AN ANSWER,

BY

DR. PRICE.

So to dead Hector boys may do disgrace,
That durst not look upon his living face,

So worst of men behind their betters back

May stretch mens names and credit on the rack.

8 Dr. Daniel Price was the eldest son of Thomas Price, vicar of Saint Chad's, Shrewsbury, in which borough he was born and educated. From St. Mary Hall, Oxford, where he was entered ja 1594, he removed to Exeter college, where he took the degree of master of arts, and entered into holy orders. He afterwards became dean and residentiary canon of Hereford, rector of Worthyn in Shropshire, and of Lantelos in Cornwall; for which counties, as well as that of Montgomery, he officiated as magistrate. He was author of many works, wholly devotional, and died at Worthyn the 23d September 1631, was buried there in the chancel of the church.

and

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Good friend, our general tie to him that's gone
Should love the man that yearlie doth him moane:
The author's zeal and place he now doth hold,
His love and duty makes him be thus bold
To offer this poor mite, his anniverse

Unto his good great master's sacred hearse;
The which he doth with privilege of name,
Whilst others, 'midst their ale, in corners blame.
A pennyworth in print they never made,
Yet think themselves as good as Pond or Dade.
One anniverse, when thou hast done thus twice,
Thy words among the best will be of PRICE.

IN

POETAM

EXAUCTORATUM ET EMERITUM.

NOR is it griev'd, grave youth, the memory
Of such a story, such a booke as hee,

That such a copy through the world were read;
Henry yet lives, though he be buried.

It could be wish'd that every eye might beare
His eare good witnesse that he still were here;
That sorrowe ruled the yeare, and by that sunne
Each man could tell you how the day had runne:
O't were an honest boast, for him could say
I have been busy, and wept out the day
Remembring him. An epitaph would last
Were such a trophee, such a banner placed
Upon his corse as this: Here a man lyes
Was slaine by Henrye's dart, not Destinie's.

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Why this were med'cinable, and would heale, Though the whole languish'd, halfe the common

weale.

But for a Cobler to goe burn his cappe,

And cry, The Prince, the Prince! O dire mishappe! Or a Geneva-bridegroom, after grace,

To throw his spouse i' th' fire; or scratch her face
To the tune of the Lamentation; or delay

His Friday capon till the Sabbath day:
Or an old Popish lady half vow'd dead
To fast away the day in gingerbread:

For him to write such annals; all these things
Do open laughter's and shutt up griefe's springs.
Tell me, what juster or more congruous peere
Than Ale, to judge of workes begott of beere?
Wherefore forbeare-or, if thou print the next,
Bring better notes, or take a meaner text.

ON

MR. FRANCIS BEAUMONT,

THEN NEWLY DEAD.

(The following lines, which have hitherto been omitted in the bishop's poems, are found in the collected dramas of the

"twin stars that run

Their glorious course round Shakespeare's honoured sun."

Beaumont was born 1585, and was buried the ninth of March 1615, in the entrance of St. Bennet's chapel, Westminster abbey.)

He that hath such acuteness and such wit
As would aske ten good heads to husband it;
He that can write so well, that no man dare
Refuse it for the best, let him beware:
Beaumont is dead! by whose sole death appears
Wit's a disease consumes men in few yeares.