And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 20 His owne deare cross he bore himselfe, A burthen far too great, Which made him in the streete to fainte, Being weary thus, he sought for rest, Upon a stone; the which a wretch Did churlishly controule; 25 And sayd, "Awaye, thou King of Jowes, 30 Of Jesus Christ thus shed, And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, Away with speed he fled, Without returning backe againe And wandred up and downe the worlde, 45 No resting could he finde at all, No ease, nor hearts content; 50 No house, nor home, nor biding place; But wandring forth he went From towne to towne in foreigne landes, Repenting for the heinous guilt 55 Of his fore-passed ill. "I'll rest," sayd hee, “but thou shalt walke;" 65 So doth this wandring Jew, "It you had seene his death," saith he And suffer for his sake all paine Of torments, and all woes:" These are his wordes, and eke his life, 125 IV. The Lye, BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH, is found in a very scarce miscellany, entitled "Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie, divided into sixe books. ... The 4th impression newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This poem is reported to have been written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two editions of Davison's Poems before that time, one in 1608,' the other in 1611.2 So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in the fourth edit. it must have been written long before the death of Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603.-See Oldys's Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol. GOE, Soule, the bodies guest, Upon a thankelesse arrant; Feare not to touche the best, The truth shall be thy warrant ; And give the world the lye. Goe tell the court it glowes Goe tell the church it showes 5 And shines like rotten wood; What's good, and doth no good; 10 If church and court reply, Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727. Catalogue of Sion. Coll. Library. This is either lost or mislaid. Tell men of high condition, Tell them that brave it most, Seek nothing but commending; Tell zeale it lacks devotion; Tell age it daily wasteth; Tell honour how it alters; Tell beauty how she blasteth ; Tell favour how she falters; And as they shall reply, Give each of them the lye. Fell wit how much it wrangles In tickle points of nicenesse; Fell wisedome she entangles Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; And if they do reply, Straight give them both the lye. |