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Title: The Poems of Richard Corbet, late bishop of Oxford and of Norwich 4th edition Author: Richard Corbet and Octavius Gilchrist Release Date: May 18, 2021 [eBook #65375] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 Produced by: Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF RICHARD CORBET, LATE BISHOP OF OXFORD AND OF NORWICH *** THE POEMS OF RICHARD CORBET, LATE BISHOP OF OXFORD AND OF NORWICH. THE FOURTH EDITION, With considerable Additions. TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED, “ORATIO IN FUNUS HENRICI PRINCIPIS,” FROM ASHMOLE’S MUSEUM, Biographical Notes, and a Life of the Author, BY OCTAVIUS GILCHRIST, F.S.A. London: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1807. [i] Invidebam devio ac solo loco Opes camœnarum tegi: At nunc frequentes, atque claros, nee procul, Quum floreas inter viros. Ausonius. R. Taylor, and Co. Shoe Lane. TO MY FRIEND THOMAS BLORE, Esq. THIS VOLUME, UNDERTAKEN AT HIS SUGGESTION, AND PROMOTED BY HIS ASSISTANCE, IS INSCRIBED BY THE EDITOR. [ii] [iii] [iv] THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. The public interest has been of late years so strongly manifested in favour of the poets of the seventeenth century, that little apology appears necessary for the republication of the following Poems. It would, however, be equally vain and foolish in the editor to claim for the author a place among the higher class of poets, or to exalt his due praise by depreciating the merits of his contemporaries.—Claiming only for Cæsar what to Cæsar is due, it may without arrogance be presumed that these pages will not be found inferior to the poems of others which have been fortunately republished, or familiarised to the generality of readers through the popular medium of selections. The author of the following poems (an account of whose life may be considered as a necessary appendage to these pages) is said to have descended from the antient family of the Corbets in Shropshire. It were too laborious and pedantic in a work of this nature to trace his pedigree, but I should be pleased to find any proofs of their attachment to him: yet as the bishop did not usually “conceal his love,” I suspect he received no mark of their regard, at least till his elevation conferred rather than received obligation by acknowledgment. Richard Corbet, successively bishop of Oxford and Norwich, was born at the village of Ewell in Surrey, in the year 1582: he was the only son of Bennet, or Benedicta, and Vincent Corbet, who, from causes which I have not discovered, assumed the name of Poynter. His father, a man of some eminence for his skill in gardening, and who is celebrated by Ben Jonson in an elegy[1] alike honourable to the subject, the poet, and the friend, for his many amiable virtues, resided at Whitton, a hamlet in the parish of Twickenham, where the poet passed his declining days. Under the will of his father[2] he inherited sundry freehold lands and tenements lying in St. Augustine’s parish, Watling-street, London, and five hundred pounds in money, which was directed to be paid him by Bennet, the father’s wife and sole executrix, upon his attaining the age of twenty-five years. After receiving the rudiments of education at Westminster School, he entered in Lent term 1597-8 at Broadgate Hall, and the year following was admitted a student of Christ- Church College, Oxford. In 1605 he proceeded Master of Arts, and became celebrated as a wit and a poet. The following early specimen of his humour is preserved in a collection of “Mery Passages and Jeastes,” Harl. MS. No. 6395: “Ben Jonson was at a tavern, and in comes bishop Corbet (but not so then) into the next room. Ben Jonson calls for a quart of raw wine, and gives it to the tapster. ‘Sirrah!’ says he, ‘carry this to the gentleman in the next chamber, and tell him I sacrifice my service to him.’ The fellow did, and in those terms. ‘Friend!’ says bishop Corbet, ‘I thank him for his love; but pr’ythee tell him from me that he is mistaken, for sacrifices are always burnt.’” In 1612, upon the death of the amiable and accomplished Henry Prince of Wales, “The expectancy and rose of the fair state,” and the theme of many a verse; the University, overwhelmed with grief, more especially as he had been a student of Magdalen College under the tutorage of Mr. John Wilkinson, (“afterwards the unworthy president of that house,”) and desirous of testifying their respect for his memory, deputed Corbet, then one of the proctors, to pronounce a funeral oration; “who,” to use the words of Antony Wood, “very oratorically speeched it in St. Maries church, before a numerous auditory[3].” On the 13th of March in the following year he performed a similar ceremony in the Divinity School on the interment of sir Thomas Bodley, the munificent founder of the library known by his name. Amid the religious dissensions at this period, encouraged and increased by James’s suspected inclination to popery, it was scarcely possible to avoid giving offence to the supporters of the various doctrinal opinions which in this confusion of faiths divided the people. At the head of the Church was Dr. George Abbott, a bigoted and captious Puritan: opposed to this disciple of Calvin was Laud, then growing into fame, who boldly supported the opinions of Arminius. With the latter Corbet coincided: but the undisguised publication of his faith had nearly proved fatal to his future prospects; for, “preaching the Passion sermon at Christ-Church, (1613,) he insisted on the article of Christ’s descending into hell, and therein grated upon Calvin’s manifest perverting of the true sense