a man as he?
Your quirks, your quiblets, now, sir, where be they?
Now he is mute, and not a word can say.

Why might not this have garnisht forth some dame,
Whose sole delight was in her dog and fanne ;
Her gloves and maske to keep her from the aime
Of Phoebus' heate, her hands or face to tanne?
Perhaps this might in every sort agree
To be the head of such a one as shee.
Or why not this some filthie pander slave,
That, broker like, his soule doth set and sell,
Might not have dyed, and in an honest grave
After his death gone thither for to dwell?
And I come then, long after he were dead,
And purchase so his filthy pander's head.
Or say 'twere thus-some three-chin'd foggy dame,
The which was so, that then a baud was turn'd,

And kept a house of wanton Venus' game,

Untill such time her chimnies all were burn'd;
And then some one, with Gallian spice well sped,
May dye of that,—and this may be her head.
But O I run on, I runne too far astray,

And prate and talke my wits quite out of doore.
Say 't were a king, quene, lord, or lady gay,

A lawyer, minion, pander, or a whore;
If it were noble, 't were not for me to crake on,
If it were base, it were too vile to speake on.
But whatsoe'er it was, now 't is but this,

A dead man's scull, usurped from his grave;
Yet doo I make it still my formost dish;

For why? 't is all the comfort that I have,
In that I may, when any dine with mee,

Shew what they were, and eke what they shall bee.

There is one other stanza towards the conclusion of the poem, which is also an imitation of a passage in the same play, in the Ghost's address to Hamlet.

"But stay; methinks I see the Eurian lights
Budding like roses on the morninge's browes;
The drowsie vapours take their sable flyghtes,
And bright Aurora dothe herselfe unhouse;

The glow-worme dim fear's the approaching sun,
Wherefore farewell-for I to speak have done."

As a further specimen of the style, we shall give one more specimen from this rare poem, being the description of a hunt.

Aurora's spring, that ripes the golden mornes,
No sooner pried on the mountaines tops,
But that the huntsmen winded out their hornes,
Calling the dogs into a grovie cops.

I follow'd on; at length there did appeare,
Rous'd from the wood, a lustie fallow deare.

GENT. MAG. VOL. XVII.

The hounds pursu'd, the huntsmen's echoing noise
Did seeme throughout the shadie groves to ring;
Unskill'd of horne, scarce with a huntsman's voice,
I followed still, to see that novell thing.
'Twere foll' in me, Thyestes like to vaunt it,
But that the huntsmen and the hounds did chaunt it.
The grieved hart with teares bewayles his case,
The eager dogs did lightly passe the grounds;
A Paduan brach was formost in the chase,

For she did hide the other crie of houndes.
Which caused the host to scud with nimble heels,
On hills and dales, on craggie bracks and fields.
Then did he fall into a heard of deere,

Then to the soile, then to the heard againe,
Then in the woodes he fayntlye did appear,

Then o'er the mountains, then into a plaine.
And all this while the houndes had not a checke,
But still did seeme to take her by the necke.
And formost still that faire Italian hounde,

The which we thought to be of Spartan kinde,
Of all the rest she seem'd to gather grounde,
For she did run as swift as any winde;

Which caus'd the deer in 's necke to laie his hornes,
And so to post through brambles, briers, and thornes.
The huntsmen, glad to see their sport so good,

Did winde their hornes to courage up their houndes,
The sillie deer did hasten to the wood,

The dogs full crye did keepe a narrowe boundes;
So that some times they seem'd his hanche to nipp,
Which caused him feeblie from their gripes to slippe.
O'er bush and brier the dogs did seeme to make him
Bounce, leap, and skippe, when he could scarcely go;
I follow still, but could not overtake him,

Yet did I crosse and meete him to and fro.
Then in the groves the houndes did ring apace,

With yelping voyces, in that solemn chase.

