And so it ends, with a sufficient accumulation of words, and more than a sufficient paucity of ideas.

MORTON. "It is too much for one to bear," indeed when you came to the fourth stanza, beginning "And when I hear the storms arise," I was in hopes it was improving.

BOURNE. You cannot expect a despairing but doating lady to be much more than passionate in her poetry.

MORTON. And her sex may have induced the poet, for the sake of consistency of character, to heap together such a mass of reduplicated words without much meaning.

ELLIOT. I thought your originality would have been above such a reduplicated and threadbare observation, even putting gallantry out of the question. As to the merits of the poem, I think the internal much outweighs the external evidence, consisting, as it does, only of two initial letters: the name is as likely to have been Nathan Benjamin, or any other N. B. as Nicholas Breton.

BOURNE. I am sure I have no interest in attributing the trifle to the poet for whom you have taken such a strong partiality.

ELLIOT. But you ought to have an interest the other way, and that is what I feel. I am anxious that what is wholly unworthy of him should not needlessly be charged against him.

BOURNE. In that view of it the poem from which

I will now show you a brief extract would bear your examination. It was never printed, and is among the royal MSS. having been dedicated to King James: it is rather of a pious and didactic turn, but parts of it are eloquent.

ELLIOT. If it do the writer credit I shall be happy to look at it: what is it called?

BOURNE. It consists of eight parts: it is the praise of Virtue, Wisdom, Love, Constancy, Patience, Humility and the goodness of God, with a conclusion entitled Gloria in excelsis Deo.

MORTON. One part, and one only, is mentioned by Ritson you say you have a specimen of this curiosity; let us hear it.

BOURNE. A disconnected quotation will not give you a fair notion of the whole. In describing Virtue he says she is

"The soyle wherin all sweetnes ever groweth, the Fountaine whence all Wisedome ever springeth, the winde that never but all blessing bloweth, the Aier that all comfort ever bringeth;

the fire that ever life and love inflameth,

the Figure that all true perfection frameth."

And "Vpon the praise of Wisedomé" he has the following stanza :

"Shee feeds no fancy with an idle fashion,

yitt fashions all things in a comely frame;

shee never knew Repentance wofull Passion,
nor ever fear'd the blot of wicked blame;
but even and true what ever she intended

wrought all so well, that none could be amended."

ELLIOT. As you say, two stanzas can give us no correct idea of a long poem: the verse runs very smoothly, with the exception of the line in the first quotation, where you were obliged to read Air as two syllables.

BOURNE. That is a trifling defect, and warranted by the practice of the time. I am sorry I made no further extracts when the MS. poem was before me. But leaving Breton now, and his "fancy" in Eliosto Libidinoso, if you take that novel into your hand you will find on the next page another poem; read that, and tell me whom you think that worthy of.

ELLIOT. I do not see even initials inserted here, so that the guess is still wider. You mean the piece entitled "Eliostoes Roundelay."

BOURNE. I do, and which, it is stated, is borrowed from "a worthy writer." Who was that worthy writer?

ELLIOT. According to your account nearly all the poets of Elizabeth's reign were worthy writers, so that I shall be as wide of the mark as ever.

MORTON. Perhaps there is something said in the poem to let us into the secret.

BOURNE. No, but it is by a man of the highest

eminence and notoriety of that time-no less than Robert Greene, of whom we have heard so much, and who was unquestionably a first-rate poet. Read the Roundelay, and I will give you very satisfactory proof afterwards why I say it is his.

ELLIOT. It is somewhat of the longest, but if it indeed be Greene's I dare say I shall not regret it. "Eliostoes Roundelay.

Sitting and sighing in my secret muse; As once Apollo did, surpris'd with Loue,

Noting the slipperie waies young yeares doe vse, What fond affects the prime of youth doth moue: With bitter teares despairing I doe crie,

Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.

When wanton age, the blossome of my time,
Drew me to gaze vpon the gorgeous sight,
That Beautie pompous in her highest prime
Presents to tangle men with sweet delight:

Then with despairing teares my thoughts doe crie,
Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie."

This is very different sort of stuff to that which you wished to palm just now on Breton: at least, here we have beautiful versification. It proceeds,

"When I suruaid the riches of her lookes,
Where-out flew flames of neuer quencht desire,
Wherein lay baites that Venus snares with hookes,
Or where prowd Cupid sate, all arm'd with fire;

Then toucht with Loue my inward soule did crie,
Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.

The milke-white Galaxia of her browe,
Where Loue doth daunce Lauoltaes of his skill,
Like to the Temple where true Louers vow
To follow what shall please their mistresse will:
Noting her Iuorie front, now doe I crie,

Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.

Her face like siluer Luna in her shine,

All tainted through with bright vermillian straines,
Like Lillies dipt in Bacchus choicest wine,
Powdred and inter-seam'd with azur'd vaines;
Delighting in their pride now may I crie,
Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.
The golden wyers that checker in the day
Inferiour to the tresses of her haire;
Her Amber trammels did my heart dismay,
That when I lookt, I durst not ouer-dare:
Prowd of her pride, now I am forc't to crie,
Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.

These fading Beauties drew me on to sin
Natures great riches fram'd my bitter ruth;

These were the traps that Loue did snare me in;
Oh these and none but these haue wrackt my youth!
Mis-led by them, I may despairing crie,

Woe worth the faults and follies of mine eie.

By those I slipt from Vertues holy tracke,
That leads into the highest chrystall spheare