and meaning of it: for which, says Heylyn, he was so rattled up by the Repetitioner, (Dr. Robert Abbott, brother of the archbishop,) that if he had not been a man of a very great courage, it might have made him afraid of staying in the University. This, it was generally conceived, was not done without the archbishop’s setting on; but the best was, adds Heylyn, that none sunk under the burthen of these oppressions, if (like the camomile) they did not rise the higher by it[4].” When James, in 1605[5], visited Oxford in his summer progress, the wits of the sister University vented their raillery at the entertainment given to the royal visitor[6]. Cambridge, which had long solicited the same honour, was in the year 1614-5 indulged with his presence. Many students from Oxford witnessed the ceremonial of his reception; and the local histories of the two Universities at that period, are replete with pasquinades and ballads sufficiently descriptive of their mutual animosities. An eye-witness declares, “Though I endured a great deal of penance by the way for this little pleasure, yet I would not have missed it, for that I see thereby the partiality of both sides—the Cambridge men pleasing [v] [vi] [vii] [viii] [ix] [x] [xi] [xii] [xiii] [xiv] and applauding themselves in all, and the Oxford men as fast condemning and detracting all that was done; wherein yet I commended Corbet’s modesty, whilst he was there; who being seriously dealt withal by some friends to say what he thought, answered, that he had left his malice and judgment at home, and came there only to commend[7].” Notwithstanding this conciliatory declaration, the opportunity of retorting upon the first assailants was too tempting to Corbet’s wit to be slighted; and immediately upon his return he composed the ballad, page 13, “To the tune of Bonny Nell.”—This humorous narrative excited several replies; the most curious of which was the one, in Latin and English, (at page 24,) written, perhaps, by sir Thomas Lake, afterwards secretary of state, who performed the part of Trico in the Cambridge play of Ignoramus, and who had a ring bequeathed him by the author, Ruggles[8]. Corbet appears, says Headley[9], to have been of that poetical party who, by inviting Ben Jonson to come to Oxford, rescued him from the arms of a sister University, who has long treated the Muses with indignity, and turned a hostile and disheartening eye on those who have added most celebrity to her name[10]. We do not find that Ben expressed any regret at the change of his situation: companions whose minds and pursuits were similar to his own, are not always to be found in the gross atmosphere of the muddy Cam, though easily met with on the more genial banks of the Isis: Largior hic campos æther. In 1616 he was recommended by the Convocation as a proper person to be elected to the college which Dr. Matthew Surtclyve, dean of Exeter, had lately erected at Chelsea, for maintaining polemical Divines to be employed in opposing the doctrines of Papists and Sectaries. Whether he obtained his election I have not learned: nor is it of much moment; for the establishment, as might be naturally foreseen from the circumstances of the times, soon declined from its original purpose[11]. Being now in a situation to indulge his inclinations, he in 1618 made a trip to France, from whence he wrote an “epistle to sir Thomas Aylesbury,” in which he gently laughs at his friend’s astronomical fondness; and composed a metrical description of his journey, from which we may conclude that he returned less disgusted with his native country, and less enamoured of the manners and habits of his new acquaintance, than is usual with the modern visitors of our transmarine neighbours. He was now in holy orders; and, in the language of Antony Wood, “became a quaint preacher, and therefore much followed by ingenious men.” None of Corbet’s sermons are, I believe, in existence: the modesty that withheld his poems from the press, during his life, prevented his adding to the multitude of devotional discourses with which the country was at this period infested[12]. Those who are at all acquainted with the ecclesiastical oratory of James’s reign, will be at no loss to comprehend “honest Antony’s” description; but to those who are not, it may be sufficient to observe, that, of its peculiar excellencies and demerits, the sermons of bishop King, his contemporary, (which have been republished) are a complete “picture in little.” About this time he appears, from the following characteristic letter[13], to have solicited promotion at the hands of Villiers duke of Buckingham: “May it please your Grace “To consider my two great losses this weeke: one in respect of his Majesty to whom I was to preach; the other in respect of my patron whom I was to visit. Yf this bee not the way to repare the later of my losses, I feare I am in danger to bee utterly undon. To press too neere a greate man is a meanness; to be put by, and to stand too far off, is the way to be forgotten: so Ecclesiasticus. In which mediocrity, could I hitt it, would I live and dy, my lord. I would neather press neere, nor stand far off; choosing rather the name of an ill courtier than a sawsy scholer. “I am your Grace’s most humble servant, “Richard Corbet.” Christ’s Church, this 26 Feb. “Heer are newes, my noble lord, about us, that, in the point of alledgeance now in hand, all the Papists are exceeding orthodox; the only recusants are the Puritans.” Of the nature of the object thus supplicated, my inquiries have not informed me: he was now dean of Christ-Church, vicar of Cassington near Woodstock in Oxfordshire, and prebendary of Bedminster secunda in