Then here, then there, the echoing wood resounded,

Of those shrill notes display'd with hornes and hounds;

The noyse whereof into the skyes rebounded,

Throughout the hills and all the daly grounds;

Which faster ran, my tongue denyes to tell,
The hunting musicke did so much excell.
Then for to meete the game a neerer way,

I walkt along a dale hard by a fountaine ;
Whereas awhile to drinke I there did stay;

Then did I climbe the top of yonder mountaine,
Where I might view at large the valley grounds,
But could not hear the huntsmen nor the hounds.
Then looking towards this little shady plain,

Like a young huntsman I began to call;
Whereas me thought one answered me againe,
That seem'd my voyce in his for to install.
I, something angry, came along the ground,
But then I knew it was an ecchoe's sound.
Thus having lost the sport I came to see,

And knowing not when to see the same againe,
My minde did with my weary legs agree

Homeward to go, thorough this covert plaine.
Thus leaving off the lusty red deer chase,

It was my chance to finde you in this place, &c.

J. M.

REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS.

Manners and Household Expenses of England in the Thirteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, illustrated by original Records. 4to. Lond. 1841.

THIS handsome volume, printed and edited at the expense of Mr. Botfield, for the information of the Members of the Roxburghe Club, contains a great deal of antiquarian information, which it is much to be regretted did not find its way into the world through some other channel. Well printed, well edited, well bound, "rich with the spoils of time," and those spoils relating to persons worthy to be had in perpetual remembrance, we cannot but regret that it was not given to the public instead of to a coterie, to the world instead of to a club. When twenty or thirty gentlemen have the bad taste to associate together in order to print books which they may merely present to one another, it is to be regretted that their taste does not also lead them to produce volumes of such a kind that the world may care nothing about them. This has often been the case with the Roxburghers. Books more worthless than some from which these lordly bibliomaniacs have derived self-glorification can scarcely be conceived; but the present is an exception, and hence these regrets.

The book is divisible into three parts, all entirely distinct. The first consists of a Roll of the Household Expenses of Eleanor Countess of Leicester during part of the year 1265. This lady was the third daughter of King John, and wife of the celebrated Simon de Montfort, and the time to which the Roll relates comprises a great part of the brief period of her husband's exaltation to the highest rank in the kingdom, together with that of his downfall and death. At the opening of the Roll the Countess is at Wallingford, on her way to Odiham Castle, one of her husband's strongholds. There she lived in almost regal splendour, entertaining persons of the highest rank as her guests, and doling out her bounty to the poor with princely munificence. At that time the King, Henry III. and

Richard, King of the Romans, her brothers, and the heir apparent, Prince Edward, her nephew, were all her husband's prisoners; the whole power of the kingdom was in his hands, and the tide of alteration in the constitution and government was flowing fast under his direction. After a few months the Roll comes to an end; and how strangely different is the state of things which it presents at its termination. The Sovereign was again at liberty and restored to his rightful position, the rebel Earl had fallen upon the field of Evesham, and the widowed Countess was on the point of seeking safety for herself and her children in exile. Such is an outline of the events affecting the Countess of Leicester which distinguished the year 1265; and, although there are few direct historical incidents recorded in the Roll now published, it abounds in entries which are indirectly illustrative of the pending changes in public affairs, and of the downfall of her hopes and fortune.

"On the 17th March," remarks the Editor, "Prince Edward and Henry of Germany came from Wallingford to Odiham, in the company, or rather custody, of Henry de Montfort. They seem to have repaired thither to await the coming of the Earl of Leicester, who was expected, and arrived on the 19th. Their retinue was considerable, for the number of horses

in the Castle stables was increased, by their Earl reached Odiham the number rose coming, from 44 to 172; and after the from 172 to 334.” (P. xxvii.) "On the 14th of April, the Countess fed eight hundred paupers, who consumed, inter alia, three quarters of bread and a tun of cider." (P. xxviii.)

Now mark the contrast.

"It was in the evening of the 28th May that Prince Edward escaped from his custody at Hereford. On the 1st June.. the Countess left Odiham, and travelled during the night to Porchester, under the guidance of Dobbe, her parker or shepherd.. At Porchester the Countess remained until the 12th of June, and then proceeded to Bramber Castle, by way of Chichester, where she dined. From thence to Wilmington on the 13th; to Winchelsea,

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