Soul was stuffed with
too narrow an Occupation, gave it enlargement, as the said Author doth
ingeniously confess in his description of _Warwickshire, Whose Merits_
(saith he) _to me-ward, I do acknowledge, in setting this hand free
from the daily employments of a Manual Trade, and giving it full
liberty thus to express the inclination of my mind, himself being the_
Procurer _of my present Estate_.

He lieth interred in _Warwick_ Church, under a Monument of Black and
White Marble, wherein he is styled, _Servant to Queen_ Elizabeth,
_Counsellor to King_ James, _and Friend to_ Sir _Philp Sidney_. He died
_Anno 16--._ without Issue, save only those of his Brain, which will
make his Name to live, when others Issue they may fail them.

* * * * *

Mr. _EDMOND SPENSER_.

This our Famous Poet, Mr. _Edmond Spenser_, was born in the City of
_London_, and brought up in _Pembroke-Hall_ in _Cambridge_; where he
became a most excellent Scholar, but especially very happy in _English_
Poetry, as his learned, elaborate Works do declare, which whoso shall
peruse with a judicious eye, will find to have in them the very height
of Poetick fancy, and though some blame his Writings for the many
_Chaucerisms_ used by him, yet to the Learned they are known not to be
blemishes, but rather beauties to his Book; which, notwithstanding,
(saith a learned Writer) had been more salable, if more conformed to
our modern language.

His first flight in Poetry, as not thinking himself fully fledged, was
in that Book of his, called _The Shepherds Kalendar_, applying an old
Name to a new Book; It being of Eclogues fitted to each Month in the
Year: of which Work hear what that worthy Knight, Sir _Philip Sidney_
writes, whose judgment in such cases is counted infallible: _The
Shepherds Kalendar_ (saith he) _hath much Poetry in his Eclogues,
indeed worthy the reading, if I be not deceived; That same framing his
Stile to an old rustick Language, I dare not allow, since neither_
Theocritus _in_ Greek, Virgil _in_ Latine, _nor_ Sanazara _in_ Italian
_did effect it_. Afterwards he translated the _Gnat_, a little fragment
of _Virgil's_ excellency. Then he translated _Bellay_ his Ruins of
_Rome_; His most unfortunate Work was that of _Mother Hubbard's Tale_,
giving therein offence to one in authority, who afterwards stuck on his
skirts. But his main Book, and which indeed I think Envy its self
cannot carp at, was his _Fairy