Had she been only that, which, now-a-days, With some allowance, makes perfection weight; She had deserv'd her share of common praise, Perchance, and had been priz'd above her rate: All other items met, and made one total sum. life and death of this sainted lady hath been, and is (to my knowledge) a religious and continued meditation. She was yours; and the terms whereon you parted with her, was no ill bargain. Having a double Interest (and, in that, a treble blessing) for more than twelve years, could you expect less than to lose the Principal? But ALMIGHTY God hath shewn himself so gracious a dealer, that we look for extraordinary pennyworths at his bountiful hand. Your wisdom knows practically that our affections must keep silence when his will is the speaker. He knew her fitter for Heaven than earth, and therefore transplanted her. He found her full ripe, and therefore gathered her. I present what here is to you, wherein you shall receive but the self-same by number, and by measure, which before you had by weight. Be pleased to accept it from the hand of him that makes a relique of her memory, and is "Your most affectionate friend to serve you, * The following is in a different train, but it shows the peculiarity of Quarles's fancy : Quick-finger'd Death's impartial; and lets fly Her shafts at all, but aims with fouler spite At fairer marks; she, now and then, shoots by And hits a fool; but, levelling at the white, She often pricks the Eagle in the eye, And spares the carcass of the flagging kite; Queens drop away, when blue-leg'd Maukin lives; Drones thrive when bees are burnt within their hives; And courtly Mildred dies, when country Madge survives. [From the above.] HER EPITAPH. We boast no virtues, and we beg no tears; Into our cost, or borrow A copy of our sorrow? If this be thy desire, Here lies a precedent-a rarer Earth never shew'd; nor Heaven a fairer. She was-but room forbids to tell thee what Sum all perfection up, and she was -that. EDITOR. I shall conclude these Specimens of Quarles's Poetry with the following from Mr. Ellis's "Specimens of Early English Poets," vol. iii. 122. It is the only one given by this gentleman, and as it happens to be of quite a different* nature from the preceding, I subjoin it with the greater readiness. It is extracted from his "Shepherd's Oracles," quarto, 1646; and describes, with some humour, the state of the Puritans. * So much so, as to excite a doubt in my mind, whether his son John, who, from Wood's account, was a writer as well as a lover of poetry, may not be the author of it. Consult Wood's Athen. Oxon. vol. ii. col. 355. SONG OF ANARCHUS. Know then, my brethren, Heaven is clear, Come then, my brethren, and be glad, Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down, We'll break the windows which the Whore And when the Popish saints are down, Shall stand for man to see; Rome's trash and trumperies shall go down, And hey! then up go we! We'll down with all the 'Varsities* If once that Anti-christian crew Be crush'd and overthrown, And keep the gentry down. Good manners have an ill report, We'll therefore cry good manners down, * The Universities. Our cobblers shall translate their souls We'll crush and fling the marriage ring We'll ask no bands, but e'en clap hands, I am not prepared to go quite the length of Dr. Jackson,* in commendation of Quarles's Poetry, though I am firmly convinced it merits not one half of the censure which the pedantry of Pope and of others has bestowed upon it. A Volume of Quarles's Poems would not probably be very kindly received by the public: but it is hoped that the foregoing Specimens will be considered as an acceptable gift. EDITOR. * In his "Thirty Letters," &c. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. THE reader is now in possession not only of the remarks of various critics on the merits and demerits of Quarles, but of such Specimens of the author's compositions as may induce him to form his own unbiassed opinion. It is not my wish to speak of this writer in a strain of unqualified panegyric; though I feel confident, that, with those who can relish the genius of JEREMY TAYLOR, or the energy of Sir THOMAS BROWNE, the ensuing pages will not be read with apathy or disappointment. The periods of Quarles are sometimes balanced with a nicety and precision which Johnson might not have disdained to adopt ; and his images of virtue and of vice are so happily conceived, and forcibly expressed, that we immediately turn with rapture towards the former, and with abhorrence from the latter. Perhaps there is no other instance of a writer before Milton, who, in the language of Cowper's encomium of Sydney, may be more justly called a warbler of poetic prose. As Quarles's plan will be found to be entirely novel, so is the execution of it equally happy. It may be difficult to discover, in the whole compass of English literature, the characteristics of vice or of weakness more forcibly displayed, or the consolations of religion more efficaciously administered. These beauties may however, in some places, appear to be tarnished by a style too luxuriantly metaphorical for the simplicity of devout compositions: and that |