the church of Sarum: it was, perhaps, the appointment of chaplain to the King, which he received about this time; and if to this period may be assigned the gratulatory poem at page 83, it should seem that Buckingham was not solicited in vain. In 1619 he sustained a great loss in the decease of his amiable father, at a very advanced age; whose praise he has celebrated in the most honourable terms, and whose death he has lamented in the language of rational and tender regret. When James paid a second visit to Oxford in 1621, Corbet, in his office of chaplain, preached before the [xv] [xvi] [xvii] [xviii] [xix] [xx] [xxi] [xxii] monarch[14], who had presented him (as it seems) with a token of his favour, such as flattered in no small degree the vanity of the dean. The progress of the court and its followers is thus ludicrously described in an anonymous poem transcribed from Antony Wood’s papers[15] in Ashmole’s Museum: The king and the court, Desirous of sport, Six days at Woodstock did lie; Thither went the doctors, And sattin-sleev’d proctors, With the rest of the learned fry; Whose faces did shine With beere and with wine, So fat, that it may be thought University cheere, With college strong beere, Made them far better fed than taught. A number beside, With their wenches did ride, (For scholars are always kind) And still evermore, While they rode before, They were kissing their wenches behind. A number on foot, Without cloak or boot, And yet with the court go they would; Desirous to show How far they could go To do his high mightiness good. The reverend Dean, With his band starch’d clean, Did preach before the King; A ring was his pride To his bandstrings tied, Was not this a pretty thing? The ring, without doubt, Was the thing put him out, And made him forget what was next; For every one there Will say, I dare swear, He handled it more than his text. With poetical badinage of this complexion the wits of the University of Oxford, with Corbet at their head, “who loved this boy’s play to the last,” abounded. While many of the pasquinades are lost, many, however, are still preserved among Ashmole’s papers: on most occasions Corbet was at least a match for his opponents, but this misfortune of the ring became a standing jest against him: it is alluded to at page 233; and it is demanded in another poem[16], if He would provoke court wits to sing The second part of bandstrings and the ring. Upon the evening of the same Sunday, the students of Christ-Church, willing to show their respect for the royal visitor, obtained leave to present a play before the King; and they chose, with no great display of taste, Barten Holyday’s ΤΕΧΝΟΓΑΜΙΑ, or “The Marriage of the Arts,” which had been acted in Christ-Church hall the 13th of February, 1617. The play was so little relished, that the king was with difficulty persuaded to sit till its conclusion: the “enactors” became subjects of ridicule to the University; and, though Corbet and King rhymed in their favour, the laugh went against them. Indeed the Oxonians were not more unfortunate in their theatrical representations on this than on former occasions. Upon the visit of James, in 1605, two out of three dramatic exhibitions, prepared at great expense and performed by the students, were, according to the testimony of an eye-witness, received with tædium, and rewarded with [xxiii] [xxiv] [xxv] [xxvi] unconcealed disgust[17]. The writers of the poet’s life are silent as to the period of his marriage; and if I am unable to communicate any information on this point, it will not, I trust, be attributed to any parsimony of research, or indifference as to fact when conjecture can be substituted. Those who have made literary biography their study, know that it is frequently much easier to write many pages than to ascertain a date, and hence but too frequently ingenuity supplies the place of labour and inquiry: in the present instance, every record that suggested a probability of containing any memorial relative to the family of the subject of this biography has been inspected personally; but before the passing of the Marriage Act, nothing is more uncertain than the probable place of the celebration of that ceremony[18]. In this dearth of fact as to dates, I shall presume to suppose he married about 1625 Alice the only daughter of his fellow-collegian Dr. Leonard Hutton, a man of some eminence in his day as a divine and an antiquary, and whose character is thus drawn by Antony Wood with a felicity that rarely accompanies his pencil: “His younger years were beautified with all kind of polite learning, his middle with ingenuity and judgment, and his reverend years with great wisdom in government, having been often subdean of his college.” This union of wit and beauty was not looked upon with indifference, nor was their epithalamium unsung, or the string touched by the hand of an unskilful master: Come, all ye Muses, and rejoyce At this your nursling’s happy choyce; Come, Flora, strew the bridemaid’s bed, And with a garland crown her head; Or, if thy flowers be to seek, Come gather roses at her cheek. Come, Hymen, light thy torches, let Thy bed with tapers be beset, And if there be no fire by, Come light thy taper at her eye: In that bright eye there dwells a starre, And wise-men by it guided are[19]. The offspring of this marriage were a daughter named Alice, and a son born the 10th of November, 1627, towards whom the beautiful poem at page 150 is an undecaying monument of paternal affection. Of these descendants of the bishop I lament that I have discovered so little: if this volume should be fortunate enough to excite attention to its author, the loss may at some