. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. l that write upon sheepes skins, even the makers of pastor-alls : wherein your Clowne is constantly a figure of Poetry,—beingallwayes amongst the leaves. He is their Jack-i-the-Green.—Where-fore I crye, for my owne part. Oh ! that I were a Boore ! Oh ! that Iwere a Boore ! that troubleth no man, and is troubled of none. Who;$ written, wherein he cannot read, and is mayde into Poetry, that yetis no Poet ; for how sholde he make songs, that knoweth not KingCadmus his alphabet, to pricke them down withal ?— Seeing that he is nowayes learnede—
. The choice works of Thomas Hood, in prose and verse. l that write upon sheepes skins, even the makers of pastor-alls : wherein your Clowne is constantly a figure of Poetry,—beingallwayes amongst the leaves. He is their Jack-i-the-Green.—Where-fore I crye, for my owne part. Oh ! that I were a Boore ! Oh ! that Iwere a Boore ! that troubleth no man, and is troubled of none. Who;$ written, wherein he cannot read, and is mayde into Poetry, that yetis no Poet ; for how sholde he make songs, that knoweth not KingCadmus his alphabet, to pricke them down withal ?— Seeing that he is nowayes learnede—nor hath never bitten of theApple of Knowledge, which was but a sowre crabbe apple, wherebyAdam his wisdom-teeth were set on edge. Wherefore, he is much morea happye man, saving unto his lusty yonge Dame, We twaine be onefleshe.—But the Poet sayth to his mate, Thou art skin of my skin, andbone of my bone ; soe that this saying is not a paradoxe,—That theBoke Man is a Dunce in bemg Wise,—and the Clowne is wise inbeing a Dunce. ^Mctku^ 95. Miss Treo. A VALENTINE. Oh ! cruel heart ! ere these posthumous papersHave met thine eyes, I shall be out of lareath ; Those cruel eyes, like two funereal only lighted me the way to death. Perchance, thou wilt extinguish them in vnpours,When I am gone, and green grass covereth Thy lover, lost ; but it will be in vain— It will not bring the vital spark again. II, Ah ! when those eyes, like tapers, burnd so blue,It seemd an omen that we must expect The sprites of lovers ; and it boded I am half a sprite—a ghost elect ; Wherefore I write to thee this last adieu,With my last pen—before that 1 effect My exit from the stage ; just =;toppd before The tombsto « steps that lead us to Deaths door. 96 A VALENTINE. III. Full soon these living eyes, now liquid bright,Will turn dend dull, and wear no radiance, save They shed a dreary and inhuman light, Illumed within by glow-worms of the grave • These ruddy cheeks,
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