But from these leaves no dramme of sweete I drayne, My headstronge fortune did my witts bewitche, The juice disperst blacke bloode in everye vaine,

For honye, gall; for waxe, I gathered pitche; My combe, a rifte; my hive, a leafe must bee; So chaung'de, the bees scarse tooke me for a bee.

I worke in weedes, when moone is in the wayne,
While all the swarme in sunshine tastes the rose,
On blacke ferne, loe! I seeke, and sucke my baine,
While on the eglantine the rest repose :
Havinge too much, they still repine for more,
And cloyde with sweetenesse, surfett on the store.

Swolne fatt with feastes, full merylye they passe,
In swarmes and clusters fallinge on the tree,
Where findinge mee to nymble on the grasse,

Some scorne, some muse, and some doe pittye me; And some me envy'e, and whisper to the kinge,"Some must be still, and some must have no stinge."

Are bees wax't waspes and spyders, to infect?
Doe honye bowells make the spyrites gall?
Is this the juice of flowers, to styrre suspect?

Is 't not enoughe to treade on them that fall?
What stinge hath patience, but a sighe and greife
That stinges nought but it selfe, without releife?

True patience is fitt provander for fooles;

Sadd patience watcheth still, and keepes the dore; And patience learnes thus to conclude in schooles,— Patiente I am, therefore I must be poore: "Greate king of bees! that rightest everye wronge, Listen to Patience in her dying'songe."

I cannot feede on hemlocke, like some flyes,
Nor flye to everye flower to gather gayne;
Myne appetyte waites on my prince's eyes,

Contented with contempt, and pleasde with payne;
And yet I still expect an happye hower,

When you shall saye-" The bee shall sucke a flower!"

Of all the greifes that most my patience grate,

There's one that fretts mee in the highe'st degree,
To see some catterpillars bredd of late,

Croppinge the flower that should sustayne the bee:
Yet singled I, for that the wisest knowes
The mothe will eate the clothe; cankre, the rose.

Once did I see, by flyinge in the feilde,

Foule beastes to brouze upon the lillyes faire;
Vertue and beautye could not succour yeilde,
All's provandar for asses, but the ayre:
The partiall world of thee takes little heede,
To give them flowers that should on thistles feede.

Tis onelye I must drayne the'Egiptian flowers:

Havinge no savour, bitter sappe they have;

And seeke out rotten toumbes, and deade men's bowers,

To byte on pathos, growinge by the grave.

If these I cannot finde, ah! haplesse bee,
Witchinge tobacco! I will flye to thee.

What though thou dye my lunges in deepest blacke,

A mourninge habite suites a sable state;

What though the fumes sounde memorye do cracke,
Forgetfulnesse is fittest for the smarte :—

O vertuous fume! let it be carv'de in oake,

That wordes, hopes, witts, and all the world, is smoake.

Five tymes twise tould, with promise unperform'de,
My hope's just heade was cast into a slumber;
Sweete dreame on gold, in dreames I then presum'de,
Amonge the bees though I was in the number:
Wakinge, I found hive, but hopes had made me vaine;
'Twas not tobacco that so stupifyed my brayne.

(Signed) ROBERT DEVOREUX, Earle of ESSEX and EWE, Earle Marshall of Englande."

Two of lord Essex's elegant Latin letters to Antonio Perez, are here added, by the kindness of Mr. Brand, from "Ant. Perezii ad Comitem Essexium, singularem Angliæ Magnatem, et ad alios Epistolarum;" an octavo volume printed at Paris, without date, in the antiquarian collection of that gentleman:

"My Lordus Essexius Antonio Perezio.

"A te rogo, charissime Antoni, cur tristis es? cur melancholiâ laboras? si laborare possis eâ, quâ tibi nimium places. Si sympathiam sentiebas tristiæ meæ, unà mecum emerge: sin aliquid acciderit, quod te turbet, eloquere. Nam me magis affligit incertus metus, quàm certus dolor: non operam meam, non consilium tibi offerre volo: operam infirmam præstabo, quòd viribus non valeo: consilium tu non nisi à te ipso possis mutuari, in quo fons consilii est: sed me offero, ut quod neque adjuvando, neque consulendo diminuere possum partem ejus ferendo levem. Vale animo, et corpore, aut utroque æger erit tuus.

"ESSEXIUS."

"Comes Essexius Antonio Perezio.

"Res tractandæ sunt, sed verba desunt. Negocia habeo de quibus ad te scriberem, quæ autem concepi, non possum exprimere verbis. Sed tu nequaquam verbosus es. Ergo animi mei sententiam paucis comprehendes. Cupio scire, quænam illa sunt, quæ contra personam reginæ cogitabant, imò tractabant conjuratores illi Lusitani. Credebam hoc subjectum fuisse machinationum omnium eorum. Sed quid dixi subjectum? Legibus, supplicio, morti, cruci subjicientur, antequam persona illa regia subjiciatur, vel lædatur à talibus sceleratis hominibus. Mitte, quæso, per Smithum, quæ de istis rebus habes, nam ero in aurorâ in castello Londinensi, ut alios incarceratos convincam, vel saltem audiam, quid pro se dicere, et contra seipsos contiferi velint. Aliud peto, ut venias ad ædes uxoris meæ, ubi tecum et ante prandium, et post de istis rebus loqui possim. Vale, nam sine te salvo, ægrotabo animo, si non corpore, tibi fidissimo fidissimus amicus."

At the end of Pricket's Honors Fame, &c. 1604, is a copy of verses "upon the author and his subject," by Charles Best, esq. which closes with the following quaint and hyperbolic epitaph on this popular noble

man :

Here sleepes great Essex, dearling of mankinde;

Faire Honor's lampe, foule Envie's pray, Arte's fame, Nature's pride, Vertue's bulwarke, lure of minde, Wisdome's flower, Valour's tower, Fortune's shame: VOL. II.

I

England's sunne, Belgia's light, France's star, Spaine's thunder,

Lysbone's lightning, Ireland's clowde, the whole world's wonder..]

• In Webb's Collection of Epitaphs, vol. i. p. 138, these lines are said to be placed at Nottingham.