future period be supplied: they were both living when their grandmother, Anne Hutton, made her will in 1642, and the son administered to the testament in 1648. In 1628 Corbet suffered a severe privation in the loss of his patron Villiers duke of Buckingham, assassinated by Felton on the 23d of August, who, whatever were his political crimes, was, like his amiable and indulgent master, a liberal promoter of literature and science, and to his death an encourager of Corbet’s studies. If, however, this event checked his hopes of promotion for a season, it did not leave him without a patron; for, upon the translation of Hewson to the see of Durham, (to make way for Dr. Duppa to be dean of that church,) he was elected bishop of Oxford the 30th of July, was consecrated at Lambeth the 19th of October, and installed the 3d of November, 1629; “though,” in the opinion of Wood, “in some respects unworthy of such an office[20].” Warned by the many petulant remarks on the poetical character scattered throughout the account of Oxford writers, one is little surprised at this churlish remark on the part of honest Antony, who seems to have considered all poetry as ... inopes rerum, nugæque canoræ, and its indulgence inconsistent with the clerical profession. Corbet was certainly no “precisian,” and perhaps his only fault was possessing a species of talent to which Antony had no pretension. The bishopric of Oxford he held but a short time, being translated to a more active see, that of Norwich, in the month of April 1632; when a dispute arose as to his right of claim to the glebe sown previous to his vacating the vicarage: the opinion of the attorney-general, (Noy,) which is preserved in the Harleian collection of manuscripts[21], was in his favour, in as much as the translation was not his own act merely. On the 9th of March, 1633, he preached before the king at Newmarket[22]. Scarcely was he seated in the episcopal chair of Norwich when Abbott died, and Laud, who had long exercised the authority of metropolitan, was two days afterwards (August 6th, 1633) preferred to the see of Canterbury. Having now “no rival near his throne,” in the warmth of his zeal he immediately applied himself to reform abuses and exact a conformity to the established church, the discipline of which had exceedingly relaxed during the ascendancy of his calvinistic predecessor. For this purpose Laud issued certain orders and instructions to the several bishops, insisting [xxvii] [xxviii] [xxix] [xxx] [xxxi] [xxxii] [xxxiii] upon a strict examination into the state of religion and its ceremonies in their several dioceses; the result of which was transmitted to that prelate, and by him laid before the King. These representations, many of which are curious, are printed in the nineteenth volume of Rymer’s Fœdera. On his part, Corbet certified that he had suppressed the lectures of some factious men, and particularly that he had suspended one Bridges, curate of St. George’s parish, Norwich; but, upon submission, he had taken off his suspension. Among others, he had heard complaint of Mr. Ward[23], of Ipswich, for words in some sermons of his, for which he was called before the High Commission. From the following conciliating epistle I conclude that Ward submitted, and was restored to his cure: “Salutem in Christo. “My worthie friend, “I thank God for your conformitie, and you for your acknowledgment: stand upright to the church wherein you live; be true of heart to her governours; think well of her significant ceremonyes; and be you assured I shall never displace you of that room which I have given you in my affection; proove you a good tenant in my hart, and noe minister in my diocese hath a better landlord. Farewell! God Almightie blesse you with your whole congregation. “From your faithful friend to serve you in Christ Jesus, “Rich. Norwich[24].” Ludham Hall, the 6 of Oct. 1633. The zeal of Laud did not rest here: he set sedulously about suppressing the Dutch and Walloon congregations, of which there were several in London, Norwich, and other places. It will be perhaps necessary to observe, that the Dutch, the Walloons, and the French, who had continued to refuge in England from the reign of Edward the Sixth, had obtained many privileges from former kings, and among others, the liberty of celebrating divine service after their own, that is, the presbyterian, manner. Their congregations were scattered over the kingdom; and at this period there was at Norwich one of the Dutch, and one of the Walloons, the latter of which carried on an extensive manufacture of woollen cloths, for the vending of which, they in 1564 obtained a lease of the chapel of St. Mary the Less, which they fitted up as a hall or market-place for that purpose. Where they performed divine service before the year 1619 I know not, but in that year Samuel Harsnet licensed the Walloon congregation to use during his pleasure the Bishop’s chapel, or chapel of the Virgin Mary[25]. This indulgence was continued during the government of his successor, Francis White. But the intolerance of Laud would be content with nothing short of conformity; Corbet consequently prepared to dislodge them by the following characteristic letter: “To the minister and elders of the French church, in Norwich, these: “Salutem in Christo. “You have promised me from time to time to restore my stolen bell, and to glaze my lettice windows. After three yeeres consultation (bysides other pollution) I see nothing mended. Your discipline, I know, care not much for a consecrated place, and anye other roome in Norwiche that hath but bredth and length may serve your turne as well as the chappel: wherefore I say