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WAS MADE BY SIR H. WOTTON, WHEN HE WAS AN AMBASSADOR AT VENICE, IN THE TIME

OF A GREAT SICKNESS THERE.

[THE Confusion which has been introduced into the history of the minor poetry composed during the reigns of Elizabeth and her successor, by the anxiety of certain persons to make Raleigh answerable for all the fugitive pieces of his day, meets us before we get beyond the limits of Sir Henry Wotton's best authenticated productions; though in this case the claim has been tacitly abandoned. "There is a poem," said Sir Egerton Brydges in 1800, "which, among the MSS. of the British Museum, is said to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh just before he died." Here, then, is the beginning of our troubles. "It seems to partake so much of the sublime spirit of his character, that (although it has been printed before in the Topographer, i. 425; and also in a very imperfect manner among Sir Henry Wotton's Remains) I cannot refrain from inserting it here." We are therefore at once presented with a mangled copy of this piece of Wotton's, under the title, "Sir Walter Raleigh, in the un

quiet rest of his last sickness."* This very title is sufficient to put an end to the theory which is so strangely founded on it; and when a Collection of Poems was issued thirteen years afterwards from the Lee Priory Press, under the name of Sir Walter Raleigh, no notice was taken of the discovery. We are still left, however, without any explanation of Sir Egerton's notion of a "very imperfect" copy; for it will be seen, from the Variations, that the text which he has printed, besides the omission of a whole stanza, is inferior to that of Rel. Wotton. in almost every instance where they differ.

If Walton copied the title to this piece exactly, it could not be written till after 1604; and the character of the Poem would justify us in affixing a much later date. But Wotton had been more than once at Venice during his early travels. He was three times sent Ambassador to Venice, and spent nearly fourteen years there in these different Legations.‡]

TERNAL Mover, whose diffused Glory,

To shew our groveling Reason what thou art,

Unfolds it self in Clouds of Natures story, Where Man, thy proudest Creature, acts his part;

* Brydges' edit. of Phillips's Theatr. Poet. Angl. p. 308. It should be observed that the writer in the Topographer (probably Brydges himself) believed it to be a newly discovered Poem; and knew nothing of Rel. Wotton.

+ See Walton's Lives, p. 135, ed. 1796, Rel. Wotton. 651, 702. In a letter from the tutor of Francis Davison to Secretary Davison, dated Venice, Jan. 22: 1595: he says, "Neither would I wish that you should be deceived any longer in Mr. Wo: and some others, who report they have lived in these parts for a hundred marks by the year." Nicolas's ed. of Davison's Poet. Rhaps. p. viii. The editor conjectures that this was the future Sir Henry; and it is worth remarking, that a hundred marks a year was the very sum left him in his father's will. (Walton, p. 127.) The same sum, however, was bequeathed to the other younger sons of Thomas Wotton. Rel. Wotton. p. 249. Walton's Lives, pp. 154, 158, &c.

[5]

Whom yet, (alas) I know not why, we call
The Worlds contracted sum, the little all;

For what are we but lumps of walking clay? Why should we swell? whence should our spirits rise?

Are not bruit Beasts as strong, and Birds as gay,[10] Trees longer liv'd, and creeping things as wise? Only our souls were left an inward light,

To feel our weakness, and confess thy might.

Thou, then, our strength, Father of life and death, To whom our thanks, our vows, our selves we owe, [15] From me, thy tenant of this fading breath,

Accept those lines, which from thy goodness flow;
And thou, that wert thy Regal Prophet's Muse,
Do not thy Praise in weaker strains refuse.

Let these poor Notes ascend unto thy Throne, [20] Where Majesty doth sit with Mercy Crown'd, Where my Redeemer lives, in whom alone The errours of my wandring life are drown'd; Where all the Quire of Heaven resound the same, That only Thine, Thine is the saving Name.

[25] Well, then, my Soul, joy in the midst of Pain;
Thy Christ, that conquer'd Hell, shall from above
With greater triumph yet return again,
And conquer his own Justice with his Love;
Commanding Earth and Seas to render those
Unto his Bliss, for whom he paid his Woes.

[30]

Now have I done; now are my thoughts at peace;
And now my Joyes are stronger than my grief:
I feel those Comforts, that shall never cease,
Future in Hope, but present in Belief:

[35] Thy words are true, thy promises are just, And thou wilt find thy dearly bought in Dust. H. WOTTON.

[VARIATIONS in the copy printed by Sir E. Brydges. 3. 'Infolds'-'restless story'-. 4. 'the proudest'. 6. 'The world's contracted sun'-. 8. 'What are our vaunts?'-. 11. 'receive more inward light'-. The third stanza is omitted altogether.— 19. 'pure notes'- 24. 'That none but thine'-. 25. Therefore, my soul'. 26. 'That Christ'-. 31. 'joys at peace'. 34. 'Future in hopes, but present in relief'-. 36. And thou wilt know thy marked flock in dust'-. In Rel. Wotton. ed. 1651 and 1654, line 11 is, 'Only our Souls was left an inward Light'—. The signature is varied in all three editions; "HEN. WOTTON." ed. 1651. "H. W." ed. 1654.]

IIIII

II III

XIV.

A HYMN TO MY GOD,

IN A NIGHT OF MY LATE SICKNESS.

[INTRODUCED by Mr. Campbell (Specimens, p. 158, second ed.) with the following title and remark: "A Meditation. From Sanscroft's Collection. (Mr. Malone, from whose handwriting I copy this, says, 'not, I think, printed.")" This is a singular oversight; for the verses are in every edit. of Rel. Wotton.; and though they are arranged among the letters, they immediately precede the "Poems" in the first edition, and in the second and third, only a few pages intervene. They had been reprinted in Biogr. Brit. (vi. 4351), in Zouch's edit. of Walton's Lives (p. 187, ed. 1796), and elsewhere.

They were enclosed in the following letter to Izaak Wal

ton:

"My Worthy Friend,

66

'Since I last saw you, I have been confined to my Chamber by a quotidian Fever,—I thank God, of more contumacy than malignity. It had once left me, as I thought;

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