LAMENTATIO ESPERANTIÆ.

Wa worth the tiine that ever I him saw,
Wa worth ye hour yat first I did him knaw,
Wa worth the tide that ever we twa met,
Wa worth the day that ever it did daw,
To se my friend into sic thrist and thraw,
And far

my

sak in sorrow all over set; Allace, allace, is na remeid to get, Wa worth the toung that ever persewit sic law, To see bis handis into ane cord thus plet.

ELIZABETH GRYMESTON.

THIS Poetical writer is not mentioned by Ritson, but was the author of the following work;

“ MISCELLANEA, - MEDITATIONS, - ME: NORATĮVES, by Elizabeth Grymeston,

Non est rectum quod a Deo non est directuin,

London. Printed by Melch. Bradwood, for Folice Norton.

1604." This is a very rare and curious work. It is dedicated to the author's “ Loving Sonne, Bernye Grymeston," and is a miscellaneous compasition of verse and prose,

The poetry is indifferent enough, but among the Memoratives at the end are some maxims, as good and judicious as any to be met with iq Rochefoucault, or Bruyere. As for example:

“ The darts of lust are the eyes, and therefore fix not thy eye on that which thou mayst nog desire.

There is no moment of time spent which thou art not countable for, and therefore, when thou hearest the clocke strike, think there is now another houre come, whereof thou art to yeeld a reckoning

The

LAMENTATIO ESPERANTIÆ.

Wa worth the tiine that ever I him saw,
Wa worth ye hour yat first I did him knaw,
Wa worth the tide that ever we twa met,
Wa worth the day that ever it did daw,
To se my friend into sic tlırist and thiraw,
And far my sak iu sorrow all over set;
Allace, allace, is na remeid to get,
Wa worth the toung that ever persewit sic law,
To see his handis into ane cord thus plet.

I was to hait sa sove for to complaine,
I was unwise that his falt could not lane,
I was unkinde threw heit of sawage blude,
I was to sone ovir strekin with disdane,
I was to pert to put my friend to pane;
Allace, allace, now much my mane and mude,
I was but lap, I was of grace denude,
I was but with any will could not refrane,
But time my feir lis life and all his gude.

Now will ilkane hold me abhominabill,
Now will thay call me of his death culpabill,
Now will ilkane fra my cumpanie fle,
Now will thay hald my deides detestabill,
Now may I bruik with greit barret and baill
Like the fond fuill fulfillit with fantasie;
Allace, allace, hard is my destenie,
Now call they ne ane Tratour tressonabill,
Of my brother caus I had na pietie.

· Philip, who
ricall account
rnamed Juliet,
e John Phyllips
W name to be
English Poets.
book.
Right Noble and
sis Good Grace,
to the renowned
Targarit, Queene

The end of a dissolute life is a desperate death. There was never president to the contrary, but in the theefe in the Gospell: In one, lest any shuld despaire : in one alone, lest any should presume.

Evil thoughts are the divels harbingers, for he lodgețh not but where they provide his entertainment.

Indifferent equality is safest superiority.
Where passions increase, complaints multiply.

If thou givest a benefit, keepe it close; but if thou receiuest one, publish it, for that invites another.

Let thy will be thy friend, thy minde thy companion, thy tongue thy servant.

Age may gaze at beauties blossomes; but youth climbes the tree and enjoyes the fruit,

Time is the herald of Trueth, and Trueth the daughter of Time.

The young man may die quickly; but the old man cannot live long.

There be foure good mothers have foure bad daughters: trueth hath hatred, prosperity hath pride, security hath perill, and familiarity hath contempt.

Wisdome is that olive that springeth from the heart, bloometh on the tongue, and beareth fruit in the actions.

Happy is that mishap whereby we passe to better perfection.

The