our originall sin: with many other difficulties touching these points. Collected out of the Holy Scriptures, ancient Fathers, and other both ancient and moderne writers. London: Printed by Edward Griffin for Nathaniel Butter. 1617. 4°. pp. 359. This work is dedicated to Sir Francis Bacon, "His Maiestie having deigned to patronize the first fruits of my labors, to whom (if I may presume) ought I rather (for many titles) to second with the second, then to your Honour who (as Siluerius saith of Cæsar) hath honoured learning by his owne labours, so all the learned labour to honour you with their labours? Seeing therefore his Maiestie vouchsafed to accept of my Treatise of Angels, deigne likewise (most worthy Peere) to patronize this of Paradise," &c. Your honour's humbly devoted, John Salkeld. The book consists of sixty-six chapters, and was evidently consulted by Milton: I have remarked several coincident passages between it and that poet's "magnum opus." Upon the whole it is a very curious compilation, and the perusal of it will gratify the admirers of Paradise Lost. It does not appear to have been known to Mr. Todd. Bristol, 1810. J. F. The Pilgrimes Farewell, to his Natiue Countrey of Scotland: wherein is contained, in way of Dialogue, The Joyes and Miseries of Peregrination. With his Lamentado in his second Trauels, his Passionado on the Rhyne. Diuerse other Insertings, and Farewels, to Noble Personages, and, The Heremites Welcome to his third Pilgrimage, &c. Worthie to be seene and read of all gallant Spirits, and Pompe-expecting eyes. By William Lithgow, the Bonaventure of Evrope, Asia, and Africa, &c. Patriam meam transire non possum, omnium una est, extra hanc nemo projici potest. Non patria mihi interdicitur sed locus. In quamcunque terram venio, in meam venio, nulla nulla exilium est sed altera patria est. Patria est ubicunque bene est. Si enim sapiens est peregrinatur, si stultus exulat. Senec, de re, for. Imprinted at Edinburgh, by Andro Hart. Anno Domini 1618. At the Expences of the Author. qto. 32 leaves. At the back of the title wood-cut of the author, as he performed part of his pilgrimages. An "Epistle Dedicatorie to the Nine Pernassian Sisters, the conseruers of Helicon," and ladies too coy to listen to the invocation. The "courteous peruser" of his "sad farewels," he informs "A greater worke I meane to put in light, My Muse breakes foorth, to shew their errour great." "Some extemporaneall lines, written at the verie view of this poeme going to the presse, in co mendation of the Author, his Trauels and Poesies," forming eight six-line stanzas, are subscribed " Ignoto." Then "To his singular friend, William Lithgow. "Whiles I admire thy first and second wayes, Long tenne yeeres wandring, in the worlde-wide boundes That thy first trauaile to the worlde-foorth soundes; And nowe thy seconde Pilgrimage I see, At London thou resolu'st, to put in light; Meane while, this worke, affordes a three-folde gaine, As As thou for trauelles, brook'st the greatest name, W. R." From the initials this piece is usually attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh. There are dedicatory poems from the author to the King, Prince Charles, Lords Archbishops of St. Andrews and Glasgow, and the rest of the Reuerend L. Bishops of Scotland: to the Earls of Dumfermeling, Marre, Montrose, and to others of the Scottish nobility, various complimentary pieces, with Sonnets and Farewels, too numerous to be particularized. The principal poems. area conflict betweene the Pilgrime and his Muse: dedicated to my Lorde Grahame, Earle Montrose :-The Pilgrime's Lamentado, in his second Pilgrimage:-The Heremites Welcome, to the Pilgrimes thirde Pilgrimage.' The name of Lithgow is too well known as a traveller and martyr, to require any biographical notice here. Hi travels form the subject of the conflict with his Muse, from which the following passages are selected. Muse. In cabines, they on mappes, and globes finde out And lie in bedde and all thy sightes controle, Though by experience, thou hast nat'rall sight, Pilgrime. Thou know'st, Muse, I had rather see one land The watchfull lizard my bare face doeth keepe: By By day I feede her, shee saues mee by night, And so to trauaile, I haue more than right... Muse. If (deare to mee) thou wouldst resolue to stay Our noble peares, they would maintaine thy state, If not, I should find out another way, To moue the worlde to succour thine hard fate: And I shall cloathe, and lende and feede the too, Pilgrime. To feede mee (slaue) thou knowst I am thy Lord, So, onelie I, auow, all where to wander. Muse. What hast thou wonne, when thou hast gotte thy will? A momentarie shaddowe of strange sightes: Though with content, thou thy conceite doest fill, Thou canst not lende the worlde these true delightes: Though thy selfe loue to these attemptes contract thee, Where ten thee praise, there's fiue that will detract thee. Pilgrime. It's for mine own mindes sake thou knowst I wander, Not I, nor none, the worldes great voyce can make. Thinkst thou mee bound acompt to render, And would vaine fooles, 1 trauell'd for their sake: No, I well know, there is no gallant spirit, (Vnlesse a knaue) but will yeelde mee my merit. Muse. Thou trauel'st aye, but where's thy meanes to doe it? Thou hast no landes, no exchange, nor no rent, There's no familiare sprite doeth helpe the to it, And yet I maruell how thy time is spent: This shifting of thy wittes should breede thee loathing I know these nigroes of the Austriale sunne Pilgrime. For to conserue mine health, I eate not much, They They are but gluttones, riote doeth auouch; I am not sanguine nor to pale, you see. Nothing than death more sure, vncertaine too, Who ayines at fame all hazards must allowe. Muse. But swollen man in thy conceat take heed, What great distresse of hunger hast thou tholde, That often times, for one poore loaue of bread, Thou would'st (if poss'ble) giuen a worlde of gold. Remember of thy sterile Lybian wayes, Where thou didst fast, but meate or drinke nine dayes. The smoake whereof expell'd that pinching thrall: Thy skinne growne lumpie, made thy strength decrease. Pilgrime. I yeelde, thou knowst these thinges as well as I, But when I slept, great care 1 had to couer My naked face, and kept my bodie drie, The manner how I neede it not discouer, Though thou object these mistes the clouds forth-spew, Muse. The galley-threatning death, where slaues are whipt, And bath'd in blood their woefull handes they wring: They roll still scourg'd, on bread and water feede, Twise this thou scap'd, the third time now take heede. |