In obitum honoratissimi viri, ROGERI MANWOOD,* Militis, Quaestorii Reginalis Capitalis Baronis. Noctivagi terror, ganeonis triste flagellum, Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni, Urna subtegitur. Scelerum, gaudete, nepotes! Insons, luctifica sparsis cervice capillis, Plange! fori lumen, venerandæ gloria legis, Occidit: heu, secum effoetas Acherontis ad oras Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni, Livor, parce viro; non audacissimus esto Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vultus Mortalium attonuit: sic cum te nuntia Ditis Vulneret exsanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant, Famaque marmorei superet monumenta sepulcri.

* Sir Roger Manwood was a native of Sandwich, where he was born in 1525. He went into the profession of the law, in which he early acquired a high reputation, and after having been appointed Justice of the Common Pleas in 1572, was made Chief Baron of the Exchequer, with the dignity of knighthood, in 1578. Sir Roger resided at St. Stephen's, near Canterbury, where he died on the 14th December, 1592. He was buried in the church of St. Stephen's, where there is a costly monument to his memory, which he caused to be erected himself.

THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN.

TO HIS KIND AND TRUE FRIEND, EDWARD BLUNT.

Blunt, I purpose to be blunt with you, and, out of my dullness, to encounter you with a Dedication in memory of that pure elemental wit, Chr. Marlowe, whose ghost or genius is to be seen walk the Churchyard in, at the least, three or four sheets. Methinks you should presently look wild now, and grow humorously frantic upon the taste of it. Well, lest you should, let me tell you, this spirit was sometime a familiar of your own, Lucan's First Book translated; which, in regard of your old right in it, I have raised in the circle of your patronage. But stay now, Edward: if I mistake not, you are to accommodate yourself with some few instructions, touching the property of a patron, that you are not yet possessed of; and to study them for your better grace, as our gallants do fashions. First, you must be⚫ proud, and think you have merit enough in you, though you are ne'er so empty; then, when I bring you the book, take physic, and keep state; assign me a time by your man to come again; and, afore the day, be sure to have changed your lodging; in the mean time sleep little, and sweat with the invention of some pitiful dry jest or two, which you may happen to utter, with some little, or not at all, marking of your friends, when you have found a place for them to come in at; or, if by chance something has dropped from you worth the taking up, weary all that come to you with the often repetition of it; censure scornfully enough, and somewhat like a traveler; commend nothing, lest you discredit your (that which you would seem to have) judgment. These things, if you can mold yourself to them, Ned, I make no question but they will not become you. One special virtue in our patrons of these days I have promised myself you shall fit excellently, which is, to give nothing; yes, thy love I will challenge as my peculiar object, both in this, and, I hope, many more succeeding offices. Farewell: I affect not the world should measure my thoughts to thee by a scale of this nature: leave to think good of me when I fall from thee. Thine in all rites of perfect friendship,

*

THOMAS THORPE.*

Thorpe, and Blunt, to whom this dedication was addressed, were both booksellers.

Wars worse that civil on Thessalian plains,

And outrage strangling law, and people strong,
We sing, whose conquering swords their own breasts
launched,

Armies allied, the kingdom's league uprooted,
Th' affrighted world's force bent on public spoil,
Trumpets and drums, like deadly, threatening other,
Eagles alike displayed, darts answering darts.
Romans, what madness, what huge lust of war,
Hath made barbarians drunk with Latin blood?
Now Babylon, proud through our spoil, should stoop,
While slaughtered Crassus' ghost walks unrevenged,*
Will ye wage war, for which you shall not triumph?
Ah me! oh, what a world of land and sea

Might they have won whom civil broils have slain!
As far as Titan springs, where night dims heaven,
Ay, to the torrid zone where midday burns,
And where stiff winter, whom no spring resolv
Fetters the Euxine Sea with chains of ice;
Scythia and wild Armenia had been yoked,
And they of Nilus' mouth, if there live any.
Rome, if thou take delight in impious war,
First conquer all the earth, then turn thy force
Against thyself; as yet thou want'st not foes.
That now the walls of houses half-reared totter,
That rampires fallen down, huge heaps of stone
Lie in our towns, that houses are abandoned,
And few live that behold their ancient seats;
Italy many years hath lien untilled

[hinds;