unto you, without a miracle, Lazare, prodi foras! Depart, and hire some other place for your irregular meetings: you shall have time to provide for yourselves betwixte this and Whitsontide. And that you may not think I mean to deale with you as Felix dyd with St. Paul, that is, make you afraid, to get money, I shall keepe my word with you, which you did not with me, and as neer as I can be like you in nothinge. “Written by me, Richard Norwich, with myne own hand, Dec. 26, anno 1634.” The congregation remonstrated to Laud, in the February following, against the commands of their poetical pastor; but the archbishop insisted that his instructions should stand, and obedience be yielded to his injunctions[26]. While, under the direction of the Archbishop, he was thus severe with the heterodox, he was equally zealous in supporting the establishment of which he was a dignitary: exertions were now making by the King, the Clergy, and indeed all orders of people, for the restoring Saint Paul’s cathedral, which had remained in ruins since its second destruction by fire, early in Elizabeth’s reign. In 1631 a special commission was issued by the King, for the purpose of collecting money, to be applied to this purpose. The subscription went on tardily till Laud contributed a hundred pounds, to be renewed annually, and “Corbet bishop of Norwich (then almoner to the king) giving four hundred pounds, multitudes of others, says Stowe, for eleven years together brought in their monies very plentifully[27].” Nor did his liberality stop here: Wood says[28] that in addition to this contribution, which at the time we speak of was an enormous bounty, he gave money to many needy ministers, thereby to excite the donations of their wealthier brethren; and he pronounced the following admonitory, persuasive and satirical address[29] to the clergy of his diocese: “Saint Paul’s church! One word in the behalf of Saint Paul; he hath spoken many in ours: he hath raised our inward [xxxiv] [xxxv] [xxxvi] [xxxvii] [xxxviii] [xxxix] [xl] [xli] temples. Let us help to requite him in his outward. We admire commonly those things which are oldest and greatest: old monuments, and high buildings, do affect us above measure: and what is the reason? Because what is oldest cometh nearest God for antiquity: and what is greatest, comes nearest his works for spaciousness and magnitude: so that in honouring these we honour God, whom old and great do seem to imitate. Should I commend Paul’s to you for the age, it were worth your thought and admiration. A thousand years, though it should fall now, were a pretty climacterical. See the bigness, and your eye never yet beheld such a goodly object. It’s worth the reparation, though it were but for a land mark; but, beloved, it is a church, and consecrated to God. From Charles to Ethelbert she hath been the joy of princes. It was once dedicated to Diana (at least some part of it); but the idolatry lasted not long. And see a mystery in the change: Saint Paul confuting twice the idol, there in person, where the cry was, ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians!’ and here: by proxy. Paul installed, where Diana is thrust out. It did magnify the creation, it was taken out of the darkness: light is not the clearer for it, but stronger and more wonderful: and it doth beautify this church, because it was taken from pollution. The stones are not the more durable, but the happier for it. It is worthy the standing for the age, the time since it was built, and for the structure, so stately an edifice is it: it is worthy to stand for a memorial of it from which it is redeemed, but chiefly for his house that dwells therein. We are bound to do it, for the service sake that is done in it. Are we not beholden to it, every man, either to the body, or the choir: for a walk or a warbling note: for a prayer or a thorough-path? Some way or other, there is a topick may make room for your benevolence. “It hath twice suffered Martyrdom: and both by fire, in the time of Henry the Sixth and the third of Elizabeth. “Saint Paul complained of Stoning twice; his church of firing: stoning she wants, indeed, and a good stoning would repair her. “Saint Faith holds her up, I confess. Oh that works were sainted to keep her upright! The first way of building churches was by ways of benevolence; but then there needed no petition: men came on so fast that they were commanded to be kept back, but repairing now, needs petition. Benevolence was a fire once had need to be quenched: it is a spark, now and needs blowing on it: blow it hard, and put it out. Some petitions there are, for pulling down of such an isle, or changing lead for thack: so far from reparation, that our suit is to demolish. If to deny this be persecution, if to repair churches be innovation, I’ll be of that religion too. “I remember a tale in Henry Steevens, in his Apology for Herodotus, or in some of the Colloquies of Erasmus, which would have us believe that times were so depraved in popery, that all œconomical discipline was lost by observing the œcumenical; that if an ingenious person would ask his father’s blessing, he must get a dispensation and have a licence from the bishop. “Believe me when I match this tale with another. Since Christmas I was sued to (and I have it under the hands of the minister and the whole parish) that I would give way to the adorning of the church within and without, to build a stone wall about the church-yard which till now had but a hedge. I took it for a flout at first, but it proved a suit indeed; they durst not mend a fault of forty years, without a licence. Churchwardens, though they say it not, yet I doubt me most of them think it, that foul spirits in the Gospel said, ‘O thou Bishop or Chancellor, what! art thou come to torment us before the time, that all is come down to the ground?’ The truth went out once in this phrase: ‘Zelus domûs tuæ exedit ossa mea,’ but now vice versa, it is, ‘Zelus meus exedit domum tuam.’ I hope I gall none here. “Should Christ say that to us now which he said once to the Jews, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will build it up again:’ we would quickly know his meaning not to be the material temple. Three years can scarce promoove three foot. “I am verily persuaded, were it not for the pulpit and the pews, (I do not now mean the altar and the font for the two sacraments, but for the pulpit and the stools as you call them;) many churches had been down that stand. Stately pews are now become tabernacles, with rings and curtains to them. There wants nothing but beds to hear the word of God on; we have casements, locks and keys, and cushions; I had almost said, bolsters and pillows: and for those we love the church. I will not guess what is done within them, who sits, stands, or lies asleep, at prayers, communion, &c., but this I dare say, they are either to hide some vice or to proclaim one; to hide disorder, or proclaim pride. “In all other contributions justice precedes charity. For the King, or for poor, as you are rated you must give and pay. It is not so in benevolence. Here Charity rates herself; her gift is arbitrary, and her law is the conscience. He that stays till I persuade him, gives not all his own money: I give half that have procured it. He that comes persuaded gives his own; but takes off more than he brought, God paying use for nothing. But now comes your turn to speak, or God in you by your hands: for so he useth to speak many times by the hands of Moses and Aaron, and by the hands of Esay and Ezekiel, and by the hands of you his minor prophets. Now prosper, O Lord! the works of these hands! O prosper Thou our handy work! Amen.” He was not fated, however, to witness the elevation of the temple in favour of which he was thus active and benevolent; indeed he was then consuming with lingering disorders. “Corbet, bishop of Norwich,” says the garrulous correspondent of lord Strafford, “is dying; the best poet of all the bishops in England. He hath incurable diseases upon him, and hath been said to be dead[30].” This was written on the 30th of July, 1635, and he had rested from his labours two days preceding. He was buried in the cathedral church of his diocese, where a large stone was laid over his remains, to which a brass plate was affixed, bearing his arms and the following inscription: Ricardus Corbet, Theologiæ Doctor, Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Christi Oxoniensis [xlii] [xliii] [xliv] [xlv] [xlvi] [xlvii] [xlviii] [xlix] Primum Alumnus, deinde Decanus, exinde Episcopus, illinc huc translatus, et Hinc in cœlum Jul. 28. An. 1635. By his will “he commits and commends the nurture and maintenance of his son and daughter to the faythful and loving care of his mother-in-law Anne Hutton;” from which, and the total silence as to his wife, I conclude he outlived her— and with a legacy of one thousand pounds to his daughter Alice, to be paid at her attaining the age of seventeen, or upon her marriage, he enjoins her not to marry without the consent of her grandmother. By the further provisions of his testament, his son was to be joined with Anne Hutton in the administration upon his attaining the age of seventeen; and in case of the decease of both, the whole was to devolve upon his daughter Alice. Such was the end of this learned and ingenious prelate and poet, of whose works I have undertaken the revision, and in collecting the scattered memorials for whose biography, et etiam disjecta membra poetæ, I have, I hope not unprofitably to myself or others, employed some leisure hours. His person, if we may rely upon a fine portrait of him in the hall of Christ-Church, Oxford, was dignified, and his frame above the common size: one of his companions[31] says he had A face that might heaven to affection draw: and Aubrey says, he had heard that “he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect.” In no record of his life is there the slightest trace of malevolence or tyranny: “he was,” says Fullers[32], “of a courteous carriage, and no destructive nature to any who offended him, counting himself plentifully repaired with a jest upon him.” Benevolent, generous and spirited in his public character; sincere, amiable, and affectionate in private life; correct, eloquent, and ingenious as a poet; he appears to have deserved and enjoyed through life the patronage and friendship of the great, and the applause and estimation of the good. Apology is not necessary for his writings, or it might be urged that they were not intended for publication by their author. “His merits are disclosed,” and, at the distance of near a century and a half, are now again submitted to the censure of the public. His panegyric is liberal without grossness, and complimentary without servility: his satires on the Puritans, a pestilent race which Corbet fortunately did not live to see ascendant, and which soon after his decease sunk literature and the arts in “the Serbonian bog” of ignorance and fanaticism, evince his skill in severe and ludicrous reproof; and the addresses to his son and his parents, while they are proofs of his filial and parental regard, bear testimony to his command over the finer feelings. But the predominant faculty of his mind was wit, which he employed with most success when directed ironically: of this the address “to the