er _Franklin_, then Sir _Gervas Yelvis_, upon their several
Arraignments, were found guilty, and executed. Some of them died very
penitent: The Earl and his Countess were both condemned, but through
the King's gracious Pardon had their Lives saved, but were never
admitted to the Favour of the Court.

We shall conclude all with this his Epitaph written by himself.

The span of my days measur'd, here I rest,
That is, my Body; but my Soul, his Guest,
Is hence ascended, whither, neither Time,
Nor Faith, nor Hope, but only Love can clime;
Where being now enlightned, she doth know
The Truth of all men argue of below:
Only this Dust doth here in pawn remain,
That, when the world dissolves, she come again.

* * * * *

Mr. _MICHAEL DRAYTON_.

Mr. _Drayton_, one who had drunk as deep a Draught at _Helicon_ as any
in his time, was born at _Athelston_ in _Warwickshire_, as appeareth in
his Poetical Address thereunto, _Poly-Olbion_, Song 13. p. 213.

My native Country then, which so brave Spirits hast bred,
If there be virtue yet remaining in thy earth,
Or any good of thine thou breath'st into my Birth,
Accept it as thine own whilst now I sing of thee,
Of all thy latter Brood th'unworthiest tho' I be.

He was in his time for fame and renown in Poetry, not much inferior, if
not equal to Mr. _Spencer_, or Sir _Philip Sidney_ himself. Take a
taste of the sprightfulness of his Muse, out of his _Poly-Olbion_,
speaking of his native County _Warwickshire_.

Upon the Mid-lands now th'industrious Muse doth fall,
That Shire which we the Heart of _England_ well may call,
As she herself extends (the midst which is _Deweed_)
betwixt St. _Michael's Mount_ and _Barwick_-bordering
_Tweed_,
Brave _Warwick_ that abroad so long advanc'd her _Bear_,
By her illustrious Earls renowned every where,
Above her neighbouring Shires which always bore her Head.

Also in the Beginning of his _Poly-Olbion_ he thus writes;

Of _Albions_ glorious Isle the wonders whilst I write,
The sundry varying Soyls, the Pleasures infinite,
Where heat kills not the cold, nor cold expells the heat,
The calms too mildly small, nor winds too roughly great.
Nor night doth hinder day, nor day the night doth wrong;
The summer not too short, the winter not too long:
What help shall I invoke to aid my Muse the while? _&c._

However, in the esteem of the more curious