And choked with thorns; that greedy earth wants
Fierce Pyrrhus, neither thou nor Hannibal
Art cause; no foreign foe could so afflict us :
These plagues arise from wreak of civil power.
But if for Nero, then unborn, the Fates

Would find no other means, and gods not slightly
Purchase immortal thrones, nor Jove joyed heaven
Until the cruel giants' war was done;

* Crassus, member of the first triumvirate with Cæsar and Pompey, put to death by Surena, general of the Parthians under Orodes the king, after having lost 20,000 men,

[old,

We plain not, Heavens, but gladly bear these evils
For Nero's sake: Pharsalia groan with slaughter,
And Carthage' souls be glutted with our bloods!
At Munda* let the dreadful battles join;
Add, Cæsar, to these ills, Perusian famine,†
The Mutin toils, the fleet at Leucas sunk,
And cruel field near burning Etna fought!||
Yet Rome is much bound to these civil arms,
Which made thee emperor. Thee (seeing thou, being
Must shine a star) shall heaven (whom thou lovest)
Receive with shouts; where thou wilt reign as king,
Or mount the Sun's flame-bearing chariot,
And with bright restless fire compass the earth,
Undaunted though her former guide be changed;
Nature and every power shall give thee place,
What god it please thee be, or where to sway.
But neither choose the north t' erect thy seat,
Not yet the adverse reeking southern pole, [beams,¶
Whence thou shouldst view thy Rome with squinting
If any one part of vast heaven thou swayest,
The burdened axis with thy force will bend:
The midst is best; that place is pure and bright;

* A small town in Hispania Bætica, where Cæsar defeated the sons of Pompey.

† An allusion to the siege of Perusia (now Perugia) by Augustus, who compelled L. Antonius to surrender for want of provisions.

These were two battles fought at Mutina (now Modena) between the consuls Pansa and Hirtius on the one side, and Marcus Antonius on the other, in which the latter was defeated.

An island in the Ionian Sea near the promontory of Actium, where Augustus destroyed the fleet of Marcus Antonius.

|| Probably an allusion to a naval battle between Octavius and the sons of Pompey, for in the original there is nothing about a field. Rowe, though not generally so close as Marlowe, gives the sense here more faithfully:"Though meagre famine in Perusia reign, Though Mutina with battle fills the plain,

Though Leuca's isle, and wide Ambracia's bay,
Record the rage of Actium's fatal day," &c.

All the Cæsars were enrolled amongst the gods. The advice to Nero to choose a seat in heaven neither to the north nor south, but in the midst, appears to be an exhortation to impartiality between the parties of Cæsar and Pompey, the former of whom gained his renown by the conquest of the northern, the latter of the southern, nations,

There, Cæsar, mayst thou shine, and no cloud dim thee.
Then men from war shall bide in league and ease,
Peace through the world from Janus' fane shall fly,
And bolt the brazen gates with bars of iron.
Thou, Cæsar, at this instant art my god:
Thee if I invocate, I shall not need

To crave Apollo's aid or Bacchus' help;

Thy power inspires the Muse that sings this war.
The causes first I purpose to unfold

Of these garboils,* whence springs a long discourse;
And what made madding people shake off peace.
The Fates are envious, high seats quickly perish,
Under great burdens falls are ever grievous:
Rome was so great it could not bear itself.
So when this world's compounded union breaks,
Time ends, and to old Chaos all things turn,
Confused stars shall meet, celestial fire

Fleet† on the floods, the earth shoulder the sea,
Affording it no shore, and Phoebe's wain
Chase Phoebus, and enraged affect his place,
And strive to shine by day, and full of strife
Dissolve the engines of the broken world.

All great things crush themselves; such end the gods
Allot the hight of honor; men so strong
By land and sea, no foreign force could ruin.
Oh, Rome, thyself art cause of all these evils,
Thyself thus shivered out to three men's shares!
Dire league of partners in a kingdom last not.
Oh, faintly-joined friends, with ambition blind,
Why join you force to share the world betwixt you?
While th' earth the sea, and air the earth sustains,
While Titan strives against the world's swift course,
Or Cynthia, night's queen, waits upon the day,
Shall never faith be found in fellow kings:
Dominion can not suffer partnership.

This needs no foreign proof nor far-fet story:
Rome's infant walls were steeped in brother's blood;
Nor then was land or sea, to breed such hate;
A town with one poor church set them at odds.

* Turmoils.

† Float.