Ghost of Wisdome,” and “the Distracted Puritane,” are memorable examples. Indeed he was unable to overcome his talent for humour, even when circumstance and character concurred to repress its indulgence. Of this propensity the following anecdotes, copied verbatim from Aubrey’s MSS. in Mus. Ashmole[33], are curious proofs, and may not improperly close this account of a character which they tend forcibly to illustrate. “After he was doctor of divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at Abingdon; on a market-day he and some of his comrades were at the taverne by the Crosse, (which, by the way, was then the finest of England; I remember it when I was a freshman; it was admirable curious Gothicque architecture, and fine figures in the nitches; ’twas one of those built by king ... for his queen.) The ballad-singer complayned he had no custome—he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor puts off his gowne, and puts on the ballad-singer’s leathern jacket, and being a handsome man, and a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many, and had a great audience. “After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made deane of Christ-Church. He had a good interest with great men, as you may finde in his poems; and that with the then great favourite the duke of Bucks, his excellent wit ever ’twas of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story; but at the same time Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty trick on him to let him take a journey to London for it, when he had alreadie the graunt of it. “His conversation was extreme pleasant. Dr. Stubbins was one of his cronies; he was a jolly fat doctor, and a very good housekeeper. As Dr. Corbet and he were riding in Lob-lane in wet weather, (’tis an extraordinary deepe dirty lane,) the coach fell, and Corbet said, that Dr. S. was up to the elbows in mud, and he was up to the elbows in Stubbins. “A. D. 1628, he was made bishop of Oxford; and I have heard that he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect. “One time as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see the ceremonie, said he, ‘Beare off there! or I’ll confirm ye with my staffe.’—Another time, being to lay his hand on the head of a man very bald, he turns to his [l] [li] [lii] [liii] [liv] [lv] [lvi] chaplaine, and said, ‘Some dust, Lushington,’ to keepe his hand from slipping.—There was a man with a great venerable beard; said the bishop, ‘You, behind the beard!’ “His chaplaine, Dr. Lushington, was a very learned and ingenious man, and they loved one another. The Bishop would sometimes take the key of the wine-cellar, and he and his chaplaine would go and lock themselves in and be merry; then first he layes down his episcopal hood, ‘There layes the doctor;’ then he putts off his gowne, ‘There layes the bishop;’ then ’twas, ‘Here’s to thee, Corbet;’—‘Here’s to thee, Lushington.’” One word on the subject of the former editions; which bear dates 1647, 1648, and 1672. The first and last impressions correspond in their contents, and the publisher of the latter has also copied, for the most part, the errors of his predecessor, which are so numerous as to render the poems not unfrequently unintelligible. I must observe, however, from the information of Mr. Park, that many copies of the first edition conclude at page 53. The additions extend the volume to 85 pages. The only impression with any pretension to accuracy is that of 1648, which, from its internal evidence, I suspect was published under the eye of the Bishop’s family; I have therefore retained the Preface. It contains only twenty-four poems. An edition bearing the date of 1663 is cited in Willis’s Cathedrals; but, it is believed, through mistake. [lvii] [lviii] CONTENTS. [Additions to the former Impressions of Corbet’s Poems are distinguished by an Asterisk, thus: *] Page * Life of the Author v Preface to the Edition of 1648 lxiii * Commendatory Poems lxv An Elegie on Dr. Ravis 3 * Thomæ Coriato de Odcombe 9 To Thomas Coryate 11 A certaine Poem, &c. to the tune of “Bonny Nell” 13 * An Answer to the former Song, &c. 22 * Responsio, &c. 25 * Additamenta superiori Cantico 42 On the Lady Arabella Stuart 43 Upon Mistriss Mallet; an unhandsome gentlewoman who made love unto him 47 In quendam Anniversariorum Scriptorem 52 An Answer to the same, by Dr. Price 54 In Poetam exauctoratum et emeritum 56 * On Francis Beaumont, then newly dead 58 An Elegie on the late Lord William Howard of Effingham 59 To the Lord Mordaunt, upon his returne from the North 66 * To the Prince 82 A Newe-Years Gift to my Lorde Duke of Buckingham 83 A Letter to Sir Thomas Aylesbury 65 Dr. Corbet’s Journey into France 94 An Exhortation to Mr. John Hamon 103 An Elegie upon the Death of Queen Anne 112 An Elegie upon the Death of his owne Father 118 An Elegie upon the Death of the Lady Haddington 123 On the Christ-Church Play at Woodstock 131 A Letter to the Duke of Buckingham, being with the Prince in Spaine 134 On the Earle of Dorset’s Death 142 To the Newe-born Prince 146 On the Birth of the young Prince Charles 148 To his Son Vincent Corbet 149 An Epitaph on Dr. Donne, Dean of Pauls 152 * Certain few Woordes spoken concerninge one Benet Corbett after her decease 154 Iter Boreale 156 On Mr. Rice, the Manciple of Christ-Church in Oxford 205 On Henry Bollings 206 On John Dawson, Butler of Christ-Church 207 On Great Tom of Christ-Church 209 R.C. 212 A proper new Ballad, entituled The Faeryes Farewell 213 * A Non Sequitur 218 Nonsence 220 * The Country Life 222 To the Ghost of Robert Wisdome 228 An Epitaph on Thomas Jonce 230 To the Ladies of the New Dresse 232 * The Ladies’ Answer 233 * Corbet’s Reply 234 On Fairford Windows 235 * Another on the same 239 The Distracted Puritane 243 * Oratio in Funus Henrici Principis 249 [lix] [lx] [lxi] [lxii] * In Obitum Domini Thomæ Bodleii 260 TO THE READER. (From Edition 1648.) reader, I heere offer to view a collection of certaine peices of poetry, which have flowne from hand to hand, these many yeares, in private papers, but were never fixed for the publique eie of the worlde to looke upon, till now[34]. If that witt which runnes in every veyne of them seeme somewhat out of fashion, because tis neither amorous nor obscene, thou must remember that the author, although scarse a Divine when many of them were written, had not only so masculine but even so modest a witt also, that he would lett nothing fall from his pen but what he himselfe might owne, and never blush, when he was a bishop; little imagining the age would ever come, when his calling should prove more out of fashion than his witt could. As concerning any thing else to be added in commendation of the author, I shall never thinke of it; for as for those men who did knowe him, or ever heard of him, they need none of my good opinion: and as for those who knew him not, and never so much as heard of him, I am sure he needs none of theirs. Farewell. [lxiii] [lxiv] [lxv] COMMENDATORY POEMS. TO THE DEANE, (From Flower in Northamptonshire, 1625,) now the worthy bishop of norwich. By ROBERT GOMERSALL[35]. Still to be silent, or to write in prose, Were alike sloth, such as I leave to those Who either want the grace of wit, or have Untoward arguments: like him that gave Life to the flea, or who without a guest Would prove that famine was the only feast; Self tyrants, who their braines doubly torment, Both for their matter and their ornament. If these do stutter sometimes, and confesse That they are tired, we could expect no lesse. But when my matter is prepared and fit, When nothing’s wanting but an equal wit, I need no Muse’s help to ayde me on, Since that my subject is my Helicon. And such are you: O give me leave, dear sir, (He that is thankful is no flatterer,) To speak full truth: Wherever I find worth, I shew I have it if I set it forth: You read yourself in these; here you may see A ruder draft of Corbet’s infancy. For I professe, if ever I had thought Needed not blush if publish’d, were there ought Which was call’d mine durst beare a critic’s view, I was the instrument, but the author you. I need not tell you of our health, which here Must be presum’d, nor yet shall our good cheare Swell up my paper, as it has done me, Or as the Mayor’s feast does Stowe’s History: Without an early bell to make us rise, Health calls us up and novelty; our eyes Have divers objects still on the same ground, As if the Earth had each night walk’d her round To bring her best things hither: ’tis a place Not more the pride of shires then the disgrace, Which I’de not leave, had I my Dean to boot, For the large offers of the cloven-foot Unto our Saviour, but you not being here ’Tis to me, though a rare one, but a shire; A place of good earth, if compared with worse, Which hath a lesser part in Adam’s curse: Or, for to draw a simile from the High’st, Tis like unto salvation without Christ, A fairly situate prison: When again Shall I enjoy that friendship, and that braine? When shall I once more hear, in a few words, What all the learning of past times affords? Austin epitomiz’d, and him that can To make him clear contract Tertullian. But I detain you from them: Sir, adieu! You read their works, but let me study you. [lxvi] [lxvii] [lxviii] [lxix] [lxx] ON Dr. CORBET’S MARRIAGE. (From “Wit Restored,” 8vo. 1658.) Come all yee Muses and rejoice At your Apolloe’s happy choice; Phœbus has conquer’d Cupid’s charme; Fair Daphne flys into his arm. If Daphne be a tree, then mark, Apollo is become the barke. If Daphne be a branch of bay, He weares her for a crowne to-day: O happy bridegroom! which dost wed Thyself unto a virgin’s bed. Let thy love burne with hot desire, She lacks no oil to feed the fire. You know not poore Pigmalion’s lot, Nor have you a mere idol got. You no Ixion, you no proud Juno makes embrace a cloud. Looke how pure Diana’s skin Appeares as it is shadow’d in A chrystal streame; or look what grace Shines in fair Venus’ lovely face, Whilst she Adonis courts and woos; Such beauties, yea and more than those, Sparkle in her; see but her soul, And you will judge those beauties foul. Her rarest beauty is within, She’s fairest where she is not seen; Now her perfection’s character You have approv’d, and chosen her. O precious! she at this wedding The jewel weares—the marriage ring. Her understanding’s deep: like the Venetian duke, you wed the sea; A sea deep, bottomless, profound, And which none but yourself may sound. Blind Cupid shot not this love-dart; Your reason chose, and not your heart; You knew her little, and when her Apron was but a muckender, When that same coral which doth deck Her lips she wore about her neck: You courted her, you woo’d her, not Out of a window, she was got And born your wife; it may be said Her cradle was her marriage-bed. The ring, too, was layd up for it Untill her finger was growne fit: You once gave her to play withal A babie, and I hope you shall This day your ancient gift renew, So she will do the same for you: In virgin wax imprint, upon Her breast, your own impression; You may (there is no treason in ’t) Coine sterling, now you have a mint. You are now stronger than before, Your side hath in it one ribb more. Before she was akin to me Only in soul and amity; But now we are, since shee’s your bride, In soul and body both allyde: [lxxi] [lxxii] [lxxiii] [lxxiv]