Page images
PDF
EPUB

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

By these I fell to vanitie and wracke;
And as a man forlorne with sinne and feare,

Despaire and sorrow doth constraine me crie,
Woe worth the faults & follies of mine eie !"

MORTON. Though there is some tautology in it, the Roundelay is obviously the work of no mean hand.

ELLIOT. There is a great deal of passion and feeling in the stanzas, and even the repetitions, such for instance as the last few lines, are very natural to a man under strong excitement, dwelling on what is most deeply impressed upon his mind.

MORTON. The recurrence of the same two lines at the end of every stanza is, I think, too artificial for very strong feeling, and but for this I should agree entirely with you. But how does it appear that Greene was the author of it?

BOURNE. Simply by being found in one of his acknowledged productions, of which there must have been several earlier editions, though that in my hand is dated only in 1621. It is called "Greene's never too late," and elsewhere Greene's Nunquam sera est ; a pamphlet, in which, conscience-struck, he laments, under a feigned name, "the faults and follies" of his own ungoverned youth.

MORTON. Perhaps Hind, the author of Eliosto Libidinoso, was a friend of Greene.

BOURNE. Possibly, though there is to proof of the fact there is proof that he was an admirer and an

[ocr errors]

imitator, of Greene in this very pamphlet, for the whole is an exaggeration of his worst style and most obvious faults. Even the title-page is an imitation of Greene, or more properly, a copy from him. The full title to Greene's "Carde of Fancie" runs thus, "Wherein the follie of those carpet Knights is deciphered, which guiding their course by the compass of Cupid, either dash their ship against most dangerous Rockes, or else attaine the hauen with paine and perill." Now read Hind's title.

MORTON. The resemblance is exact: "Wherein their imminent dangers are declared, who guiding the course of their life by the compasse of Affection, either dash their ship against most dangerous shelues, or else attaine the Hauen with extreme preiudice."

ELLIOT. But I should like a specimen from Hind's share of the performance; I do not care much about the resemblance of the titles.

BOURNE. I can have no objection, as we shall have time enough to-day to finish the English satirists: you shall hear both Hind's prose and poetry, for he was a versifier also: the prose is introductory of what is called "Dinohin's Sonnet," which Dinohin is, in fact, no other than John Hind, the same letters being used in both names.

MORTON. In the same way as 66 Dolarny's Primrose" is, in fact, Raynold's Primrose, though the writer in the British Bibliographer (I. 153), and Dr. Drake, in his "Shakespeare and his Times," were unable to "unriddle the conceit."

BOURNE. That conceit being merely the transposition of the letters. Dr. Drake, in the very imperfect and injudicious catalogue he has furnished of the poets contemporary with Shakespeare, has ventured to rank Raynold above mediocrity, and George Peele below it: yet the former was one of the most puling writers that ever put pen to paper, and the latter one of the most manly and vigorous. Observe too the following plagiarism from Hamlet in "Dolarny's Primrose," (1606): a Hermit is moralising upon a skull:

Why might not this haue beene some lawiers pate, The which sometimes brib'd, brawl'd, and tooke a

fee,

And law exacted to the highest rate?

Why might not this be such a one as he?

Your quirks and quillets now, Sir, where be they? Now he is mute and not a word can say."

ELLIOT. The writer had Hamlet in his memory, no doubt, and plagiarism is not too hard a word.

BOURNE. I only mentioned it incidentally, because it has not been previously noticed. I am sure the originality of such a milk-sop poet as Raynolds is not worth vindicating or disputing. Yet in order to enable you to decide upon the rank he ought really to take, and to ascertain whether there is a pretence for placing him before Peele, of whom you already know something, I cannot resist availing myself of

« PreviousContinue »